Lady Blue (6 page)

“Here you are.” Anthony handed one of the glasses to Harmony. “It’ll do you good. Help you to relax.” Following his own advice, Anthony sipped delicately from his glass and sprawled in the chair opposite the sofa. “There’s no reason why you shouldn’t be as comfortable as possible for as long as you’re here.”

Still reluctant to look Anthony in the eye, or think again about her situation, Harmony decided to stall by tasting the liquor. Feeling no guilt whatsoever—how could she when drinking an alcoholic beverage seemed like the least of her worries?—she brought the glass to her lips.

“Go on,” Anthony urged. “It’ll make you feel better about all this. Also, I promise that if you get a little tipsy, I won’t take advantage of you.”

Did he mock her? A spark of indignation ignited in Harmony’s breast. She threw her head back and tossed half the contents of the glass down her throat. An instant later Anthony was on his feet, pounding her on the back while she choked.

“What … what
is
this?” Harmony managed to ask when the coughing had subsided to a mere sputtering.

“A rather fine brandy, actually,” Anthony replied as he returned to his chair. “I apologize if you didn’t find it to your liking.”

“No, I … I do like it, as a matter of fact.” Harmony stared into the depths of her glass and felt a welcome warmth spread through her midsection, loosening the grip of her anxiety. The burning on her tongue turned into a pleasant aftertaste. She took another sip.

“That’s it. After you’ve had dinner and some wine, you’ll feel even better.”

Anthony rose and refilled their glasses, and Harmony found herself in an increased state of wonder and disbelief. She had been kidnapped, and was now being served an excellent brandy from the hand of her kidnapper. They were going to have dinner and a bottle of wine. It wasn’t real. Couldn’t be happening. She was definitely asleep.

Right. Like she had fallen asleep in the coach, and with her back against the tree.

But it seemed better to treat the situation as if it were a dream. Reality was simply too much to contemplate at the moment. If she forced herself to dwell on the details of her current circumstances, she might very well do what she should have done in the woods and run away screaming at the top of her lungs.

Then Anthony’s fingers brushed hers as he held the bottle over her glass and Harmony had a whole new problem to worry about.

The sensation at the origin of the touch was like the first taste of the brandy on her tongue. It burned. Then it went on a flaming journey through her body. She tried to take a deep breath without appearing obvious. It was impossible. Instead she took another sip of brandy.

No,
she silently and adamantly protested. A stranger’s touch simply could not have such power over her body. And yet she could not take her eyes from his.

He moves as gracefully as a cat,
Harmony thought to herself as she watched Anthony return to his chair. He hung both legs over a padded arm and raised his glass to her in salute.

“Here’s to you, lovely Harmony. To the time you’ll spend as my hostage, as well.”

Was she really a hostage? The thought came to her with sudden clarity despite the fuzziness beginning to cloud her thoughts. What would he do if she really wanted to leave? His behavior was so gentlemanly, she found it difficult to believe he might actually try to physically restrain her, or harm her in any way. He would probably, she mused, apologize for the inconvenience and offer to take her home.

Harmony felt a smile touch her lips. To her horror, she giggled, then raised her glass in response to his toast.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and drank.

The fire had burned low and the chill of the late summer’s evening had crept into the room. But Harmony felt warm. She stared into the dying flames and tried to concentrate on their hiss and crackle. It wasn’t easy.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to remember that she was, indeed, a captive. Anthony, no matter how charming, was a robber and a kidnapper. He was going to extort money from her sister. Moreover, she was, for the first time in her life, alone with a man. In a room at an inn. Drinking spirits. And, apparently, becoming affected by them.

The warmth deepened to a flush Harmony felt rise from her breast to her cheeks. She was in a situation too racy even for the dime novels she read. And she was enjoying every moment.

Again unable to look in Anthony’s direction, Harmony stared into the dregs of her glass. She tilted it to watch the last golden drop run from the bottom to the side. Anthony, alert to her every need, misinterpreted her action.

“You’ve run dry. A fine host I am,” he drawled as he unslung his legs from the arm of the chair. He stood and reached for the decanter.

“Oh, no, no,” Harmony protested. “I’ve had quite enough, thank you.”

“A few more drops,” Anthony urged. “To make one more toast.” “Well …”

Anthony poured a finger into each of their glasses. “With these last drops, I make my final toast.” He touched his glass to Harmony’s. “To a very lucky encounter.”

Harmony watched Anthony over the rim of her glass and wondered if he meant that the luck was in meeting her, or in the prospect of obtaining some of her sister’s money. Perhaps it was only the brandy, but she wanted very badly for it to be her.

“Why did you really do this?” The words were out before she could stop them, her tongue loosened, no doubt, by how much she had had to drink. Her parents had warned her about such things.

Grief and guilt momentarily threatened to overwhelm her. Then she remembered her sister, and what Agatha would have to say about the situation. The thought was abruptly sobering.

“You mean, why did I kidnap you?” Anthony said, pulling Harmony from her reverie. He looked faintly surprised. “I told you. Because, for one night’s work, I’m going to make enough money to retire. For a few weeks, at least.”

Harmony made a valiant effort to keep the disappointment from showing on her face as her spirits plummeted to her feet. She felt a welcome spark of irritation as well.

“But why do you have to steal at all to make a living? Surely you could find some better, easier way. An
honest
way.”

“My dear, this
is
an easy way for a man like me to make money.” Anthony turned from Harmony to stand in front of the fire. “Or were you expecting me to tell you that I do this because I am a pitiful child of poverty, stealing only to feed my aged mother and starving brothers and sisters?” He uttered a short laugh. “Sorry, but I’m afraid I steal because I am simply too lazy to make a living any other way. And the … adventure … shall we say, appeals to me.”

“Yet you … you’re obviously an educated man!” Harmony protested, though not entirely sure why.

“Why, thank you, my dear.” Anthony bowed low from the waist. Long, dark, shining hair fell forward, as if in a caress, across his shoulders. He straightened and brushed it back nonchalantly. “But I see no reason why the educated, as well as the ignorant, shouldn’t be allowed to steal. Do you?”

It occurred to Harmony that it was ridiculous for her to agree. Yet she did.

“Besides,” Anthony continued, “having acquired all the gentlemanly attributes will only make it that much easier for me to take my place in society when I have finally amassed enough money to retire.”

“Is that your purpose in being a thief? To buy your way into society?”

“At least until I can think of something else I’d rather do.” Anthony looked amused. “Why do you ask? Don’t tell me you’re worried about the morals of the man who’s just kidnapped you?”

Harmony winced and quickly looked away. She was making a fool of herself and she knew it, questioning Anthony as if he were an intimate acquaintance instead of the man who had stolen her in order to extort money from her sister.

“I … I’m sorry,” she stammered finally. “I certainly didn’t mean to be so personal.”

The smile, all traces of amusement, vanished from Anthony’s features. He placed his glass on the mantle over the hearth and crossed to the sofa.

“No.
I’m
the one who is sorry,” he said quietly, and sat at Harmony’s side.

Harmony stiffened as her heart started to pound.

She continued to stare into the fire, completely unable to look at the man beside her.

“Please,” he said, voice softly urgent. “I’m sorry. I was teasing you and I shouldn’t have.”

It felt like her heart was going to burst from her throat. Harmony forced herself to turn her head and look Anthony in the eye. She was faintly alarmed to note his brow was furrowed and his eyes had narrowed. Though he looked at her, his attention seemed inwardly directed, as if he fought some inner battle. He leaned forward, bringing his face mere inches from hers.

“Perhaps, Harmony,” he whispered, “I said what I did because I’d like to think you might … you might care what happens to me, if only a little. In spite of what I’ve done.”

He was too close, too near. She stared at his lips and licked her own. The pounding of her heart had heated her blood uncomfortably. In a nervous gesture, she played with the heavy chignon at the nape of her neck. Her finger caught in one of the pins and pulled it loose. Her hair tumbled free.

The indrawn hiss of Anthony’s breath was the only sound in the room besides the dying crackles of the fire. He stared at the red satin curtain of hair that ran like a cascade of bright water over her shoulders and breast to pool in her lap. With it unbound, he was able to see the myriad of colors in it, light reds and dark, and strands the color of teak. Unable to help himself, he reached out to touch it, and it was as fine as he had imagined it would be. He raised his eyes to her face, captured at once by the stunning, gemlike blue of her eyes. He longed to touch the tip of her small, feminine nose, the shallow valley beneath it, the cupid’s bow of her upper lip and its generous, pouting partner …

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

And you are the most handsome man,
Harmony sighed silently. She no longer cared about the details of her circumstances. And her dim and dismal future seemed very far away. She cared about nothing except that his lips were coming nearer, and nearer still. Her lids grew heavy and her own lips parted in anticipation. Her entire being was concentrated on the sensations she would experience in the next moments, when their flesh touched at last …

“Damn!” Anthony swore softly at the sound of a knock.

He rose slowly from the sofa and Harmony had to force herself to try and breathe normally. Especially when she gazed up at the deerskin-clad figure standing right in front of her.

She had, apparently, had the same effect on Anthony as he had on her. Except that the results of his arousal were far more apparent.

Harmony’s very blood and bones turned to water as she stared at the impressive bulge at the crotch of Anthony’s breeches. Oblivious, he looked toward the door.

“A fine time Maggie chose to bring our dinner.”

Maggie. With a jolt of alarm that brought her sharply back to her senses, Harmony wondered if it was, indeed, the inn’s mistress. What if it wasn’t?

“Wait, Anthony,” she found herself saying. “What if it isn’t Maggie? What if …?”

What was she saying? How could she even think to protect this man? Before she could begin to answer, Anthony had moved to her side. Softly, briefly, he touched her cheek.

“You’re a very special lady,” he whispered. “Thank you for answering a question I had a little earlier.”

The knock was repeated. When Anthony turned to answer it, Harmony ducked behind the door to the bedroom. It wouldn’t do for the jolly landlady, with her repertoire of winks and nods, to see such a betraying flush on the cheeks of the woman Anthony had in his room.

There was a babble of conversation, the clinking of glassware, and the ring of pewter plates being set on a table. Enticing aromas drifted to Harmony’s nose. Her stomach rumbled. Moments later Anthony peered around the edge of the door.

“You can come out now.” He grinned and crooked his arm to lead her to the table that had been set in front of the fire. He held her chair. “Make yourself comfortable, my lady, and with my own hands I shall serve you.”

The meat pie steamed when Anthony dug into it. More delicious aromas swirled into the air.

“I’m sorry this isn’t Chateaubriand,” he apologized without a hint of remorse. “But it
is
the best that Maggie has to offer. Here you are.” Anthony set a plate in front of Harmony. “Here also is the inn’s best wine, a rather nice claret, though personally I prefer the wines of Bourgogne.”

Harmony watched him pour a ruby-colored liquid into a clear glass goblet. Chateaubriand. Wines of Bourgogne. Excellent brandy and cut-crystal decanters. Impeccable manners and educated speech. She looked at his hands.

Not a callous, nor a speck of dirt. The nails were neat, almost as if they had been manicured. His hair, though long, appeared well cut and cared for.

“Why are you frowning?” Anthony inquired, pulling Harmony once again from her reverie.

“I … it’s nothing. Nothing. I’m sorry. This is a very nice dinner.”