A Summer Seduction (15 page)

There was no hope of a future with Alec Stafford, and because of that, she could not allow her feelings to grow. Her parentage might not matter to some other man, but it would to the Earl of Rawdon. He would never marry her, and she refused to be a man’s mistress, so that way lay only heartache. Which did not mean, of course, that she should not give him a better explanation for her actions, but she did not think she could bear to see the look in his eyes change when she told him who she was and why her grandmother did not want her in London. It would be too painful if she saw the subtle alteration of expression that meant he now viewed her as a lesser being, someone beneath his notice except for her obvious attractions of the flesh.

Damaris enjoyed the spark she saw in Alec’s eyes when he looked at her, the way heat flashed for an instant in the midst of all that cold calm. But she did not want to know that that heat was all he felt for her.

She was still plunged in her gloomy musings when she heard a shout. A moment later, it came again, this time closer to them. Puzzled, she moved the curtain aside and glanced around but saw no sign of anyone. Finally, turning and leaning out the window, she was able to see directly behind them. A man on a black horse was riding toward them. At the sight of her, he kicked his heels into his steed’s sides and charged after them. His hat flew off, and white-blond hair flashed in the sun.

Alec!

Damaris’s heart started beating like a hammer, and happiness leapt inside her. Alec had come after her.

“Stop!” he shouted again, and the authority in his voice obviously swayed the postilion, who pulled the horses to a halt. Twisted around in the seat as she was, the sudden cessation of movement sent Damaris sliding off onto the floor, where she landed with a thump. She had barely pulled herself back into her seat when the door was flung open and Alec looked inside.

“Bloody hell, Damaris! What the devil do you think you’re doing?” His silvery blue eyes blazed with temper, the cool demeanor he normally showed the world shattered. “I turn my back for a few minutes, and you’ve sneaked out of the house and taken off!”

“I am not answerable to you!” Damaris jumped out of the vehicle to face him. She was not about to sit cowering in a carriage while he ranted at her. “The last I heard, I am an adult, free to go where I choose.”

“Free to get captured again!” he retorted. “What an utterly nonsensical thing to do!”

Damaris’s eyes narrowed dangerously at this insult. “I beg your pardon! There was nothing nonsensical about it. I gave it a good deal of thought.”

“All of ten minutes, no doubt. Genevieve said you left the house right after I did. You told me that you would not leave.”

“I did nothing of the sort!” Damaris shot back, planting her hands on her hips. “You asked me if you had made yourself clear, and I said you were quite clear about it. I did not say that I agreed to stay shut up in your house like some… some odalisque in a harem.”

“An odalisque!” His eyes flared brighter, and to Damaris’s astonishment, he reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her up hard against him.

She let out a little “Oof” as her body met his, but then his lips were on hers and she was rendered incapable of speech. For a moment she was conscious of nothing—not the sun bathing them in soft light nor the breeze that stirred her hair nor even the amazed stare of the post boy on the lead horse—nothing but the heat that flooded her and the exquisite pleasure of his mouth. His kiss was hard, almost punishing, and his arms wrapped around her in the same way, pressing her into him as if she could become part of him. His embrace was all strength and passion and fire, explosive in its intensity, as if the emotions inside him were bursting their way out of him and into her.

Damaris shuddered as dizzying sensations flooded her. She went up on her toes, wrapping her arms around his neck, meeting his desire with the force of her own. She felt him twitch, a small groan sounding deep in his throat, and his lips dug deeper into hers. The fire between them was consuming, as if it could burn them into nothingness, but Damaris embraced it willingly, rushing toward the hunger, reveling in the ache that filled her. She wanted him, her entire body trembling with an impetuous eagerness, and the fact that he could bring her to such a state in one deep kiss would have been frightening—if her mind had been clear and cool enough to think.

At last he tore his mouth from hers, though he did not let her go. “An odalisque,” he murmured again, and his lips, soft
and darkened, almost bruised-looking from their fierce kiss, curved up in a trace of a smile. His eyes caught and held hers. “I can imagine you as an odalisque, skin like cream, a wisp of sheerest silk to cover you, lying on the sultan’s couch.” He let out a long sigh, leaning his forehead against hers. “Ah, Damaris, what you do to me… I have never known the like. I am usually a measured man.”

Damaris could not help but giggle. “Oh, indeed, I have seen how measured you are—bursting into the Priory and smashing your fist into Gabriel’s chin, riding out into the snowstorm to find little Matthew, charging out to track down my traveling chaise.”

He had the grace to look chagrined. “Perhaps I can sometimes be impetuous. But I promise you I do not make a habit of stopping carriages and kissing young women by the side of the road.”

“You are fierce, is what you are,” Damaris retorted. She was not about to add that his fierceness thrilled her down to her toes. Instead, she forced herself to pull away from him. Reaching up to adjust her hat, which his rough embrace had knocked awry, she said with all the calm she could muster, “I am sorry I did not tell you. I knew you would argue and make it difficult to leave.”

“Of course I would. Why will you not allow me to help you? Why are you exposing yourself to danger this way?”

“I’m not!” she insisted. “It was the rational thing to do. I removed myself from London so that those men could not seize me again.”

“And what if they seized you on the road?”

“Really, Alec, it’s broad daylight. They are not going to attack m—”

She was interrupted by the sound of a shot. Damaris jumped and whirled to see four men charging at them. Before she could move or even think, Alec picked her up and threw her into the carriage. Once again finding herself deposited rudely on the floor of the vehicle, Damaris scrambled up and looked out to see Alec, who had pulled a pistol from his pocket, coolly take aim at the rider bearing down upon him. He fired, and the other man jerked as the ball hit him in the shoulder, yanking on the reins as he slumped to the side. His horse reared, and he fell heavily. The animal, thus unencumbered, took off at a run.

Alec neatly sidestepped another horse, but one of the other men launched himself out of his saddle at Alec and the two men went tumbling to the ground. Damaris reached into her reticule and pulled out her little pistol. One of the remaining attackers slid down from his horse and ran toward her, and she lifted her pistol and fired. Her shot, unfortunately, went wide of the mark, smacking harmlessly into a tree. It was enough, however, to make the last rider’s horse rear, whinnying in fear, and the ruffian was too occupied with trying to control his mount to come to the aid of either of his companions.

The assailant whom Damaris had shot at let out a curse and ran forward again. Her weapon, having been fired, was useless now, and as he reached the carriage, she swung it at
him. It caught him flush on the forehead, splitting open his skin and bouncing off, but it did not fell him, only made him roar with rage as he reached up, grabbed her arm, and pulled her from the coach. Damaris resisted, kicking at him and clinging with her other hand to the door.

He jerked her free of the coach and dragged her toward his horse. Damaris dug in her heels, slowing him down as best she could, and reached up to her hat. Pulling out the long, decorative hatpin that secured it to her hair, she brought it down hard, stabbing her assailant in the arm. The man let out a high-pitched scream and released her instantly. Damaris, having been pulling away from him with all her strength, stumbled back and sat down hard on the ground.

“You bitch!” the man roared, clutching the arm she had stabbed and lunging toward her. Damaris scrambled backward, glancing around frantically for something to throw at him. She had managed to keep her grasp on the hatpin, but she knew it was a pitifully poor weapon against the man’s strength now that she no longer had the element of surprise. There was nothing close at hand, so she clutched the long pin firmly and started to her feet to meet him.

At that moment Alec came barreling into the man, knocking him to the ground. The two of them rolled across the ground, punching and wrestling as the horses danced nervously around them, wild with the noise and excitement. The horses pulling the carriage were equally affected; it was all the postilion could do to keep them under control.

Damaris got to her feet and started toward the struggling
men. Alec was on top of the other fellow, slamming his fist into the man’s face, so she glanced around her, looking for what danger might spring up next. Her eyes took in the chaotic scene of whinnying, stamping horses. The man who had first attacked Alec was on the ground, sitting up with a dazed look on his face, and the other man, whom Alec had shot, lay a few feet away from him, clutching his shoulder and moaning. The last of the men had finally settled his horse and dismounted. As she caught sight of him, he reached down and picked up a rock and ran toward Alec.

“Alec! Watch out!”

Alec half turned at Damaris’s scream, and the rock the other man swung at him hit him a glancing blow on the side of his head instead of crushing his skull. It was enough, however, to send Alec crumpling to the ground. The man raised his hand as though to strike again, but Damaris got there first and sank her hatpin into the assailant’s leg. He howled and dropped the rock as he flailed out, knocking Damaris to the ground. Alec’s horse, which had been nervously stamping and turning near the fighting men, reared up, hooves lashing out. This was apparently the final blow to the man’s courage. He scrambled away from the horse, as did the other man whom Alec had been beating, and they ran for their mounts.

“Alec!” Damaris dropped down on her knees beside him, scarcely noticing as the others struggled onto their horses and clattered away. She had eyes only for Alec. Blood streamed from the cut on the side of his head, staining his pale hair red.

He let out a low groan before his eyes popped open, and he started to push himself up.

“No! Lie still. You’re hurt.” Damaris laid her hand on his shoulder. “Oh, Alec! I’m so sorry!” She dug into her reticule, which was still, rather absurdly, dangling from her wrist, and she pulled out a handkerchief to press against Alec’s cut.

“What in the bloody hell is going on?” Alec sat up despite her restraining hand. His blue eyes were stark in his dust-and blood-smeared face, and a light still burned in them so fiercely that it was enough to make anyone want to flee. “Who the—” He winced and raised his hand toward his head. “The devil!”

“Don’t move. Don’t worry. They have all left. We’re safe. Let me get something to bind your head.” Damaris turned toward the post chaise, starting to rise.

“No!” she cried in dismay, and jumped to her feet.

The sounds of horses running had not been only their attackers. Right behind them, galloping away at full speed, was her post chaise.

D
amaris spit out a word
she had learned from her French schoolmates and dropped back to her knees beside Alec. “The carriage is gone.”

“So I gathered,” Alec said drily. He reached up gingerly to touch his head, where Damaris’s handkerchief was now stuck to it with blood.

“Oh, Alec, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to involve you in all this.”

“In what? What is ‘all this’? No, wait.” He held up a hand. “This is neither the time nor place to discuss it. We need to get away from here.”

He got to his feet with Damaris’s aid. He swayed for an instant but remained standing. His horse had calmed down considerably with the departure of the other animals, and now he came over to Alec and butted his head lightly against Alec’s chest. Alec reached up and rubbed his head. “Aren’t you the good chap?”

“He was indeed,” Damaris told him. “It was your horse that sent that man fleeing. My poking him wouldn’t have
kept him away long.” She lifted her hand, which, amazingly, still clutched the hatpin.

“Good Gad,” Alec said with some awe, looking at the lethal ornament. “You stuck that thing into him?”

“Yes, after he hit you with the rock. It was the only thing I had. I’d already fired my gun.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “I heard. I feel quite extraneous.”

“Don’t be absurd. You are the only reason I’m still here.” She paused, then added, “Thank you. I am sorry to—”

He shook his head. “It’s not necessary, I assure you. And we really should be on our way.”

“You’re right. We need to see to your head.” He was, she thought, even paler than usual, and the blood that had streamed over one side of his head and face was horrifying.

“What we need is not to be here if our friends decide to come back.”

“Do you think they might?” A thrill of alarm ran through Damaris. “Surely not. They were wounded.”