Innocence Lost (2 page)

"Release me at once,” Megan demanded, tugging at her arm. Fear and anger swelled in equal measures. They stood midway between the seven-mile distance separating the Kenbrook and Claremont mansions. No one would hear if she screamed for help.

Tipping her head up, Megan started to issue another demand for freedom when mud dripped into her eyes, blinding her. “Blast,” she hissed, blinking furiously. It burned like the devil. And wiping her eyes with her muddy hands would only make things worse. This thought came at the same time she realized the man hadn't let her go. She struggled.

"Cease your squirming, scamp, and tell me where this horse came from."

"I'll not tell you anything.” She continued to pull and twist, certain she'd have bruises for a month. “Now let me go.” Tears leaked from her stinging eyes.

"You shall not be released until you tell me exactly where you got this horse.” His deep voice thundered with impatience.

She opened her mouth to inform the blasted man that this was her brother's horse, and they were standing on her father's land, but she thought better of it. She had no idea who this man was or what his intentions were. What if he abducted her? Or worse? She swallowed hard. No one was around to stop him. With renewed determination, she fought even harder.

"What the hell...? Cease your struggling at once,” the man barked. “You're getting mud everywhere.” As if to verify his statement, a glob of mud plopped right on those shiny boots.

"You have no business with me.” A loud rip sounded in her coat's shoulder seam.

"The hell I don't. You stole my horse."

"What?” She squinted up at his blurry face in disbelief.

"Don't act innocent, little thief, admit you—"

"Thief? Thief?” she sputtered, then kicked the man square in his shin.

He grunted in pain, then issued a nasty-sounding growl. Oh hell, now she'd done it. Before she realized it, he was dragging her away. “What do you think you're doing?” she squeaked, unable to mask her fear.

He didn't answer. She blinked rapidly. The tears helped wash her eyes, and they didn't sting quite so bad. Her vision began to clear, and she could make out the stream ahead. Now, if she could just escape this madman.

After several more steps, he halted. “All right, little thief, this is your last chance. Either you answer my questions, or I'll throw you in."

She went rigid. He was insane!

"Did you steal the horse alone, or had you assistance?"

"I didn't steal—” The man took a step toward the stream. “All right,” she said, digging her heels into the marshy ground, “I shall tell what you wish to hear.” When he stopped and turned, she continued. “I run with a menacing band of cut-throats,” she lied. “Indeed, they wouldn't think twice about carving your liver out with a spoon and eating it for dinner.” She paused and turned toward the forest, pretending to scan the greenery. “They're surrounding us this very moment. You really ought to release me. Perhaps I can convince them to spare you.” She faced his tall, blurry form once again and prayed he would believe her.

The man expelled a long sigh. “My patience is running thin, scamp. Just admit you stole the horse from my estate, and I might not send for the magistrate."

Megan pulled at her arm, testing his hold. Blast! She might as well have been clapped in iron. “And where, pray, is your estate?"

"Three miles from across the stream,” he said, nodding east.

With an unmannerly snort, she shook her head. “Impossible, that estate belongs to the Duke of Claremont."

Clamping his hands around her upper arms, the man leaned down and snarled, “It is not impossible since
I am
the Duke of Claremont.” While Megan's stunned brain absorbed those words, the blasted man lifted her off the ground and pitched her into the stream.

And that was terribly unfortunate. She couldn't swim.

Frigid water engulfed her and pulled her down. Thousands of icy needles pierced her skin. Unable to withhold her panic, Megan flung her arms about in a desperate attempt to rise to the surface. She kicked her legs, all the while thanking God she had swiped the stable lad's pants. A dress and petticoats would have pulled her straight down. Then again, she probably wouldn't be in this mess if she had worn a dress. Her head bobbed up once. She opened her mouth to scream, but swallowed water instead. Something pulled at her foot and down she went again. The more she struggled to rise, the lower she sank. Frantic, she peeled away her thick coat. But it didn't help.

Oh, God, she was drowning. Her lungs burned.

Then an arm slipped around her waist. She was lifted out of the water, choking and gasping, and set down on the coarse grass. The air she'd thought warm earlier sliced a frosty path through her skin and turned her bones to ice. Shivering, she wiped the wet strands of hair from her eyes, realizing her cap and hairpins were gone. She lifted her head. Her vision cleared, and she swallowed hard. Dear God, he was even more handsome than his portrait in the gallery at Claremont. Then it occurred to her that the duke might recognize her. She turned away. Oh, no, he mustn't recognize her, not looking like this!

"You're a...a girl!"

Nicholas stumbled back a step. With the mud cleansed away, he discovered that this was no boy, but a young woman, closer to twenty years of age than ten. A stunning young woman. Below her gracefully arched brows were thick, black lashes, spiked with droplets of water, drawing attention to exquisite amethyst eyes. Her skin, a creamy peach without blemish, made his fingers itch to caress the silky texture. And her lips were...

He frowned, noticing her trembling, blue-tinged lips. Then he realized her entire body was trembling.

"Take your clothes off,” he ordered, then gritted his teeth against the visions those words evoked. His eyes moved down the pale column of her throat, settling on the generous mounds quivering from the cold. He couldn't ignore what was plainly visible beneath the soaked white shirt plastered against her chest. Definitely closer to twenty than ten.

"I beg your p-pardon?” she gasped after a lengthy pause, anger building on her face.

No way in bloody hell was he going to repeat those words. He turned to his horse. “You will catch your death if you aren't warm and dry soon."

"And wh-whose fault w-would that b-be?"

Nicholas sighed and turned back. It took a great deal of strength to keep his eyes from straying down. “Do not place the blame upon my shoulders, lady,” he said, tapping his chest with his fingertips. “You should have answered my questions."

"Well you d-didn't have to th-throw m-m-me into the s-stream.” Sarcasm laced her words, even through chattering teeth.

He swung around. “Nor did I have to dive in and rescue you,” he said over his shoulder, then hurried to his horse. Why the hell hadn't he realized she was a girl?

"W-What are you d-doing?"

"I have a spare set of garments,” he explained without bothering to glance at the brazen little temptress. He rummaged through his saddlebag.

"I'll n-not take them."

Stifling a groan, Nicholas turned and folded his arms over his chest. “You must get warm and dry.” He also needed her covered. Fast. Seeing her breasts in such a revealing way made him crazed.

"S-So must y-you.” That unselfish response surprised him. Then he noticed the water droplets dripping from the ends of his hair, and the chill sinking deep into his skin. “I h-have a b-blanket,” she added and nodded toward the other horse.

Nicholas recalled his mission of finding his lost stallion. The saddle. Why hadn't he paid any attention to that earlier? He shuffled closer and found that it didn't belong to him. Although crafted of the finest materials, obviously the saddle of a very wealthy gentleman, it wasn't his. For the first time, doubt crept up on him. He removed the blanket and turned to the beauty shivering on the grass several yards away. She looked helpless and fragile. Could she really be a horse thief?

With the thick wool in his hands, feeling like a foolish dunderhead, Nicholas approached her. She needed to get warm; his questions could wait.

Kneeling before her, he unfolded the blanket and spread it across her trembling shoulders. She lifted a thankful gaze and favored him with a smile. God's breath, she was stunning. A fresh scent of jasmine rose up from her damp hair to tease his senses. He went still. Transfixed. A man under a spell. The desire flared within him to kiss her and heat her cold lips until they turned hot and pink. Nicholas could not escape the temptation.

Megan had been shivering so long and hard, her stomach muscles began to cramp. And she could feel her wet hair growing stiff. So when the duke spread the blanket over her shoulders, bringing a bit of relief from the cold, she smiled. As she watched his eyes grow dark and heavy-lidded, however, her smile dissolved. He lowered his head, and her breath lodged in her throat. She sat frozen, startled to realize he meant to kiss her, and unable to move away.

When his lips settled over hers, sweet, sweet warmth flowed into her, expelling the brutal cold. Her pulse roared in her ears, eclipsing all sound, and her insides melted down to her toes. How many times in the gallery at Claremont had she dreamed of his kiss? A hundred? A thousand?

His tongue brushed against her lips and Megan gasped, stunned by the lightning-bolt sensation. As he swept the interior of her mouth with his velvety probe, pleasure cascaded in waves throughout her body.

She heard him moan at the same time his arms came around her. He pulled her to him, his coat grazing the firm, sensitive peaks under her thin shirt and chemise. Never had anything felt so exquisite. His hold tightened around her, his tongue delved deeper, and she was lost in the intimacy of her first kiss.

When the duke lifted his mouth from hers, disappointment jabbed her in the stomach. If her bones hadn't turned to jelly, she would have pulled him back to her.

"Tell me your name,” he said, his breath a warm caress against her lips.

As she formed the sound of her name, Megan wrenched her eyes open, realizing what she was about to reveal. What was she doing with this man? Nicholas Bradshaw, the Duke of Claremont, her brother's enemy. She shouldn't be here with him...in the forest...alone...attired most inappropriately...kissing him!

Dear God, this man had the power to ruin her. With just a few details of what had happened today, she would be ostracized from society. Completely and forever.

Her parents would be devastated.

She shot to her feet, the blanket pooling to the ground. “I must go.” The duke's gaze lowered from her face and settled at a spot below her neck. She glanced down and gasped, wrapping her arms around her body. Oh, good Lord! She had no idea how revealing a wet white shirt could be. If she didn't leave this second, she would die of mortification. “I must go."

"You are not going anywhere."

She gasped. “You, sir, have no—"

"The horse,” he nodded to where Titan was nipping at some grass. “Where did you get him?” His voice sounded funny, a little raspy.

She was about to tell the blasted man the truth when she recalled one important detail. The Duke of Claremont was no friend of Julian's. “The horse does not belong to you."

He cocked a brow. “He looks just like the one stolen from my stables earlier."

She shook. From anger. From the cold. Mostly from anger. He was never this mulish in her daydreams. “Your Grace, I assure you, this horse does not belong to you.” She tried to keep from sounding cross, but found it difficult with a clenched jaw.

"Then who does it belong to?” He folded his arms, that damn brow rising even higher.

"This is absurd.” She shook her head and stepped in Titan's direction.

The duke blocked her path. “You are not going anywhere, lady."

Megan found the heat of his body surprisingly alluring. She had the strange urge to move into his arms. How ridiculous. He had just pitched her into the stream. And then kissed her!

He lifted his hand and grazed her cheek with his fingertips. That strange expression once again crossed his face. His words stopped her from batting his hand away. “You are so beautiful."

Tears threatened. Blasted, silly tears. Megan had waited so long to hear those words.
So are you,
she wanted to say. Almost said. But her throat clogged as memories and feelings swirled within her. Memories of standing before his portrait at Claremont and pretending to hear those words from him. Of her smiling and batting her eyelashes, playing the coy debutante. Of him professing his love and proposing marriage in a single breath. For years, she had envisioned the scenes in her head. Although it had been months since she last visited his portrait, she could recall every detail. She lifted her gaze to his. The same shade of blue. Then they grew dark and heavy-lidded. He started to lower his head. He meant to kiss her. Again!

A thought wheedled to the surface. Her brother hated this man. She could not be caught with him! Using every ounce of strength she possessed, Megan ran to Titan. Paying no heed to the duke shouting for her to return, she raced from the meadow. Escaping him would be easy this time. But not the next. Not when she was about to be launched into society.

Dear God, how would she escape ruination?

Nicholas watched her go, her taste still on his lips. Even fifteen rounds at Gentleman Jackson's had never left him so disoriented. When he pulled her out of the stream and found her to be female, he'd been speechless. Her wet clothes clung to her body, revealing curves that would drive a saint mad with want. Other than pure lust, he hadn't the faintest idea what made him kiss her. And what a kiss. He licked his lips and closed his eyes. She tasted like strawberries.

He ran to his horse. He would find her. Mad, yes. Crazy, definitely. Insane, probably. But something compelled him to go after her. He jumped on his horse and it sprang forward.

She had disappeared in the thicket of trees opposite the main road, and after an hour of searching, he decided to return to his estate. His hands tightened on the reins and he gnashed his teeth together. How the deuce she had managed to escape him, he would never know. She must be an accomplished rider to have out-maneuvered him. But that just brought about more questions. With one last sweep of his surroundings, he turned his horse around. He intended to have some answers.