Suzanne Robinson (31 page)

All at once she was glad that Renquist had dragged her here despite her protests. It gave her an opportunity to tell Connor Reed exactly how much she despised him. She squared her shoulders, intending to deliver a set-down so brilliantly stinging that it would be repeated at garden parties for months to come, but Morrow spoke first.

“Why, do you know our Lady Juliana, Captain Gabriel?”

Gabriel
? Juliana glanced around as she wondered if another naval officer had joined them. But the Earl still looked straight at Connor. “But Lord Morrow, his name is not—”

“—not one the lady expected to hear at tonight’s party,” Connor finished quickly as he stepped between them. “We have known each other for years, but I fear my identity is as much a surprise to her as it is to the rest of you. I can only plead that I was under orders not to tell a soul. Come, forgive an old friend his deception.”

Connor met her gaze, his icy eyes bright with unspoken warning. But if he thought a mere look would silence her, he was very much mistaken. Four years of anger boiled up inside her, four years of buried humiliation. “
Friend
?” she repeated, seething. “How
dare
you? How dare you even speak to me after what you did? I’ll have you in irons—”

Her words ended in a yelp as Connor neatly tromped on her foot.

“Heavens, look what I’ve done,” the captain said, though to Juliana’s ears his distress sounded as false as his name. “Lord Morrow, could you fetch a doctor? I fear I might have injured this poor lady.”

The poor lady feared it as well, but she wasn’t about to let Connor get the upper hand. Balanced on one foot and biting her lip against the pain, she growled, “Reed, you slimy son of a—”

“And delirious, too,” Connor interrupted. “She believes I am someone else. Quick, Morrow. Fetch the doctor!”

The earl lord scuttled off to find help. Juliana turned to the rest of the crowd, determined to tell
someone
who this man really was, but Connor scooped her up in his arms and carried her behind the curtain. He called over his shoulder to the people who hovered nearby, saying that the lady needed some breathing room. Alarmed, Juliana saw the crowd back away before the heavy curtain fell behind them and blocked her view.

Beyond the curtain was a narrow, deserted hallway that led to the back of the house. Connor carried Juliana to the servant’s stairs, where he deposited her on the bottom steps. “Did I hurt you?”

“ ’Tis a bit late to be asking that,” Juliana fired back, barely able to speak. She’d thought his spurious actions of four years past were beyond compare. Apparently she’d been wrong. He’d compounded his already unforgivable behavior by stomping on her foot, sweeping her up, and carrying her off like a common barmaid. Had the man no shame? She bent forward and nursed her injured foot, burning with an emotion she told herself was simple fury. “I would not be surprised if you have crippled me for life.”

Connor’s hard mouth ticked up. He’d wounded her pride, but nothing more. “No doubt,” he agreed as he sat on the step just below her. He drew up his knee and leaned back against the wall, taking an unaccountable pleasure in watching her fuss over her abused foot. “It is your own fault. You should have heeded my warning glance.”

“Captain
Gabriel’s
warning glance,” she corrected. “Where did you come upon such a ridiculous name?”

“It suits my purpose as well as any. Here, you are only making your foot worse by doing that. Let me.”

Before she could protest he took her foot, stripped off her flimsy slipper, pushed her skirt up to a scandalous height and started to massage the injury. Juliana wanted to jerk away, but she couldn’t deny that his ministrations made her feel better. Much better. His strong, gentle hands seemed to magically draw the pain from her body. Anger and propriety told her to pull away, but her practical core reminded her that if she did so, she would be the one in pain, not Connor. With great reluctance she allowed him to minister to her ankle. At least, she told herself it was with great reluctance. “I am allowing this only because I fear permanent injury.”

“Of course,” he said as a hint of his old humor crept back into his voice. “You were not so angry the first time I stepped on your foot. Do you remember?”

How could she forget? She had been ten and Connor fifteen when her father had put into the Indian port of Bombay for repairs on their ship. Bored by the stuffy English children she’d been sent to play with, she’d stolen away to explore the back streets on her own. Wide-eyed she’d wound through the narrow alleys, piling wonder on wonder as she took in the festive sights and rich, mysterious smells of the exotic Hindu City. Somewhere in the midst of the adventure she’d come nose to nose with a hissing cobra. She’d stood transfixed in horror as the creature gracefully rose up and unfurled its killing hood.

Then, out of nowhere, Connor appeared. He put himself in front of her, inadvertently stepping on her foot while driving the snake into the shadows. Afterwards it did not matter to Juliana that her toe was black and blue for a week, or that the cobra turned out to be a harmless family pet, or that her father had to bribe the owner to keep Connor from being handed over to the authorities for reckless mischief. All that mattered to her was that Connor had again risked his life to save hers.

She shut her eyes, fighting a stab of pain that had nothing to do with her injured foot. “That was a long time ago, and it has nothing to do with your
cowardly
action tonight. Be assured that I still mean to tell everyone who you really are.”

“Indeed,” Connor commented, looking far too calm for Juliana’s liking. “And exactly what will you tell them? That their guest of honor, one of England’s most worshiped and triumphant heroes, is really a beggar boy who got caught with his hand in the till? Do you think Morrow or his friends will thank you for the knowledge? Do you think the highly placed officials who have spent so much time and trouble to bring me here will thank you?”

Juliana swallowed. “ ’Tis the truth.”

Connor leaned closer, his eyes narrowing. “No, my innocent, ’tis
war
, and truth is always one of the first casualties. The Admiralty wouldn’t care if I had robbed a dozen men and murdered a dozen others. I am their victor, their conquering champion, their highly publicized and carefully promoted hero of the hour. The few who remember me in Whitehall have already been cautioned to keep silent about my past. If they’d known you would be here tonight you would have been told the same.”

“I would not have agreed,” she said, though her words came out weaker than she’d hoped.

This time Connor’s smile was as cold as his eyes. “You
will
agree. Not because it is right, but because no one wants to hear anything else. They don’t give a damn about who I was—they only care that I am winning battles in a war where others are winning too few. Right now England needs all of her heroes, Juliana. Even tin-plated ones like me.”

She wanted to tell him he was wrong. She wanted to scream it. But his winter gaze bored into her, freezing her speech, her breath, her thoughts. She looked in his eyes for a trace of warmth, for the bright humor that had once overflowed from his soul like water from a day-spring. She saw only ice and desolation. For the first time she looked at him without the memories of the past, seeing the harsh, unforgiving set of his jaw, the bitter line of his mouth, the red, livid scar that cut his cheek from his left eye to his throat. She wondered how he’d gotten that scar. She wondered if he’d killed the man who gave it to him. If he’d killed …

This man wore Connor’s face. He had Connor’s memories. Once he’d even borne Connor’s name. But the pitiless eyes that riveted hers were the eyes of a stranger. Suddenly she was aware of the strength in the hands that held her foot, how they could snap her ankle like a bit of kindling. She was alone in a deserted hallway with a powerful, dangerous man, out of the earshot of anyone who might help her, and incapable of running away. She was at the mercy of a man who had no mercy.

“My dear, there you are!”

Commodore Jolly bounded down the hallway with Meg, Morrow, Renquist, and a man carrying a physician’s satchel. Relief poured through Juliana, until she remembered her immodest pose. Hastily she pulled back her foot and was surprised to find the slipper already back in place and her skirt discreetly arranged around her ankle. She glanced at Connor, but he was already on his feet with his hands clasped behind him.

Meg reached her first. “You poor darling. Are you all right?”

“I am fine,” Juliana assured her, and circled her much improved ankle as proof. “Captain Re … that is, Captain Gabriel was most helpful.”

Was that a flicker of gratitude she saw in his eyes? She couldn’t be sure, for no sooner had the words left her mouth than her view of Connor was blotted out by the round-cheeked face of Lord Renquist. “My deawr, I was so dweadfully wowwied for you.”

“So was I,” Mr. Hamilton stated emphatically as he pushed in beside Lord Renquist.

“And I,” chorused another one of her suitors.

Suddenly the narrow hallway was stuffed with people. Juliana pressed back against the stairs, struggling to find the grace to deal with both the embarrassment of attention, and with the less than gentle ministrations of the physician. She tried to catch a glimpse of Connor, but he had disappeared. A few minutes later she heard someone in the crowd mention that the captian had left Morrow house entirely. The man had gone without so much as a by-your-leave. Not that she expected one. Not that she
wanted
one.

Finally, with the commodore’s assistance, she was able to make her way through the bevy of ardent suitors and limp to the carriage. She settled against comfortable brocade cushions, with the concerned Jolly sitting across from her and Meg’s arm clasped protectively around her shoulders, and watched as Morrow House faded into the shadows. The pain in her foot faded as well—by morning it would be quite fit to walk on.

In time, she told herself, this night would become no more than a curious memory in an otherwise sane and pleasant life, a life that did not include the disreputable Connor Reed. He would return to the sea, and she would return to her parties, picnics, and country weekends. Their worlds were as far apart as heaven and Hades. It was highly unlikely that she would ever see him again.

She clutched the carriage’s door handle, determined to take pleasure in the thought of never seeing Connor again. Just as she was determined to ignore the tight, twisting ache that had suddenly surrounded her heart.

Ancient law proclaims that, as the year 999 draws to a close, the land of Alderich will be wrested from the Rune family by the clan of Leonhart. But when Rafael Leonhart kidnaps the beautiful Serath Rune for ransom, he falls under her spell … and the conquest he desires most of all is the heart of his alluring captive
.

He had been waiting for her too long.

To anyone else, the passing time had been no more than a day and a night, camped out in the woods surrounding the convent, a quiet scrutiny of the situation before the attack. Just a day and a night, and then suddenly the girl was there, and she was theirs.

But to Rafael of Leonhart, the waiting time had been years—thirty-two of them to be exact, the sum of his entire life.

Thirty-two years of waiting to gain access to this girl and steal her away to suit his needs.

Thirty-two years waiting for the turn of this century, when the land of Alderich and the castle, and the wealth they represented, would become his. And now this granddaughter of his enemy would ensure it for him.

So while his soldiers had remained in the woods with him for that day and night, had met with him and discussed how best to breach the walls of a holy sanctuary, most of them felt mere hours slip by. But Rafe had felt his lifetime come sliding to a sudden and final countdown, each second bringing sharp anticipation.

He had Serath. Rafael broke into a fierce smile that no one could see, unable to help himself. He had her. And so he had Alderich.

“This way, my lord.” His cousin Abram took the lead momentarily, showing Rafe the correct path amid the autumn grasses.

The woman in front of him started at the words. She turned her head to see Abram, who spared her only one quick look before turning away.

Rafe followed the faint trail, pushing his mount to a gallop as they entered the smoothness of a valley. Serath’s black hair flew up with the new wind, brushing against his chest, curling along his neck with surprising softness. Rafe ignored the sensation, concentrating on the land ahead of them.

Rafe slowed his steed, waiting for the rest of his men to catch up, and the figure in his arms shifted and then somehow there was nothing but empty space where a warm woman had been. It happened so quickly that it took him several seconds to comprehend it—as if she had transformed into the very air before him.

Dammit! Rafe reined in completely, looking left and right before catching sight of her running through the trees, swift and nearly gone already.

“Where did she go?” one of the men asked, dumb-founded.

He didn’t bother to answer, though several others did, shouting and pointing at the diminishing shape. Rafe was already lunging after her, his stallion picking his way through the trunks of the trees with surety. She would not be able to outrun a horse.

At last Rafael dismounted, walking away from his soldiers, his steps slow and sure on the mossy ground.

He stopped, closing his eyes, listening. The obvious came to him first: men behind him, completely silent now but for the creaking of saddles … the bare, metallic clinks of shields and swords against chain mail. Horses, a few shifting with impatience. Wind through pine needles, a ghostly murmur of sound …

 … faint breathing. Muted, nearly imperceptible. Off to his left.

Pure relief made him release his own breath, close to a sigh. Rafe opened his eyes and found her immediately—or rather, found the spot he had figured to be just another bramble of bushes, exactly the same as the multitude of others that dotted the forest floor. He walked past it, the relief becoming close to exhilaration, then stopped again.