The Bodyguard

by Joan Johnston

  It was too much to hope that Blackthorne would not divine what had just occurred. Mr. Ambleside still had both hands at his throat, while blood dripped from Carlisle’s cheek, where Mr. Ambleside’s gold-and-emerald ring—the sole gift from his father—had sliced into the earl’s flesh.

  “I see you already have company,” Blackthorne said to the earl. “Perhaps we should return—”

  “Stay,” Carlisle said. “I’ve been wanting to speak with you about—”

  Mr. Ambleside had no choice. If he didn’t act, the earl’s honesty would sink them both. He turned and pointed at Carlisle, thereby revealing half of his bruised throat, and cried, “Miscreant! Villain! Thief!”

  The earl stared at him, stunned.

  Mr. Ambleside took advantage of Carlisle’s shock to turn back to Blackthorne. “I’ve just confronted the earl with evidence that he forged documents I thought were from the duke, requiring me to raise his tenants’ rents. Oh, the suffering he’s caused! And that is not the full extent of his perfidy.

  “He’s also forged a contract allowing him to buy Blackthorne Hall and all the surrounding lands on credit. I was suspicious from the first, but the documents looked so authentic! You may see for yourself what his reply was to my accusations.” Mr. Ambleside removed his other hand to reveal further evidence of Carlisle’s attempt to strangle him.

  “He’s lying!” Carlisle shouted. “He’s the one who forged the documents. He’s the one who’s trying to kill you!”

  Mr. Ambleside put a shocked expression on his face. “Have there been attempts on your life, Mr. Wheaton?”

  “Mr. Wheaton?” The sound exploded from Carlisle. “Mr. Wheaton? You know very well Alex Wheaton is the Duke of Blackthorne. You hired three sailors from the London docks to attack him on his own ship and throw him into the sea. And you’ve made four other attempts to kill him, so you can have Blackthorne Hall for yourself!”

  Mr. Ambleside observed Blackthorne from the corner of his eye to see whether he believed Carlisle. The duke’s eyes had narrowed suspiciously.

  “I am all amazement!” Mr. Ambleside exclaimed, putting a hand to his chest as though such an accusation had caused his heart to lurch. “Mr. Wheaton, the duke? You must be mistaken! The duke is dead, drowned in the sea.”

  “He’s standing right in front of you,” Carlisle raved. “Are you blind?”

  “Well, actually …” Mr. Ambleside reached into his vest pocket, pulled out a pair of spectacles, and carefully donned them. “I don’t see as well as I might. And I am vain enough not to wear my spectacles in company.” He made a point of looking owlishly through the bottled lenses at the man and woman in the doorway.

  Mr. Ambleside gave a loud gasp. “Your Grace. It is you! How is this possible? I interviewed Alex Wheaton myself. He did not sound a bit like Your Grace!”

  “But you recognize me now?” Blackthorne asked, raising a brow in arrogant condescension.

  “Of course I recognize Your Grace. I was at your wedding, if you will recall. Is it possible you have been Alex Wheaton all these months?”

  “As it turns out, Mr. Ambleside, I have.”

  Mr. Ambleside experienced a moment of sheer terror. For how long had the duke known who he was? Why hadn’t His Grace come to the Hall for succor, unless he suspected Mr. Ambleside of wrongdoing? “Your Grace—”

  “Be still.”

  Mr. Ambleside was grateful for the interruption, because he had been about to throw himself on the duke’s mercy. So long as he had not been accused, there was still hope.

  Blackthorne focused his piercing gaze on Carlisle and said, “I find it interesting that you know the details of the shipboard assault on my person, if you were not involved.”

  The earl looked stricken. “Mr. Ambleside told them to me.”

  “You have the most to gain from my death.”

  “Mr. Ambleside—”

  “Yes, yes, I know. It would take a very clever man to have conceived my demise, to obtain forged documents, to write the contract to purchase Blackthorne Hall. I do not think you capable of it.”

  The earl flushed.

  Mr. Ambleside gaped. “Your Grace—”

  The duke rounded on him, his eyes dark and dangerous. “I might have shown mercy, sir, if it was only my life you had tried to take. But for threatening my wife, and for your utter disregard for the welfare of my tenants, I will see you spend your life in chains. As for you, Carlisle—”

  “I am innocent,” the earl protested.

  “I think not,” Blackthorne said, his voice implacable.

  “You cannot prove—”

  “I have friends in the House of Lords who will believe me when I tell them how you had me stripped and beaten, bound, and thrown into the sea.”

  “You’re making a mistake!” the earl insisted.

  “No, my lord. You’re the one who has made the mistake by aligning yourself with my dishonest steward. And you’ll pay dearly for it. By the time I’m through, you’ll find yourself chained hand and foot, like the felon you are, and transported to Australia alongside my steward.”

  The blood drained from Carlisle’s face. “You cannot possibly get them to sentence a lord of the realm to such a fate!”

  “Watch me.”

  Mr. Ambleside had not waited to hear the end of Blackthorne’s terrible declaration of vengeance. He had edged his way over to the French doors that opened onto the balcony, intent on making his escape. He had already eased the door open, when the duke’s voice stopped him.

  “There is nowhere you can run, Mr. Ambleside. Nowhere you can hide that I will not find you.”

  “Perhaps, Your Grace,” he said. “Perhaps. But I am willing to take my chances.”

  He slipped through the door and ran. He had not expected the duke to run after him. And he did not. He had no doubt Blackthorne believed what he had said. But bitter as he found the prospect of failure, Mr. Ambleside had not made plans all these years without establishing an escape route for himself. He would disappear as completely as a morning mist on the Highland hills.

  But not before he had engaged someone to rid the world of Blackthorne once and for all.

  Kitt was still in shock. It was obvious to her that Alex had known for quite some time that he was Blackthorne. Why had he continued the charade? She wasn’t sure whether to pretend she was learning his identity for the first time, or whether to admit she had known all along. It was plain the game was at an end. All that remained was to see what Alex—or rather, Blackthorne—would do.

  Alex reached for her hand and said, “Come with me.”

  “Where?”

  “To Blackthorne Hall.”

  “Why there?”

  All pretense of a Scottish burr disappeared as he said, “It’s my home.”

  She reluctantly took his hand and followed him out of Castle Carlisle. He helped her to mount her horse, then mounted his own, and headed at a walk across the greening hills that led to Blackthorne Hall.

  “You don’t seem surprised to find out I’m Blackthorne, my dear. Why is that?” Alex said in clipped English.

  “How long have you known who you are?”

  “For a great many months, my dear.”

  “Why the pretense, Alex?”

  “I could ask you the same question,” he said. “But in your case, we both already know the answer.”

  “And what is that?”

  “You wanted the castle and the land.” He met her gaze and said, “You aren’t going to get it.”

  “I’ll fight you in court.”

  “Don’t waste your time.”

  “I canna believe you would let us starve, knowing all of us as you do.”

  “Once I’ve hired a new steward, the rents will be returned to a fair rate. You don’t need to own—”

  “Castle MacKinnon—Blackthorne Hall—belongs to my family. I want it back.”

  Alex sneered. “What will you give me for it? Will you offer yourself as barter again? I might be tempted.
”

  Kitt flushed. They had crossed the dry moat and entered the bailey at Blackthorne Hall. The shadow of the keep fell across them, shutting out the sun. She shivered with foreboding. Grooms came to take their mounts. Kitt would have slid off her horse, but Alex was there to help her down. She felt the heat of his hands even through her riding clothes.

  She noticed he didn’t bother to knock on the thick wooden door that led inside the keep, simply opened it and stepped inside beneath the forty-foot-high vaulted ceiling as though he belonged there. The two knights still stood guard beside the mammoth fireplace built of stone that had been gathered by her ancestors.

  “Excuse me, sir,” the butler protested.

  “I am Blackthorne,” Alex announced.

  “But—”

  He stepped past the gape-mouthed servant and headed down the hall toward the library with Kitt in tow. “I don’t want to be disturbed.”

  It would have been useless to make a scene. She had no allies here. Kitt’s heart began to race when the library door closed behind her with a heavy thud.

  “Well, my dear. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  She clasped her hands in front of her to hide the fact they were shaking. She looked around her at the Sheraton desk, at the portraits in gold-painted frames, the mahogany shelves filled with leather-bound tomes, at the wealth and comfort to which he had been born and to which—because of Culloden—she had not. “I’m not sorry for anything I’ve done.”

  “I expected as much,” he said bitterly.

  “I made a vow to my father on his deathbed. I only did what I had to do.”

  “As I recall, you would have married the devil himself, if necessary. In fact, you married an Englishman. It must have been difficult to convince your clansmen to go along with the ruse.”

  “They were never a part of it, Alex. ’Twas my father’s plan that I should have Blackthorne’s child.”

  “So the child could inherit along with my legitimate heirs under Scottish law.”

  She nodded.

  “What if the babe was female?”

  She shrugged. “The gamble would have been lost.”

  “As it turned out, you never got pregnant. Too bad, my dear.”

  “Not for want of trying!” she snapped.

  “No. You were ever willing. Perhaps you would like to give it one last try.”

  “What?”

  “I am returning to England as soon as I can. Tomorrow morning, if at all possible. To put it plainly, my dear, our marriage is at an end.”

  Kitt felt several things at once. Rage that he could dismiss her so carelessly. Despair that she had failed her clan. And desperation. It was the last of these that led her to accept his offer.

  “Very well,” she said, letting out a shuddering breath. “I will lie with you one last time.”

  Alex was stunned. He hadn’t expected Kitt to take him up on his offer, and now that she had, he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to take such a chance. What if, this time, his seed took root?

  But it had not for many months, and he would be a fool to deny himself the pleasure of bedding her one last time. Alex knew he had been lucky so far. That he was playing with fire. But he wanted her. And this way he would be able to get his fill of her before he left.

  Her callous acceptance of his offer made it obvious to him that Kitt had no feelings for him, that during their time together she had displayed only what fondness was necessary to deceive him into coupling with her.

  “Come with me,” Alex said, taking her by the hand.

  “You want to couple here? Now?”

  “Right now. In my bed upstairs.”

  Alex had a flashback to a time when he had dragged Penthia up the stairs, demanding that she lie with him. By then, he had known she cared nothing for him. He had appealed to the only reason he could think of to persuade her into his bed.

  “It is your duty to give me an heir.”

  He had been more than a little foxed, but he had managed to bed her, much to her disgust. The next morning he had been ashamed of his behavior.

  His marriage had been miserable and filled with deceit. He would never have let Kitt get so close to him if he had remembered it sooner. He would never have put himself in a position to endure that sort of pain again. But Kitt had deceived him when he was most vulnerable. He had let himself love her. Even though he knew she did not love him back.

  It was too late to avoid the pain, which seemed somehow worse this second time. To his shame, he still wanted his Scots wife. Even worse, he still loved her.

  It was small comfort to feel Kitt’s frightened hand trembling in his, as he escorted her up the stairs. He was weak in the knees. Alex knew exactly where he was going. He opened the first door to the right on the second floor and found the master suite. The canopied bed was much larger than he remembered, but he had been a child of ten when he was last here.

  He closed the door behind Kitt and watched as she looked around the room. “I believe these are the original furnishings. My grandfather saw no need to replace such a splendid bed.”

  Her eyes looked enormous in her pale face. “Alex, I …”

  “No apologies are necessary, my dear,” he said as he unbuckled the belt that held up his trousers. “Just undress yourself and lie down.”

  He had wanted to hurt her, and he saw from the fleeting look on her face that he had. Her chin tilted up in defiance. Her lips firmed in determination. And her eyes narrowed with scorn.

  “I see you have decided to show your true feelings at last, my dear.”

  “I will hate you for this, Alex.”

  “It is only one more sin to add to the list you have long since laid at my door.”

  “What do you expect from me?” she spat. “You murdered Leith.”

  “The only man you could ever love, as I recall.”

  “When I said that, I believed I would never love again. I didna know I could. But I did fall in love again, Alex. With you. I couldna help it. It just happened!”

  “You need not pretend with me, Kitt. You’ve already told me all your secrets. How you hate the English, especially Blackthorne. Come. Lay yourself down for your enemy one last time, my dear. Make the great sacrifice for your people.”

  Every movement was filled with pride and defiance as she undressed herself before him in broad daylight. Alex’s breath caught in his chest. His heart was pounding like the drums on St. Bride’s day as she exposed her high, firm breasts, her narrow waist and flat belly, her broad, childbearing hips, and the lithe legs that had more than once been wrapped around his waist.

  It was only when his eyes returned to her face that he saw her hunger. And something else that might have been regret.

  Alex pulled his shirt off over his head and yanked off boots and socks before stripping off his trousers and smalls, leaving him as naked as she. When he looked up again, he found that her gaze was as avid as his. She might hate him, but by God, she wanted him.

  Good, he thought. Let her suffer as I do.

  “Come here,” he said in a dangerously soft voice.

  “No, you come here,” she replied, tipping her chin an inch higher.

  He could afford to be generous. He had what he wanted. She was his, if only for one more day. Alex took the three steps that put them body to body and brushed her hair back over her shoulders to fully expose her breasts. He leaned down and kissed her breast, then sucked the nipple into his mouth. She made an angry sound as her hands clutched at his hair.

  But she did not force him away. She held him where he was. Alex released her and looked into her deep green eyes. The defiance was gone. What he saw was pain.

  He should have stopped then. He knew what he was doing to them both. Some demon drove him to pick her up in his arms and carry her to the bed and lay her down.

  He did not tarry with her, afraid he would change his mind and send her away. He slipped his hands beneath her buttocks, spread her legs with his knees, and thrust inside.
She was hot and wet and ready for him. He met her gaze as he stroked inside her and saw the guilt. Because she wanted him. Despite who and what she knew him to be.

  He closed his eyes to shut out what he could not change and drove toward his climax inside her. All the time he was aware of keeping himself—his inner self—from her. He did not kiss her. He did not touch her, except as his body surged into hers. This was not an act of love. It was an act of anger.

  Filled with self-loathing, Alex withdrew before spilling his seed, anxious to remove himself from a situation he could no longer control.

  Kitt’s legs encircled his thighs to keep him from retreating. “No! You promised! One last time!”

  He sank back inside her, but grasped her chin with his hand to force her to look at him. “You hate me, and yet you want this?”

  He watched her swallow hard. “I want a child, Alex. Our child. I never meant to hurt you. I wanted to tell you the truth so many times, but I was afraid. Because I love—”

  “Bloody hell!” he raged, cutting off the lie before she could speak it. “Very well, madam. We will finish it.”

  When she tried to close her eyes, he said, “Look at me. I want to see your face when I do this.”

  He looked at her but he didn’t see her, because a red rage had clouded his vision. He preferred anger over the pain that threatened to overwhelm him and make it impossible for him to do what she wished. Why did she profess to love him? Why perpetuate the lie?

  Oh, God, he wished he could believe her! But he could not. He was a fool to take the chance of getting her pregnant. He should stop this now, while there was still time.

  When he hesitated, she reached out and touched him in a sensitive spot she knew would arouse him, then pulled his head down to hers and kissed him full on the mouth.

  He kissed her back, their tongues dueling as their bodies skirmished. Her hands moved over him, touching and scratching and arousing him to unbearable heights, while he caressed her satiny skin, loving the softness, the uniqueness of her.

  Because he had prolonged the coupling, the moment of climax was all the more powerful when it came. As he spilled his seed, he heard her cry of joy and for one single instant he wished he were not leaving on the morrow. More than that, he wished … for a fairy tale. For happily ever after.