The Ravencliff Bride (21 page)

“You will want your bath, my lord,” said Mills, shuffling off to dispose of his wet burden. “I shall see that it is prepared at once.”

“No bath,” Nicholas said, halting the valet in his tracks. “I should think I’ve had enough cold water for the moment. Fetch me a towel, and my dressing gown,” he said, stripping off his drawers. “I’ll have a word with her ladyship. I cannot let this go by unaddressed, Mills. It’s far too serious.”

Mills handed him the towel. “Shouldn’t you dress first, my lord?” he asked.

“There isn’t time,” Nicholas said, snatching Sara’s shoes from the lounge. “Let us just say that I’ve used up my ration of progress for the day, and let it go at that. Now, fetch me that damned dressing gown, and for God’s sake,
hurry!
”

Sara was chilled to the marrow. Despite the gauzy voile wrapper she wore into the bath, she was shivering, the hot, perfumed water notwithstanding.

“It’s no use, Nell,” she said. “I shall get out now. I doubt I shall ever be warm again.”

She surged to her feet in the hip bath just as Nicholas burst through the dressing room door. A startled gasp escaped her throat as he reached her in two strides, tossed down her shoes, and clamped both hands around her upper arms.

“This is twice now that I have returned your shoes to you, madam,” he seethed. “If I come by them again, I shall keep them.” He glanced toward the abigail. “Leave us!” he charged, and Nell scampered off, a cry on her lips glancing back as he lifted Sara out of the tub.

Sara swatted his hands away from her arms, and tried without success to cover all her charms at once. The thin, wet voile was transparent, clinging to the contours of her body like a second skin as the water flowed the length of her, outlining every curve. Nothing was denied his eyes, which feasted upon her like a half-starved animal.

She glanced down at what had him so enthralled. Her breasts had stretched the wet fabric taut, and her nipples were clearly visible, dark and tall, showing through the cloth. The wrapper gapped in front, and his hooded gaze followed the sliver of exposed flesh to the mound of golden hair between her thighs that she didn’t have enough hands to hide. Her breath caught in sputters, and she tugged the wrapper closed, but it was no use. She could as well have been naked.

Why she was covering up, she couldn’t imagine. This was her perfect opportunity, was it not? Judging from the look of those sensuous obsidian eyes devouring her, it wouldn’t take much to seduce him. It had nearly happened on their last encounter, when they were both reasonably clothed. Now, they were both nearly naked. He had nothing on underneath that dressing gown. It was carelessly tied, showing her a glimpse of dark hair below his waist, and the hint of an arousal challenged the burgundy satin.

Her breath caught again, and she tugged her wet wrapper closer around her. It was no use. She couldn’t play herself false. She was no seductress. She wouldn’t know where to begin—but he did. It was in his eyes, in the rapid rise and fall of his broad chest, in the hot breath puffing against her face, as he stooped over her. His scent wafted toward her, threading through her nostrils, surrounding her, entering her. She drank him in, as foxed by his closeness as a lord in his cups. Oh, how she wished she were more experienced! How she wished she could spread his dressing gown wide, and slide her hands beneath it, burying her fingers in the soft, silky hair she’d dreamed of fondling again since the night she braved his chamber. All she could do was stand and gaze with longing anticipation of that magnificent body impacting with hers.

All at once, his demeanor changed. It was as though he’d just awoken from a trance. He seized her arms again and
shook her. She cried out, unprepared for rough handling, but he made no move to let her go.

“You were told not to go down to the strand,” he snapped.

“How would you know where I’ve been?” she challenged. “You’re never about when you’re wanted. Are you having me followed whenever I leave my room now?”

“I saw you . . . climbing back up,” he said. “And if I had not done, one of the servants would have told me. They are well aware of the dangers, even if you are not. You could have drowned.”

“But I didn’t, thanks to the poor dog you’re trying to kill,” she sallied. “What were you doing down there, Nicholas? Do you often bathe in the ocean in such weather?”

“I have lived here all my life,” he returned. “I am accustomed to . . . bathing in all sorts of weather, but my habits are not the issue here. Your obedience is.”

“My
‘obedience’?
” she cried. “How dare you presume to treat me with no more regard than you do that dog!”

“Sara, your safety is important to me, and I explained to you that trust was paramount in this relationship. Blind obedience is trust. You agreed to that when you accepted my proposal.”

“And you evidently look down upon me for doing so. I was afraid you might. Alexander Mallory certainly did. Why should I expect more from you?”

“Do not include me in that company,” he growled.

“I was wrong to come here . . . to hope for your respect.”

“Balderdash! You know better.” He loosened his grip, but he didn’t let her go.

“I know nothing of the sort! You treat me like one of the servants—someone you can order about . . . someone beneath you. While that may be true, I am hardly a scullion. I am the daughter of a colonel in His Majesty’s Royal Army—a knight, and a hero recognized by the Crown, who fell prey to the lure of the gambling hells, and died in dun territory.
Do not tar me with the same brush. The only gamble I’ve ever taken was coming here. As you can see, I have no talent for it.”

“Why did you agree to this?” he murmured.

“I was dying in that place,” she said, “eating maggoty food, fending off two-legged predators, when I wasn’t fending off the four-legged variety. I wouldn’t have lasted, having to fight and claw my way through each day—each
hour
—with nothing save more of the same to look forward to. Oh, I could have borne it in the physical sense, I suppose, but it would have made me like the others . . . someone I couldn’t bear to become—someone I would have
had
to become in order to survive. Your . . . invitation came at a most fortuitous moment. They were coming to select girls for the brothels from among the younger prisoners. I would most certainly have been taken. Virgins bring a higher price. The jailers would have been only too happy to turn me over for a handsome reward. Your missive was like an answer to my prayers, as if all my dreams had come true. But those dreams have turned into a nightmare.”

Something terrible lived in his eyes—rage and terror beyond bearing, and she looked away. She was close to tears, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Why did you climb down to the strand?”

“I was following you.”

“Why?”

“To finish our conversation earlier. I did take advantage of the footmen’s presence in the breakfast room to make my point, but there are some things even I choose not to discuss in front of the servants. I wanted to speak with you alone. It seemed the perfect place to do that.”

“What did you want to say to me, Sara?”

“That doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Why?”

“Because it isn’t important. I want you to let me go, Nicholas. I shall seek employment as a governess, or a
companion—whatever respectable position I can find—and pay back every halfpenny you’ve spent upon me if it takes me the rest of my life. I beg only that you do not return me to that place. I would rather be dead than sold to a brothel.”

“You are my wife, Sara, I cannot let you go,” he said.

“So I
am
a prisoner here, after all!”

“No,” he groaned.

“What then? What am I, Nicholas? I don’t know what you want.
You
don’t know what you want. One thing I do know, you do not want me. I’m a bride who isn’t a wife, a companion who isn’t even a friend. I want to be both, but you won’t let me, and you won’t tell me why. How dare you speak to me of trust?
How do you dare!
”

His eyes were boring into her—those terrible eyes that had the power to melt her resolve. She couldn’t meet them. All at once she was in his arms. Crushing her close, he took her lips with a hungry mouth, and parted them with a skilled tongue and one swift thrust. It took her breath away. Cupping her head in his hand, he tasted her deeply, feeding on the moan in her throat, matching it with his own feral growl that seemed to come from the very depths of him, resonating through her body in a way that weakened her knees.

He slid his hand along her arched throat, and spread the wrapper wide, then tore the sash from his dressing gown and wrenched her against his naked hardness. Sara held her breath. Seizing her hand, he drove it down to his sex. She uttered a muffled cry through lips trapped beneath his bruising mouth as it responded to her touch, throbbing like a pulse beat. He drew his head back, gulping air, his hooded eyes dilated with desire.

“Does this feel as though I do not want you, Sara?” he panted, wrapping her fingers around his engorged member. “It is all I can do to resist you . . . to keep from ravishing you, but I can, and I will, because I
must
. I cannot have the luxury of you in that way.”

“But why?”

“I cannot tell you why . . . not yet . . . perhaps, not ever. That remains to be seen.” He released his grip on her wrist. Her flesh was on fire. It was as though molten lava were flowing through her belly and thighs, moistening the mound between her legs that pulsed like a heartbeat matching the rhythm of his manhood—his very life shuddering against her fingers. She let her hand slip away, and he leaned back, closing her wrapper with painstaking control. “I am asking you to trust me,” he went on, “to do as I say, and give me time. I told you once that, please God, this is only temporary.”

“I shall not embarrass you in front of your guest,” she murmured, trying to sound as though she had command of her runaway emotions. It fell flat. How could he believe it, when she could not? She was a shambles, mortified and cold, standing there in the clinging wet negligee. Her whole body ached for the passion in his, which he denied her.
Why?
It was time to force the issue. “I shall advertise at once,” she said.

“You cannot do that,” he barked. “Baroness Walraven cannot go into service. You know better than to suggest such a thing.”

“Well, be that as it may, you have until Dr. Breeden leaves to explain yourself, my lord,” she said, “because, unless you do, when his coach arrives I shall leave in it with him.”

“And go where?” he returned.

“I’ve no idea, only that I must. If you cannot answer me by then, I will have to conclude that I am right, or that you are mad. Either way, I will go mad if I stay. I’ve said my piece. It’s your coil to unravel now, Nicholas.”

He snatched a towel from the chiffonier. “Cover up. You shall catch your death,” he said, as though he’d just realized she was standing barefoot in a puddle of scented water, in a wrapper still dripping on the parquetry. “I shall make your excuses. You cannot come downstairs in such a state. I shall
have Mrs. Bromley fetch up a dinner tray, and an herbal tea to warm you. Dr. Breeden has prescribed a rose hips tonic . . . to build you back up after your ordeal in the priest hole.”

“I don’t need ‘building up,’ ” she snapped.

“You will do as he says,” said Nicholas unequivocally. “I shan’t have consumption on my conscience. It’s burdened enough over you as it is.”

“To borrow your favorite phrase, ‘do we have an understanding,’ Nicholas?” she said, clutching the towel against her.

“Sara—”

“And I want the hall boys dismissed from my suite at once,” she put in. “I will not live under guard.”

“That has already been done,” he said on a sigh. “I . . . I concede on that one point, but only so long as you keep your doors latched. Alex has not turned up yet. While he is at large, you are in danger. I know you do not understand this, but you must obe—humor me in this.” He tugged his dressing gown closed in front. He was still aroused, and he raked back the damp hair from his brow. She took a step toward him. “
No!
” he growled, backing away. “Do not touch me! Do not tempt me . . . again—
never again!
”

“Very well, Nicholas,” she said, “but there is one more condition. Do not think to harm that dog. You are not to lift one finger against him again, or I shall have the guards in. I shall leave in the clothes I came in. You may keep everything you’ve given me, but when I go, Nero goes with me.”

He turned on his heel and stormed from the dressing room then. She flinched when the door slammed, though she watched him fling it shut. Frozen to the spot, she stared after him for a long moment. When she took a step toward the bell pull to summon Nell, her foot caught in something and she tripped. It was Nicholas’s dressing gown sash. Snatching it up, she ran through her suite, through the bedchamber to the foyer only to pull up short on the threshold.
The door was wide open, and there, in a crumpled heap at her feet, lay his dressing gown spilling into the hall. Nicholas was nowhere in sight.

Nero ran in circles before the hearth in the master suite dressing room, his plaintive howl echoing over the voice of the storm. Faster and faster he pranced, his sharp nails clacking on the hearthstone and his footpads thudding on the Aubusson carpet, as his path grew ever wider, skirting Mills, who was standing with a quilted throw at the ready.

He howled again, a mournful supplication trailing off on the wind, and sprang into the air, no more than a blur of shaggy fur and sinew expanding to Nicholas’s full height, surging into a sweaty mass of naked flesh and muscle, whose cords were strung like bowstrings. Panting and heaving like the animal he had left behind, Nicholas dropped to his knees before the hearth, his tousled head bowed.

It had happened again. Twice in one day. Dry sobs and a moan left his throat, and he pounded the parquetry at the edge of the rug with both his clenched fists.

“Take ease, my lord,” said Mills, covering him with the throw. “It’s over now.” A mad, misshapen laugh was Nicholas’s reply, and the valet took hold of his arm. “Here, let me help you up.”