He's No Prince Charming (Ever After) (9 page)

Vaguely, she wondered if her father was worried about her. She dearly loved and respected him, but he was so involved in his work at Parliament, at times she wondered if he even remembered she existed. But she knew Hemsworth would be. He was a kind and considerate man, and she knew he cared for her.

Surrendering to the silence and her troubled thoughts, she trudged onward. The lush greenery, so rare in London, glimmered quite spectacularly in the sunbeams streaming through the canopy. It reminded her a little of the way Fleetwood’s eyes looked when he smiled at her back at the clearing. Danni scoffed at herself.
What fanciful thoughts to have about
him
!
Hadn’t she just been dreaming about her future life with her fiancé?

The longer she walked, the more furious she became. This was really all Marcus’s fault. He had manipulated her and then blamed her for his own misdeeds. What right did he have to make her miserable as well? He should be working with her, seeing to her needs rather than dragging her through the rough woods and then, on top of it all, completely ignoring her.

She couldn’t let him win and she certainly didn’t intend to let his stubbornness reign while they tried to find Ginny. An idea mulled in her mind. She’d make him have a part in the discussion. Grinning devilishly, a definite spring developed in her step.

“Oh dear, I believe we are in trouble. You don’t know where we are going, do you?”

When he didn’t respond, Danni prattled on with an even wider smile, getting into the spirit of things. “I see how baffled you are, my lord. Not to worry! I’m sure we can determine where you’ve misplaced us.”

Fleetwood’s shoulders shifted slightly, the only sign he listened.

“Where should we start? My father always said one should study your surroundings. We may find a clue if we do just that!” Danni paused, exaggeratedly looking about her. “We are surrounded by a great many trees. And plants. I think we can safely assume our current position is a forest. You
do
know what a forest is?”

He still wasn’t speaking, but by the condescending look he sent her way, she had his attention. “Oh dear! Don’t tell me you don’t know what a tree is, either?”

A snort escaped the hulking giant before her. His sight remained fixed ahead of him. Dismissing her.

A headache from clenching her teeth stabbed through her skull. She opened her mouth to emit her next mocking tirade, only to swallow a mouthful of leaves and twigs from a sapling branch. Sputtering, she toppled to her bottom. She blinked away her surprise to see Marcus’s smirking face quickly swing forward again.

“Oh. You…you beast! You did that on purpose!”

“And what exactly did I do?”

“You snapped that tree branch into my face!”

He turned and glanced down at her. His expression was a perfect example of befuddlement. “What’s a tree branch?”

Danni gaped. Not even a muscle twitched on his face as he continued. “And this plant you speak of? Is it edible?”

She pulled up her sleeves as she dragged herself to her feet. She glared daggers at him. “Only if you’re a rabbit!”

Furious, Danni launched at him.

Laughing, he caught her around the middle, drawing her tight into his reverberating chest. Danni muffled a gasp. The sound thrummed through her, to the very tips of her fingers. Hard planes engulfed her small frame and big palms splayed over her body. Like a spark to tinder, her blood ignited with heat, pooling between her thighs.

And then he tickled her.

Eyes bulging, she gave a muffled screech at the familiar tingling sensation. Laughter rippled around them until tears blurred the forest solid green. “Stop! Please.”

Immediately, he was gone. Danni gasped at the shocking loss of contact. Cold air ripped at her skin and she wrapped her arms protectively about her. She turned, finding him right behind her. Clutching at her sides, she watched with a deep sense of sadness as Fleetwood’s—no,
Marcus’s
—boyish and utterly heart-wrenching expression of happiness melted away, replaced with his usual stern countenance.

“Sorry,” he whispered, his eyes a soft, mint green, resting on her stinging cheek. His hand lifted, catching a strand of her hair between his fingers. Comforting warmth hovered tantalizingly above her skin as he looped the dark hair about his finger. “I meant to hold the branch, but it slipped.”

Danni watched the lock of hair slip slowly from his grasp before his fingers brushed gently over the welt forming from the branch. She felt breathless and her stomach churned in odd, uncomfortable flips. Swallowing hard, she searched his eyes.

She couldn’t believe she’d first thought they were cold. The green depths exposed every thought passing through his mind. And when he whispered “Forgive me?,” she knew he was referring to much more than the branch.

But she couldn’t.

Sniffing, she continued her game with forced cheer. “This is so much worse than I originally thought! Perhaps I should explain what a plant is. I think a tree branch is much too difficult for you.”

Sadness flickered over his scarred face before it shuttered closed. Her heart actually ached inside her chest. Silence descended between them again as they resumed walking. It was strained and utterly unbreakable.

How did one even go about forgiving someone for the situation he’d forced her into? Perhaps if she understood his circumstances a bit more? All she’d really seen evidence of was an apparent, and pressing, need for funds. Not the reason why.

She’d assumed since he drank, he enjoyed other vices such as gambling and had ruined his estate. It happened to many aristocrats and they often turned to borrowing against their titles to maintain the lifestyle they were accustomed to. Or marrying wealthy young girls.

And then there was that article published in Miss Lavina Lux’s gossip column before they left, but that could have been spread by a bitter Anne Newport. After all, rumor was really just that—rumor.

Maybe if she asked, he’d tell her a fantastic excuse that would absolve him and she could help him, without forcing Ginny into marriage? Preparing her thoughts to do just that, Danni suddenly slammed into something solid. Lost in her own world, she’d missed that Marcus had stopped again. She stepped right into his back before being knocked to her bottom for a second time. Her hands gripped dead leaves and moss in frustration. “Did I ever tell you how much the ground and I dislike each other?”

The large man hesitantly half turned towards her. His eyes were shadowed, dark pools. “Did you hear that?”

Danni blinked, tilting her head and straining for a sound that didn’t belong. After a moment, she shook her head.

He grunted, his emotions vanishing behind his typical stern and distant expression. His head turned away, shading the worst scarring. His hastily taunting words banished her curiosity about how he had received the terrible marks. “Of course
you
wouldn’t hear anything.”

She glared as he ran a hand through his curling locks. Danni had to squelch the urge to do the same. To feel the soft silk of his whitish hair, to feel the stubbly points of the curl’s end. She could not help but feel it would soothe her as well.

Tightening her fists, she fixed her attention on the forest floor. She had a soon-to-be fiancé and a happily ever after waiting for her at home. She would not jeopardize it for a flight of fancy, or some silly infatuation, or whatever this—this feeling was. She needed to be returned home with Ginny as soon as possible and leave this beast in its natural habitat. It would be safer for Ginny, but much more so for her. The longer she stayed, the greater her fascination with this complicated man.

They had to retrieve their victim. And she needed Marcus to do that. Trying to lighten the mood, she asked, “Does this mean you’re speaking to me again?”

A heavy silence descended. His eyes narrowed and his face became chiseled ice. He had adopted another veil. Straining under the weight of it, she averted her eyes.

The familiar pop of dead leaves underfoot alerted her as Marcus resumed his trek through the brush. Danni remained momentarily frozen. Was he going to abandon her after all this?

He paused, turning the unscarred side of his face in her direction. His green eyes blazed with emotion, the shadow hidden, but not gone.

“I have yet to decide.”

He continued walking, clearly expecting her to follow. She blinked at the arrogant response to her question. Gritting her teeth, she hurried to his side, railing, “I cannot believe you! I have been blackmailed. I have been drugged. I have been held at gunpoint. Not to mention trekking through this godforsaken forest for hours without an ounce of food, all at your behest. And you do not think I am worthy of a conversation?”

Silence.

“Perfect. Simply perfect! Now I only need it to snow in May and my life will be complete.”

Another three hours later. Yes, she counted every second again. Danni struggled to be grateful for small favors. It didn’t snow in May.

It rained.

M
arcus huddled deeper in his jacket as he tried to avoid as much of the rain as possible. It was a useless endeavor. He was already soaked through. Shuddering against the creeping chill in his bones, he glanced back.

Several feet behind him, Danni’s body scrunched even smaller against the cold. He stopped walking. She drew closer, each step echoed by the squelching sound of soggy leather boots. Marcus could see the expression on her face much clearer. She was furious.

Despite her indignation, he couldn’t stop the urge to smile, certain she had no idea what she looked like. Her lovely locks of mahogany hung about her in limp tangles, the ends still caught up in the braid she’d started with last night. The rainwater dripped down her forehead and caught in dark lashes. A small patch of soil had stuck to her cheek when she’d launched at him earlier. With the rain, dirt now streamed down her pale cheeks in brown rivulets. For lack of a better description, she looked like a half-drowned rat.

She was beautiful.

“Why are we stopping?” Her teeth chattered together, the sound audible in the silent forest.

One glance at her thin, rain-soaked garb staggered him. Clad in clothing much more appropriate for a mild London evening, the light fabrics of her trousers and shirt were plastered to her skin from the harsh weather. The billowing linen was rendered nearly see-through, outlining every luscious curve. Her pants stuck to her legs, showing her curves off in stark relief. Heat warmed him inside out, his body aching with urges better suppressed.

His gentlemanly conscience suffered a pang. She had on fewer layers than he and her small body had much less bulk for insulation. Before he could change his mind, he shucked his jacket, peeling the layer off as if virtual skin. Instantly, he felt the chill in his bones deepen as a cold wind ripped through the wet canopy. Sometimes being a gentleman was a pain in the arse.

Fighting to speak through his clenched teeth, he held out the coat. “Take it.”

She eyed him with suspicion, her arms uncurled as she reached for the wool. He wasn’t certain what warmth the soaked coat would offer, but it made him feel slightly better. Her death by lung inflammation would end a rather spectacular venture into crime with a flourish. He’d never thought he’d fail so utterly.

The moment she uncrossed her arms, Marcus’s mouth went dry.

“This does not change anything. I am still angry at you,” she muttered miserably.

He didn’t listen, couldn’t. The wet linen perfectly outlined her breasts. His hungry gaze fastened on a tight, pink nipple clearly visible through the shirt. He swallowed the urge to touch her, his fingers curled in response. The budded tip seemed to call to him. Ached for him to warm it with his mouth—to lavish attention on its cold tip. His blood burned. With a shudder he dropped his gaze.

Misinterpreting the reason for his shiver, Danni looked at his dark navy jacket, clearly torn. “Perhaps you should keep it.”

Her face said she’d rather eat a shoe than give it back.

Lips tightening, he pressed it back towards her. He needed her to wear it now. The wet wool would hide her tempting breasts and temper some of his lust. The image, however, was forever engraved in his memory.

She settled the extra layer about her shoulders. He stood near enough to smell the soft scent of roses her movement stirred.

His nails bit into his palms. Being near her like this maddened him. He’d thought he suffered from insanity before, but this…it was hell not being able to touch a woman so beautiful, so near. With great effort he turned his thoughts to survival. He needed to find shelter. And a fire with which they could wait out the storm.

He turned away without a word. He did not trust himself to speak. An aggravated noise came from the back of Danni’s throat, before the squelching and squeak of her boots began again. This time Marcus did smile.

“You truly are insufferable. It’s not as if I do not deal with silent men on a regular basis. My father hardly ever talks to me—barely recognizes I’m even alive—since my mother died, and Hu has said all of ten words in the entire two years I’ve known him. But
they
at least find some way to communicate! You do not even look at me when I speak.”

A pang echoed through his chest as she let slip the information about her family. Perhaps that was why she became a fraud? To gain her father’s attention? The urge to tease her, to wipe away thoughts of her father, overwhelmed him. “If I look at you while you speak, I might run into a…what did you call it? A tree branch?”

“Oh! Oh, I think I hate you.”

He hid a smile. “I shall never recover, madam.”

A particularly loud squelch-squeak echoed through the trees. Marcus could only guess she’d tried to stomp her foot.

“And I hate these boots, too!”

Grinning, he scanned the tree line, looking for a place they might weather the rain in. Danni fell silent, the only sound from her the constant squelch-squeak of her boots.

“Fleetwood?”

He tilted his head to show he was listening.

A heavy sigh, one as if the weight of the world were on it, came from behind him. “I purpose a truce.”

He stopped mid-stride, pivoting on his heel. His surprise was evident in his voice. “A truce? As in we stop fighting with each other?”

Her brow lowered; the overly large coat made her look like a child playing dress up. “Yes. What other kind is there?”

He opened his mouth, but her hand flashed into the air, halting his comment. Or rather the sleeve of his jacket shot into the air. He assumed she still had an arm inside it.

“It will be to our mutual benefit. If we are constantly bickering, I cannot imagine our search for Ginny will be fruitful.”

He had to admit that she had a point.

He began to listen to her terms of truce. Something about manhandling, something else about… Marcus stopped listening. Facing her had given him a new perspective of the surrounding forest. Off to one side, a small building—if one could call the dilapidated heap a building—peaked through a pair of towering oaks.

“…and so do you agree to my proposal?”

Marcus ignored her. He caught hold of Danni’s jacket-covered hand and dragged her in the direction of the cabin.

“I beg your pardon! I think I mentioned in the terms of our treaty that I was
not
to be manhandled.”

He snorted. The desire for shelter and a fire was much more important to him than some hare-brained treaty. The underbrush slapped against them as he pushed through it, until they stood facing the front of the lodge.

It was not as bad as it had seemed from far away. Nature was reclaiming the wooden building, vines climbed and twisted up all sides. But beneath the greenery, the worn structure looked sturdy. And the roof was intact. The door hung on one rusted hinge. It would create a draft, but it was much better than outdoors.

Danni’s protests died when she spied the building. She let out a gurgle of pleasure, clapping her hands together. “Brilliant, Fleetwood!”

He didn’t exactly think he could take credit for a preexisting building, but he was not about to argue if it put a smile on her face.

He ducked through the doorway after Danni. The luxurious inside startled him. He would not be surprised to learn the cabin had been someone’s illicit nest. The once expensive furnishings were threadbare and weather stained. A well-worn chair caught the steady drip of the leaky roof.

They needed warmth, badly, so he approached the hearth directly. Fumbling among the crumbling bricks and ashes, he found a flint. The small stack of kindling would not be enough. With a sinking stomach, he knew they would never find dried tinder outside.

Across the small room he spotted a narrow bed. Brushing off the dead leaves, he pulled the bed linens from the old, straw mattress. The sheets were passable. He tossed one to Danni, who watched him through wide, silent eyes.

“Take off your clothes.” Marcus could feel his face heat but did his best to ignore it.

Danni’s outraged cry made her opinion apparent. “I most certainly will not. ’Tis bad enough I have to share these small quarters with you. There is no privacy and if people found out I had…” She paled, her eyes narrowed with rage. “I absolutely will not!”

He tried not to envision Danni clad only in a bedsheet. Sharing the same room. He gritted his teeth. “Fine. You want to catch a fever and die? Then continue wearing your soaked clothes.”

Her gaze condemned him to hell. “Turn around and I’ll wear the dress in my pack.”

The pressure on his teeth increased. “I shall do you one better.”

Marcus left the building. He did not stop at her shocked gasp, nor did he go far. He trekked around the edge of the small cabin, searching for firewood, or anything else of use. He located an old wooden bowl. How it had come to be deposited on the small porch was a mystery he did not bother to consider. Gratefully, he held it up to the pouring rain, and gulped several refills before feeling quenched. Returning to the building with the bowl, he remained outside in the rain. Determined to give her all the time she needed.

It wasn’t a painless exercise. He unwillingly strained to hear even the smallest rustle of fabric. His imagination took him to places he’d never go. Grasping the bowl tighter, he imagined how her cool skin would feel in his warm hands. His questing fingers warming her as he explored the full curves of her body, the rain beating down outside around them. Even with the deep chill, hot blood managed to reach his groin. A frustrated groan escaped him. This constant state of desire was growing unbearable.

“Are you decent yet?”

She snapped a retort. “If one applies the word loosely.”

He shook water from his head as he ducked into the cabin. His breath caught at the sight of her. She’d opted to wear a dry shift, wrapping the thicker bed covering about her. The yards of fabric were artfully draped about her, covering as much of her as possible. Her hair hung in thick strands—freed and finger-combed of its loose braid. Only the small patch of dirt on her face marred the appearance that she had just stepped from a steaming bath.

“The dress is damp. It would have gotten even worse if I wore it now,” she muttered, turning away.

The arousal he’d been fighting returned with full force. Blinking against it, he averted his gaze, offering her the bowl. “Have a drink, then you may wish to wash your face.”

Her hands shot directly to her cheeks, a look of female panic budding on her face. “What?”

Unable to stop a small smile splitting his lips, he placed the bowl on the chair to catch rainwater. To think she was self-conscious about her appearance in front of
him
. “A bit of dirt. It’s from your attempted attack on me.”

She shot him a venomous glare as he collected a sheet. “According to the peace treaty, the initiating party of said treaty has the right to attack without retaliation in any form, including words.”

That captured his attention. He spun, staring at her with disbelief buried in his half smile. “You cannot be serious.”

Her arms crossed, her face carved of stone. “Perfectly.”

“It’s blatantly ridiculous. I refuse to agree to your treaty.”

“You already have.”

Marcus’s brow lowered. He suspected he was going to have to kill her. Very soon.

“You agreed when you took my hand. It was a bit of an unorthodox handshake to seal the deal, but it still counts.”

“Like hell it does!”

“Ah. I shall have to add Rule Number Seven: No crude words or behavior shall be uttered or undertaken in the presence of the peace treaty’s initiate.”

“
Hell
.” He smirked. “You sound like a
bloody
politician!”

Her face paled and he wondered if he’d pushed her too far. “I apol—”

“Rule Number Thirteen: The agreer of the peace treaty shall make no inferences nor insulting assumptions based on the actions of said truce’s initiator.”

He batted his eyelids. The audacity of her! She walked around the soaked chair, her bedsheet trailing behind her. She carried herself as if she were in the most fashionable ballroom in London, in the very best gown. Not naked beneath linen and a blanket. In a cabin. In the middle of Nowhere, England. She tossed her head, her nostrils flaring with displeasure. “Shall I add another amendment?”

“This is complete nonsense,” he accused.

A devilish gleam entered her caramel gaze, darkening it. “Attempts at an amicable relationship are nonsense?”

A blurt of laughter burst from him. He smiled softly, unfamiliar tenderness stealing through him.

Her face scrunched, her arched brows knitting with mock aggravation. “I am not attempting to be amusing.”

He laughed again, and her cheeks brightened with fury. She grit her teeth with frustration. “You would force a saint to murder.”

He smirked. Two could play this game. “Rule Number Fourteen: The initiate of truce shall not slander any and all deity figures for the purposes of insulting the signer of said truce.”

Her lips parted, stunned. Then she suddenly broke into a smile. Her eyes softened, gleaming with lighthearted humor. The wide grin changed her face, sending a jolt through his heart. He’d made her smile. He, the man who didn’t deserve any civility, had made her smile.

Her eyes shifted to the sheet in his hand. “If I am not allowed to take a chill, then neither are you.”

His enjoyment vanished, replaced by a familiar anxiety. Undressing in front of Danni was not going to happen. He did not show others his body, not ever. The few who had seen it, Weller included, recoiled. If the debutantes thought his face frightening, they would die of horror at his naked form.

Her opinion should not matter to him. She was merely a tool with which to accomplish an unpleasant task. But as he stared at her challenging face, he knew her thoughts did matter, deeply. Had mattered from the very beginning. He did not want to be a surly, ill-reputable beast in her estimation. Despite the fact that he was exactly that. And now a criminal, as well.