by Olivia Drake
“You overstep your bounds,” Natalie said in her sternest schoolteacher voice. “I’ve heard quite enough of your insults. Leave this house at once!”
Bert slowed his steps, his voice lowering to a croon as if she were a mare in need of taming. “Calm down, missy. Don’t matter to me who’s had ye. I only want to touch that soft skin. To undo yer braid, see yer hair spread over your nekkid bosoms.”
Natalie resisted a shudder. He would attempt to force himself on her. She had seen that predatory intent once before.
Trying not to panic, she neared the fireplace. Though her gaze remained fixed on Bert, she could feel the heat of the flames and hear the snapping of the wood. The bubbling milk in the pot gave off a slightly scorched scent.
She inched closer to the hearth, furtively groping behind her for the slender rod. The roughness of the brick met her fingertips.
The groom sprang like a panther.
He seized the fire iron along with the ash shovel, stepping back to hold them aloft like war trophies. “Watch out there,” he said, snickering. “Wouldn’t want ye to hurt yerself.”
He flung both implements across the kitchen. They clattered to the stone floor and skittered into the deep shadows.
Natalie fought off a wave of fright. What now? Threats and admonitions had proven to be no deterrent. He was a broad man, bulky with muscles, and the odds were in his favor. Although taller than the average woman, she knew her limits. He could overpower her with brute force.
Her only hope was to catch him off guard. She must behave like a frightened ninny, make him believe her to be weak.
She willed herself to cower by hunching her shoulders and lowering her chin. “Please, sir, don’t hurt me,” she said, adding a quiver to her voice. “I’m a respectable woman.”
He stood a scant few feet from her. Shadows cast by the firelight gyrated over his gloating expression, proof that he’d been taken in by her sudden submissiveness. His lips peeled back in a grin that showed two rows of yellowed teeth. “Now, that’s more like it. Many a wench puts up a fight at the start. But they’re all eager for a taste of the big boy in my breeches.”
His meaty fingers began to undo the front buttons of his flap. As he glanced down to watch his progress, Natalie saw her chance. Using the folds of her robe to protect her fingers from the hot handle, she grabbed the pot and hurled the boiling contents at him.
He must have caught her movement from the corner of his eye. Cursing, he started to raise his arm as a shield. Some of the scalding milk struck his sleeve and upper trousers. The rest splashed onto the exposed skin of his face and hands. Bellowing with pain, he clutched at his groin as hot white liquid dripped from his chin and down over his clothing.
Before she could so much as blink, he charged like an enraged bull. Natalie acted on sheer terrified instinct. She swung the pot at him with all of her might.
His fingers bit into her shoulders at the exact moment that the saucepan clanked against the side of his head. His neck jerked back and his grip slackened, his forward momentum propelling her against the brick of the hearth. Pots and crockery clattered to the floor. She parted her lips to scream, but only a squeak emerged as she went tumbling down beneath him.
His eyes were shut.
She lay entombed beneath the heavy mass of his body, choked by the stench of sour whiskey. Had she killed him? Was he dead? A buried memory burst forth to swamp her senses, adding fuel to her wild panic. Dear God, no! It was just like before. She couldn’t escape, couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe. Her heart pounded so hard that blackness encroached on her vision. In a mad frenzy, she shoved and kicked at his large, inert form.
In the next instant, his weight abruptly lifted from her. She sucked blessed air into her lungs and then rolled onto her hands and knees before scrambling to her feet. Dazed, she saw Hadrian. He held Bert by the scruff of his neck, his grip strong enough to lift the husky groom onto his tiptoes.
Before her chaotic mind could even feel relief, he spun the groom around and slapped his cheek several times until his eyes opened.
Bert blinked in befuddlement. “Duke—”
“Good, you’re awake. It goes against my principles to strike an unconscious man.”
Hadrian hauled back his arm and smashed his fist into Bert’s face. The groom staggered sideways into the worktable, knocking it askew as he thumped to the floor like a sack of grain. Blood ran copiously from his nose and from the corner of his mouth. Head lolling, he grappled for his shirttail and used it in an attempt to stanch the flow. “Ow! Ow! Ye broke m’ nose!”
“Be thankful you’re alive. You are never to touch Miss Fanshawe again. Is that clear?”
“Wasn’t gonna hurt her—”
Hadrian reached down and gave the man’s ear a hard wrench. “Is that clear?”
“Ow! Aye, Yer Grace. Never!”
The duke stepped back, coldly regarding the groom. “Now, take your miserable carcass out of here. You’re to collect your belongings and leave Oak Knoll at once.”
Bert lurched to his feet and stood swaying, his face raw with burns beneath the milk and blood. He also had a darker red mark on the side of his cheek where she’d struck him with the pot. In a nasally tone, he whined, “I work for Lord Wymark. Can’t nobody send me away but him.”
“Wymark is underage. You work for his father. And in case you’ve forgotten, Lord Godwin is the magistrate. If transport to Botany Bay is your wish, then by all means, stay here to plead your case.”
The groom fell silent at that, though he continued to snuffle loudly. He flashed Natalie a resentful glare before turning away, lumbering to the antechamber that led outside. Hadrian followed the man and they disappeared from sight. A moment later, she heard the duke’s clipped tone, then the door opened and shut. The key rattled in the lock.
Natalie trembled as tension continued to vibrate along her nerves. She could scarcely comprehend the danger was over. Her insides felt tied in knots as she surveyed the mess in the kitchen, the spilled milk, the broken crockery, the table pushed awry. If Hadrian hadn’t come in when he did …
Feeling on the verge of being sucked back into that dark horror, she quickly busied herself with action. She mustn’t allow herself to reflect. Better to just forget about it. She’d done so once and she could do it again. Her movements jerky, she bent down to pick up the copper saucepan.
Eyes widening, she stared at the damage. “Oh no!”
Hadrian materialized beside her, his broad palm lightly resting between her shoulder blades. “Natalie? Are you injured? Did he hurt you?”
She raised her stricken gaze to his face. “I broke the handle! Cook will be furious.”
His expression relaxed, though his pose remained vigilant. He gently removed the pan from her death grip and examined it. “The rivets must have come loose, that’s all. Consider it your badge of honor for a deed well done. If Cook dares to fuss, I’ll buy her an entire new set of pots.”
That ought to have reassured her, yet Natalie was the farthest thing from calm. She felt herself teetering on the brink of irrationality. “I don’t want you to buy me things! I can do it myself!”
Turning away, she grabbed a pile of folded rags from the counter and knelt to mop up the puddles of milk with frantic sweeps. White dots were scattered across the stone floor, along with smears of blood near the chair. If it took all night, she would wipe away every last trace of the incident. She would scrub and clean and scour as she’d done after the massacre …
Hadrian reached down and drew her to her feet. He flicked the rag from her grip. Then he folded her against him, tucking her face into the lee of his shoulder, his fingers cradling the back of her head. “It’s all right, my dear,” he murmured into her hair. “You’re safe now.”
His manner radiated a quiet, reassuring protectiveness. Nevertheless, Natalie stood rigidly in the circle of his arms, her breathing taut and shallow. Flashes of Bert’s menacing face merged with that of the soldier at the massacre un
til they both seemed one and the same. She didn’t want to dredge up that terrible memory from the buried depths of her soul. Nor did she seek comfort.
It was her cross to bear, not Hadrian’s.
But his muscled form provided a safe harbor from the outside world. He wore no coat or cravat, only a cambric shirt and black breeches. His body heat penetrated her robe and nightdress and skin, reaching to the very center of her being. The painful knot inside her began to unravel, rising to her throat in a choked sob.
She swallowed hard in an effort to displace the lump. But once unleashed, that one cry turned into a torrent that proved impossible to control. A deluge of tears breached the wall of her willpower. Her knees crumbled, and she buried her face in his shirt, grateful that the strength of his arms kept her from dissolving into a spineless heap.
His embrace became her anchor in the storm of weeping. All the while he stroked her hair, murmuring to her, though she knew not the meaning of his words. She was too lost in a sea of anguish to fathom anything beyond the dreadful images in her mind.
“I didn’t want to kill him,” she cried, as the wild tide inside her crested. “I didn’t. Why did he have to attack me?”
The hand on her back paused for a moment before again soothing away her tension. “Hush, now. He’s gone. I’ll protect you from harm. You’ve nothing to fear anymore.”
Hadrian’s firm, coaxing voice summoned Natalie back from the void. Beset by one last convulsive shudder, she took the folded handkerchief that he pressed into her hand, using the square of linen to wipe her damp face. Sanity trickled back into her brain, bringing her to an awareness that she’d been bawling in the arms of a duke.
Why it should matter what a nobleman thought of her, she couldn’t imagine. Yet it did matter, and she felt too drained to determine why.
Tilting up her chin, she blinked at him through matted lashes. Rather than exhibit distaste for her unrestrained lapse, he was frowning at her in concern, as if puzzling over something. Dear God, she’d been blathering in the midst of her weeping. What had she said?
Anxious to deflect any questions, she glided her fingers over the damp patch on his chest and the hard ridges of muscle. “I—I didn’t mean to be a watering pot all over your shirt. I seem to be forever ruining your clothing.”
“It keeps Chumley busy.” His gaze watchful, Hadrian glided his thumb over her moist cheek. “Are you quite certain you’re all right, Natalie?”
She managed a decisive nod. It was best to let him think that tonight’s incident with Bert was the sole source of her distress. “It’s just that … the groom startled me. I never expected anyone to be hiding in the shadows. All I wanted was a mug of hot milk.”
“Ah. I’ll wager you couldn’t sleep, either.”
“Either?”
One corner of his mouth curled into a half-smile. “I was reading in the library and came down to the kitchen in search of apple tarts. Cook knows they’re my favorite and she baked me some.”
“Oh.” Natalie realized she hadn’t even wondered why Hadrian had appeared at such an opportune moment. “I saw a plate of tarts on the shelf in the larder.”
“Then pray excuse me while I find them.”
With a gentle squeeze of her shoulders, he released her and headed across the kitchen. She felt bereft without his closeness. Her legs still rubbery, she sank onto the edge of the table, too depleted of energy to attend to the mess just yet. She blew her nose and then tucked his crumpled handkerchief into the pocket of her robe. How mortifying to have broken down like that! She didn’t know quite what had come over her. It wasn’t like her to lose control when she prided herself on being a strong, independent woman.
And to do so in front of Hadrian! What must he think of her?
It oughtn’t matter. Yet she couldn’t deny that it felt good to have a man to lean on. She had been alone for too long. Having grown up the only child of a widowed father who’d often included her in political discussions, she had always enjoyed conversing with men. But of late, there had been no one but Leo in her life—and as much as she loved the boy, he was no substitute for adult company.
When Hadrian returned, bearing a dish covered by a linen towel, she had recovered herself enough to stand up straight. “I suppose I shall have to warm another pot of milk. Would you care for some?”
“Actually, I believe we could both do with something stronger. Let’s go upstairs to the library. It’s warmer than this blasted cellar, anyway.”
He came forward as if to take her arm, but Natalie shook her head. “I can’t leave the kitchen looking like this. And the fire needs to be banked.”
“The maids will tidy up in the morning.” He set the plate on the table. “As for the fire, allow me.”
“You know how?”
“Of course. Dukes are not entirely useless creatures.” His mouth quirked in a droll half-smile, he glanced around the hearth. “Although I confess, I don’t see any fire tools.”
She pointed across the kitchen. “Bert threw them over there.”
His smile vanishing, Hadrian gave her a grim look before heading in that direction. Had he guessed at her failed attempt to use one of the tools as a weapon? He couldn’t begin to imagine just how terrified she’d been. Or that the shock had wrenched open the door to a certain hideous memory …
Stifling a shiver, Natalie folded her arms over her midriff and hugged herself. There was no need to dwell on that event from the previous summer. The past was best left buried. In the months since then, she had put it all behind her. She had focused on caring for Leo, comforting him when he suffered nightmares, packing their few belongings, arranging for their travel papers. Hoping the passage of time would help her forget, she had kept herself busy and active so that she’d have no time to reflect …
“Does this pass inspection, milady?”
Natalie blinked, realizing that Hadrian had already shoveled ash over the embers. The flames had died down, leaving only a glow on the grate. The hearth, at least, appeared tidy, if not the rest of the kitchen.
“Perfect, Your Grace.”
“I thought you’d sworn never to call me that,” he said while propping the shovel beside the fire iron.
“That was before I knew you had any useful skills.”
“I’ve a few others, as well.”
The hint of rakishness in his smile ignited a feeling inside her much like the banked fire. There was no denying that she admired his virile handsomeness, the slightly mussed brown hair, the masculine angles of his face. His shirt was open at the throat to reveal a triangle of broad chest, and his gray eyes looked as soft as smoke …
His gaze lingered on her for another moment before he dusted off his hands and went to pick up the tray. “Come, I’ll blow out my candle. Yours should be sufficient to light the way.”
She picked up the pewter lamp, the flickering flame enclosing them in a golden cocoon. As they proceeded out of the kitchen and along the shadowy corridor, Natalie wondered why she felt so safe with Hadrian. After that vicious attack, she ought to be cautious of spending time alone with a man in the middle of the night, especially when she was garbed in her bedclothes.
And especially when the man in question was as tempting as sin.
Chapter 13
As they approached the library, their footsteps echoing in the great hall, Hadrian was aware of the heavy beating of his pulse. He must be mad to prolong their time together. Their lives were poles apart, and besides, she intended to return to America soon. Yet tonight he could not maintain his usual air of cool detachment.
He motioned for Natalie to go ahead of him. As she glided through the doorway, he caught a hint of her tantalizing scent, something soft and deeply feminine. It reminded him of holding that curvaceous body in his arms. In the kitchen, it had never even occurred to him to sit her down in a chair and let her cry it out from a safe distance as he did with his mother and sister. Like any sane man, he’d sooner face the hounds of hell than a woman’s te
ars. Yet a powerful protective instinct had compelled him to clasp her close, to let her know that she could trust him to shield her from harm.
For as long as he lived, he would never forget the sight of her swinging that pot at Bert, knocking the man out cold, and then collapsing under his dead weight. The moment that it had taken for Hadrian to reach her had seemed to stretch out forever. He’d derived great satisfaction from smashing his fist into the brute’s face. Had it not been for fear of further traumatizing Natalie, he’d have killed the bastard without an ounce of remorse.
Burying the memory, Hadrian followed her into the library with its floor-to-ceiling shelves of tooled-leather books. It was vital that he display a relaxed, unruffled manner. Despite her seeming calm, she surely still felt distraught and shaken.
He felt certain, too, that it wasn’t just tonight’s attack that had caused her emotional collapse. Something else was at play. He craved answers, yet what gave him the right to pry into her private life? He was merely an acquaintance, a friend. They were bound together only by their mutual wish to protect Leo.
Regardless, Hadrian found himself noticing how the play of candlelight and shadow in the library created an intimate retreat. The night scene looked tailor-made for seduction. Unaccustomed to the strict rules of society, Natalie might not realize just how inappropriate it was for them to be together. Should they be discovered, the scandal would sully her reputation.
Though of course, she was going back to America, he reasoned, and no one else was awake, anyway. The rest of the family had retired hours ago. Besides, he was perfectly capable of keeping his desires in check. He’d give her a brandy to steady her nerves, assure himself of her recovery from the attack, and then send her off to bed.