Jacquie D'Alessandro - [Regency Historical 04] (21 page)

“No.” She rested her palm against his cheek. “You…dazzled me. Stole my breath.”

“As you stole mine. And dazzled me.” After dropping a quick kiss to the tip of her nose, he said, “I’ll get dressed so we can look for your knees.” He gently released her, and her upraised skirts unfurled like the curtain coming down after the opera. When he bent to retrieve his clothing, Victoria knew she should turn away to afford him some privacy, but she simply couldn’t tear her gaze from him. And surely she should feel some remorse, a flicker of shame, but all she felt was exhilaration. If she felt bad about anything, it was that this interlude was over.

As she watched him pull on his breeches, she couldn’t help but notice his still aroused state. Clearing her throat, she said, “You allowed me great freedom with your body.”

“It was my pleasure.”

“And mine as well.”

He shrugged into his shirt and smiled. “I’m glad.”

“You, um, didn’t take the same degree of liberties with me.”

“An effort that cost me greatly, I assure you.”

“May I ask why you…made such an effort?”

He halted in the act of fastening his shirt, and his gaze sharpened. “Are you asking me why I didn’t make love to you?”

Warmth flooded her cheeks. “I’m wondering why you didn’t touch me as I touched you.”

“It’s the same question, because if I had touched you in that way, we absolutely would have made love.”

“And you didn’t want that.”

His brows shot up. “On the contrary, I believe it was painfully obvious that I did. Not making love to you was solely a result of me considering you, not myself.” Leaving his shirt flapping open, he erased the distance between them. Lightly clasping her upper arms, his gaze searched hers. “Victoria, surely you realize that if we were to make love, I risk nothing, whereas you risk everything. Regardless of what else you may think of me, I am not a man to simply take pleasure without thought to the consequences. And to be brutally blunt, the time to ponder such decisions is not when one is sexually aroused or basking in the afterglow of pleasure.” His fingers flexed on her arms. “Something happens to me when I touch you…” He shook his head. “…hell, something happens to me when I’m in the same room as you. You impair my control. My good judgment.”

A thrill ran through her at his admission. “There is no point in me denying that I suffer from the same ‘something’ as you.”

Any thought that her admission would please him vanished with the troubled look in his eyes. “Then there is much for you to consider. And it’s best that we return to the house now.”

Releasing her, he stepped away to finish dressing. With a start she realized that it had grown quite late, the shadows of the approaching dusk an obscuring gray under the dense cover of trees. She brushed the wrinkles from her gown and repaired as best she could the havoc his hands had wreaked on her hair. When they both finished, he extended his arm with a courtly flourish, indicating she should precede him on the narrow trail leading back to the main path. As she moved past him, however, he reached out and snagged her hand, raising it to his lips. Although the light kiss he brushed over the backs of her fingers could be described as proper, there was nothing proper about the wicked gleam in his eyes.

“Just so you know, Victoria,” he said, his warm breath caressing her skin, “regardless of what other decisions might be made, I fully intend to have my revenge for the sweet torture I endured this afternoon at your hands. And I shall have it when you least expect it.”

Whoosh
. Good lord, she needed to carry a bucket of water about so as to douse the flames this man ignited. He started down the narrow path, clearly expecting her to follow, no easy task when he’d reduced both her mind and knees to porridge with his announcement. But the encroaching darkness snapped her from her stupor and she hurried after him. The trail veered, and as soon as she rounded the bend, she saw him standing in the path ahead,
clearly waiting for her. Her gaze narrowed on his face and she moved forward.
Humph
. Obviously he thought he could just toss out provocative statements then saunter away. Well, she’d show him that—

“Victoria!”

Nathan’s shouted warning came just as she was grabbed from behind by a muscled arm that trapped her against a hard chest. She saw the silver glint of a knife just as the blade was pressed against her throat.

“O
ne sound, one movement out of you,” the man growled next to Victoria’s ear, “and you’ll seal your own fate.”

Terrified, she clamped her lips shut and ceased struggling, her gaze searching out Nathan.

Nathan started forward but skidded to a halt when the man jammed the knife tighter against her throat. His gaze flicked to hers and he shot her a look that clearly indicated she should listen to the madman with the knife.

“One more step and I’ll slit her ear to ear,” the man
threatened in a tone that slithered dread down her spine.

“Let her go,” Nathan said in a frigid, steel-edged voice Victoria had never heard from him before.

“Happy to oblige ye, after I get what I want.”

“I’ll give whatever you want.
After
you let her go.”

“’Fraid it don’t work like that, seein’ as how I’m the one holdin’ the blade to her throat. Now, speakin’ of blades, I want ye to slip yours out of yer boot, real nice and slow, then toss it in the bushes. You make any fast moves, Doctor, and the lady’ll suffer.”

“You know who I am,” Nathan stated in a deadly voice.

“Who ye are
and
who ye were.” He jerked Victoria tighter against him. “Do as I said.”

Scarcely able to breathe with the blade pressed so tight against her throat, she watched Nathan, his gaze never shifting from the man’s face, slowly slip a knife from his boot, then toss it lightly toward the bushes. “Now let her go.”

“As soon as ye hand over the letter.”

“What letter?”

With the flick of his wrist the man nicked the skin beneath Victoria’s jaw and she gasped. Warm wetness trickled down her neck and black spots danced before her eyes at the realization that it was her own blood.

“Yer stupid question just gave the lady a scar. If ye ask another, it’ll cost her an ear. If ye claim ye don’t have what I want, she’ll lose her life. Understand?”

A brief pause, then Nathan said, “Yes.”

“I want the letter that was in the lady’s bag.
Now
. Hand it over, nice and slow, and I’ll be on my way.”

Dear God. She was going to die. Nathan didn’t have the letter
here
. She knew he’d try to save her, but what could he possibly do with no weapon and no letter? Her life was
going to end. Here. Now. At the hands of this horrible man. Who would probably kill Nathan, too. Stark terror at the realization edged black around her vision.

“How do I know you’ll let her go once I give you what you want?”

“Guess ye’ll just have to take my word for it.” The evil chuckle next to her ear raised prickles all over her clammy skin. “Don’t worry, Doctor. My word’s as good as yours. Honor among thieves, you know.”

Drawing what was surely her last breath, she watched Nathan slowly reach down again, this time pulling a folded piece of ivory vellum from his boot. Shock trembled through her. The letter. He had it. Hope flooded her, pushing aside the fear that had momentarily crippled her.

But surely Nathan wouldn’t really give the letter, the map, to this brigand. Surely any second he would utilize some ingenious spy tactic to disarm and capture this thief. Instead, he slowly straightened and extended his arm, holding the note between his thumb and index fingers.

“Toss it,” her captor growled. “So it lands right nice near my feet. If it don’t, the lady will pay.”

The note sailed through the air. With her chin pointing nearly toward the sky, Victoria couldn’t see where the letter landed, but since her throat remained uncut, she assumed Nathan’s aim had been true.

“Now, on the ground, facedown,” the man ordered Nathan.

All right, any second now Nathan would employ one of his spy tricks to save them and disarm the man. She kept her gaze trained on his face, waiting for some sort of signal, some indication of what he wanted her to do, but his gaze never wavered from the man holding her. She
watched, every nerve alert. Nathan lowered himself to the dirt path as instructed.

“Hands behind your head, Doctor.”

Nathan clasped his hands behind his head.

A fury unlike anything she’d ever before experienced erupted in Victoria. Damnation, he was going to get away with this!

“Now, little lady,” her captor said, his hot breath by her ear, “you’re going to walk over to the doctor and lie facedown with yer hands behind your head, just like him. Make a sound or do anything other than that and I’ll sink this blade right between yer shoulder blades. And the doctor will be next.”

She’d never felt so helpless or filled with rage in her life. She longed to scream, struggle, but she feared he’d carry out his threat. Raised up on her toes as she was, she had no leverage to even stomp on his foot. But something inside wouldn’t allow her to do
nothing
. Perhaps if she could shove the note out of the thief’s reach, it would give Nathan a chance to act. In a blind attempt to do so, she kicked her leg to the side.

But at that precise instant her captor released her, shoving her roughly away from him. She stumbled forward, her boot catching on the hem of her gown. With an involuntary cry, she pitched forward, falling hard on her knees, breaking her fall with her hands. She skidded forward, landing on her stomach with a jarring thud, knocking the breath from her lungs.

She’d barely realized what had happened when gentle hands grasped her shoulders and turned her over. She looked up into Nathan’s face, his expression stark with worry.

“Victoria,” he said in a low, urgent voice, his gaze riveting on her throat while he yanked off his shirt. She
touched her fingers to the stinging spot and felt warm stickiness.

“I’m bleeding.”

“Yes, I know. I need to see how badly.”

“Where is—”

“He’s gone.”

“But he has—”

“Shhhh. It doesn’t matter. Don’t worry.”

“But you must—”

“Take care of you. Don’t talk. Just tilt your head this way a bit for me…that’s it.” She felt him wipe something soft…must have been his shirt…against her stinging throat. “The cut is small,” he said in a calm voice tinged with relief. “I’m going to apply pressure to it to stop the bleeding. Stay still and relax.”

She remained still, although how she was supposed to relax remained a mystery, and watched him fold over a section of his shirt, which he gently but firmly pressed to the skin beneath her jaw. Holding the material in place with one hand, he turned his attention to the rest of her, examining the scrapes on her palms, then lifting her skirt to gently probe her sore knees. He then ran his hand over her, pressing here and there, asking if this or that hurt. This was an aspect of him she’d never seen—his professional side. His touch was that of a doctor seeing to a patient—tender, skillful and impersonal.

“Nothing serious,” he reported, giving her a reassuring smile. “You’ll be sore for a day or two, but I have some salve that will help.” His gaze shifted to her neck. “Now, let’s take another look at that cut.”

After slowly releasing the pressure, he removed the makeshift bandage. “The bleeding has nearly stopped.” He refolded his shirt then settled the material back against
her neck. Taking her hand, he set it on the bandage. “Do you feel strong enough to apply pressure to that?”

“Of course. I’m not the hothouse flower you think I am.” She’d meant to sound firm, but to her mortification her bottom lip quivered and hot moisture pushed behind her eyes, both made worse by the tender smile he gave her.

“My darling Victoria, you are the bravest girl I’ve ever met.”

“I tried to be—”

“You were magnificent.”

A fat tear hovered on her lashes, blurring her vision then dribbling down her cheek. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m not at all a weepy sort of female.” Another tear overflowed and she sniffled. “Really, I’m not.”

He brushed away the moisture with gentle fingers. “I know, sweetheart. You’re a warrior. But even warriors get the sniffles after a tough battle.”

“They do?”

“Absolutely.” And with that, he scooped her up into his arms.

“Wh-What are you doing?”

“Bringing you back to the house.” He started briskly down the path. “Hold on.”

Victoria wrapped her free arm around his neck, her hand settling on his warm, bare skin. “I can walk,” she felt compelled to protest.

“I know. But it makes me feel better to hold you, so humor me. Please.”

“Well, as long as you said ‘please.’” She sighed and snuggled closer to him, resting her cheek against his strong, warm shoulder. Her eyelids drooped, and suddenly she felt as if all her strength evaporated, leaving her ex
hausted. But not so exhausted that she couldn’t ask, “That man knew you. Did you know him?”

“No.”

“How do you suppose he found out about the letter?”

“I don’t know. And quite frankly, right now I’m more concerned with getting you properly seen to than I am about wondering about the bloody bastard who injured you. We can discuss this after I’ve treated you and you’re safely ensconced by a warm fire. For now, just concentrate on keeping pressure on that cut.”

She vaguely noted his ungentlemanly use of an obscenity, but since she felt so drained, she decided not to take issue with him.

When they arrived at the house, they were greeted by a stunned Langston. After assuring the wide-eyed butler that she wasn’t seriously injured, Nathan said tersely, “I need hot water, clean linen strips, and brandy delivered to my bedchamber immediately.” He then headed up the stairs.

“
Your
bedchamber?” Victoria said in a scandalized whisper. “You cannot bring me to
your
bedchamber.”

“The hell I can’t. It’s where my medical supplies are, and I’m not leaving you to fetch them.”

“I would be perfectly fine alone for a few moments.”

“No doubt. But I wouldn’t be. And there’s no point in arguing since we’ve already arrived.”

Nathan dipped his knees to open the door, which he purposely left ajar for propriety’s sake. Not that he cared a jot about propriety, but he didn’t want to cause Victoria any undue stress. Swiftly crossing the blue and maroon Axminster rug, he strode directly to his bed, where he gently lowered her to the counterpane.

“Keep the pressure on just a bit longer,” he said, keeping his features perfectly composed as he touched his fin
gers to her hand, which held his folded shirt to her neck. His shirt that bore crimson streaks of her blood. “I’m just going to get my medical bag and wash my hands.”

He walked to the ceramic pitcher and basin set in the corner next to the massive cherrywood wardrobe where he’d stored his medical bag. Although he hated to take his eyes off her for even a second, he kept his back to her while he poured water into the basin and scrubbed his hands with soap. God knows he needed a moment to compose himself.

Bloody hell, if he lived to be one hundred he would never forget the sickening sight of her with that knife held to her neck. The only time he’d ever come close to feeling such naked fear was when he found Gordon and Colin shot. And even that didn’t seem to compare with the stark terror he’d experienced watching that madman materialize seemingly from nowhere, detaching himself from the shadows behind her, that flash of lethal steel as he grabbed her. Her blood trailing down her neck to stain her gown.

His fault, damn it,
his
fault. He’d been too far away to protect her. Why had he let her out of his sight for even an instant? He’d thought she was right behind him. When he turned and discovered she wasn’t, he should have gone back. But he’d seen her in the next instant, walking toward him, and he stood and watched her approach, loving the way she moved. The look of her. And then the shock of that moving shadow—

He squeezed his eyes tightly shut to banish the nauseating image. Later. He could dwell on it later, along with the retribution he would hand that bastard when he found him. And he had every intention of finding him. Right now she needed a doctor.

A knock sounded and he turned to see Langston enter
carrying a huge tray bearing a basin of steaming water, linen, and brandy. “On the bedside table, Dr. Nathan?”

“Yes.” Drying his hands, Nathan asked, “Where is Lady Delia?”

“In the drawing room with your father.”

“Good. I’ve no wish to alarm them, especially given the nonthreatening nature of Lady Victoria’s injuries. Give me a quarter hour to clean and dress her cuts, then I’ll come down and tell them myself.”

“Yes, Dr. Nathan.” Langston cleared his throat. “You might wish to don a shirt before you do so.”

Nathan looked down at his bare chest, nonplussed. “Good idea. Thank you.”

With a nod, the butler quit the room, leaving the door ajar. Nathan opened the wardrobe, grabbed his medical bag in one hand and a folded, clean shirt with the other, then crossed to the bed. He looked down at Victoria’s pale face, and his chest constricted at the sight. Summoning his professional mien, he set his medical bag on the floor next to the bed and offered her his best doctorly smile.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, shrugging into his shirt.

“A bit sore,” she admitted with a wan smile. “Thirsty.”

After hastily tucking in his shirttails, he poured her a generous finger of brandy. Hoisting a hip onto the edge of the bed, he held the glass to her lips. “Sip this.”

She obediently sipped, then wrinkled her nose. “
Blech
. That is absolutely wretched.”

“Actually, given my father’s taste in brandy and the fact that I, um, found numerous cases of Napolean’s finest, I suspect it’s really excellent brandy.”

She raised a brow. “
Found?
Where does one
find
cases of French brandy?”

He shrugged and adopted his most innocent expression. “Oh, here and there,”

“Hmmm. Well, if this is the finest Napolean could do, no wonder he was exiled.”

A laugh rumbled in Nathan’s throat, a welcome relief from the tension gripping him. “It may not be to your taste, but it will help relieve your aches and pains, so sip.”

She shot him a potent glare, but obeyed. When the glass was empty, she said, “That vile stuff will burn a hole in my stomach.”