He walked with her as far as the rear of the coach and leaned back against the dark wood.
“Three minutes ... Catherine.”
Biting her tongue, she hastened behind the coach to a spot close to the front wheel. At least it afforded some privacy. It occurred to her to bolt into the nearby trees; however, she knew he would be ever vigilant—he, or his accomplice. One of them would spot her. No, she must bide her time, wait for him to become less watchful.
She removed everything but her shift and stays fairly quickly—considering all the ties and hooks—and slipped the muslin gown over her head. Her hoop lay near her feet. On impulse, she reached under her gown, unlaced her corset and tossed it onto the pile. Somehow, she must find a way to escape her captivity. That would require shedding the hated garment that bit into her flesh and made bending from the waist nearly impossible.
After fumbling with the bodice laces, she finally accomplished the task of dressing. None too soon. Without warning, he stood beside her.
“You see, I can be reasonable when I am obeyed.”
“You know nothing of reason.” Although she experienced a resurgence of fear, she could not entirely still her tongue.
He wore an expression of quiet amusement as he reached for her, his fingers gently encircling her arms. “Come, it is time to leave.”
Catherine stiffened and stood her ground. Past adversity had bred strength in her. There was no better time than now to call upon it. If she didn’t stand up to this man now, her situation would become completely intolerable.
“I will not go with you. I cannot.”
“Yes you can and, by God, you will.”
“No.
“Obey me.” His steely tone implied that she had little choice.
“You, sir, are thoroughly uncivilized.” How she still managed to challenge him astonished her.
He laughed, a low sound that drifted into the moonlit night. “All the more reason you should obey. In time you will learn to do as you are bid.”
She balled her hand into a fist, took aim and almost caught the side of his face.
He easily dodged her intended blow.
“Who is uncivilized now?” He captured her wrists and pulled her against him. Then he lifted her into his arms. She pummeled his chest as he carried her to where his chestnut horse grazed by the roadside.
“You will have ample time to refine your manners.” He tossed her onto the saddle and sprung up behind her. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he held her close. “I suggest you start now.”
He urged the horse forward, stopping at the open doorway of the coach. Gasping for air, Flint struggled to free himself from his bonds. His face had taken on the hue of a ripe pomegranate.
St. Clair reached down and yanked the gag from Flint’s mouth.
Almost at once, Flint raged. “I’ll hunt you down and kill you for this.”
“Few are given a second chance. You know where to find me.” St. Clair wheeled the horse around, dug his heels into its sides and raced into the forest.
Chapter 2
In the profound darkness, Catherine lost all track of time. There was no way to gauge their direction. The trees had closed about them almost at once. As they penetrated deeper into the forest, the moonlight diminished. Save for the soft plodding of the horses’ hoofs, she found herself cloistered in a world of silence, for neither the man nor his accomplice, who rode closely behind, exchanged a word.
Cramped and bruised, she shivered from cold and fear. When he wrapped her shaking body in his arms, she accepted his warmth. More than ever, she was determined to survive the night.
When they finally stopped, shadows crouched upon the lightly dewed earth. St. Clair lifted her down from the horse, loosened the saddle, yanked free a blanket and tossed it to her. It smelled of horse and mulch, but she welcomed it anyway. She wrapped herself in it and sank to the ground. With no one to protect her, she fought the urge to sleep, but eventually succumbed to exhaustion.
Sometime later, she awoke to the sound of voices. They were camped in a meadow ringed by tall trees. The moon glowed silver against a black sky pricked by countless stars. A carpet of wildflowers mingled with the grass. The night breeze carried the fragrance of early summer, but the arrival of her favorite season offered no comfort.
A gush of water suggested a stream flowed nearby, or perhaps a river. Her parched throat reminded her that many hours had passed since she had drunk anything. As she thought about water, she could almost imagine a refreshing trickle moistening her tongue. She must keep her thirst to herself. She would make only one demand—to be set free.
The two men sat a short distance away, their silhouettes barely perceptible in the gloom. They conversed in French, which surprised her. Although Louis’s speech hinted of French descent, the man known to her as Rive St. Clair had spoken in unaccented English. She managed to catch snatches of their conversation, since she had some familiarity with the language. Although an apt pupil during her school years, she found her skills limited by too few opportunities to practice them. During the past eighteen months, as her family’s financial situation deteriorated, she’d had no opportunity to practice at all.
“No one would deny you ... conscience ... frightened her half to death.”
His choice of words and gruffer tone told Catherine it was Louis who spoke.
“Better only by half ... circumstances ... took advantage ... stays with me.”
St. Clair for certain. He had a surprisingly cultured voice, not what she would have expected of a common outlaw.
Louis had used the word “conscience” to his friend. Was it possible he possessed one? No, his behavior proved him to be as unprincipled as the basest criminal.
He continued, “The murdered avenged ... justice ...”
“They are at rest ... take comfort ... the wharf ... chance this morning.”
“Too public ...”
“A quick strike.”
“Not suit my purpose ... must answer not just to me ...”
He raked his long fingers through the midnight-dark hair that fell from near the line of his jaw halfway down his nape. Then he placed an arm about Louis’ shoulders in what struck Catherine as a companionable gesture. Apparently, he took no offense at his comrade’s criticisms. A common thug might have shown his fist, or worse, his knife. That he possessed a somewhat agreeable disposition surprised her. She would not have guessed that tolerance was a part of his nature. The discovery made him seem almost as perplexing as frightening.
“My decision.” Then he rose and stretched. “I need
sleep ... my word no harm ... befall the bride.”
As he walked toward her, Catherine closed her eyes. How much could the word of an unprincipled man be worth? This one spoke of justice and murder in the same breath. Lying down beside her, he looped a thin strip of something soft about her wrist. She needed no visual proof he had bound her to him. After having accomplished her abduction, he would never chance her escaping in the night. A short while later, she heard his deep, even breathing.
For her, however, sleep proved as elusive as freedom. Even when she forced herself to put aside her predicament, she dozed only in snatches. For a good part of the night she stared at the dark sky studded with its myriad of stars. The aromatic, woody scent of the air did nothing to dispel her anxieties. She lay still, consumed by one thought: she must find a means to escape. Somehow.
She next awoke to sunlight and found him standing over her.
“Good morning.” He sounded almost cheerful.
Her gaze met green eyes intensified by a sun-darkened complexion. A lock of dark hair lay across a wide and yet unlined brow. Now that his features were no longer enshrouded by night, she could see that his nose, if not quite straight, fit comfortably between strong cheekbones. Indeed, she thought him a man of uncommon beauty, if the term could be applied to the masculine gender. His beauty made him even more dangerous, for never must she stop thinking of him as anything other
than an ogre. She sat up and edged away.
“You must be hungry. I know I am.” He didn’t wait for a reply. “Do you like rabbit? While you slept, I snared a plump one.”
Louis was nowhere in sight.
Catherine scrambled to her feet and watched him with a wary eye. No longer bound, her hands, partially concealed in the folds of her gown, curled into fists. In spite of passing the night with him without incident, she considered him no more trustworthy than a cutthroat.
“I’ll assume from your silence that you have no distaste for rabbit.”
Finally, Catherine found her voice. “Who are you? Why have you committed this despicable act?”
He stood, thumbs hooked in his belt. His ease suggested that her harangue in no way intimidated him.
“I will gladly answer your first question. My name is Rive St. Clair. Since I know you are called Catherine and have already been referring to you as such, I ask you to use my given name, as well. Again, it is Rive. That should not be too difficult for you to master. Try it.”
He had the gall to smile.
Catherine breathed deeply in an effort to contain her outrage. “Rive,” the French word meaning bank or shore, a place of safety, of refuge. In his case the name was an obvious misnomer.
He cupped a hand behind his ear. “I didn’t hear you.”
“I said nothing.”
“Exactly.”
Her brow furrowed as if he had posed a riddle.
“My name. Say it.”
She pressed her lips together.
He stepped closer. As she tried to back away, his hand snaked about her waist. He lodged a curved finger beneath her chin. He tilted her head up so that her eyes met his.
Panic set her pulse fluttering. Her brief moment of defiance dissipated like a wisp of smoke. She dropped her eyes. “Rive.”
He freed her with a triumphant grin.
“See, that was not so difficult. Now that is settled, we can proceed to other matters. I’m going to assume you are famished. I know I am.” He spoke as if she were not his prisoner but a willing partner in some adventurous romp. “However, if we are to breakfast, we shall need a fire. Why don’t you collect some wood while I skin the rabbit?”
Catherine stared in disbelief. “If you meant that as a jest, I find no humor in it.”
“I rarely jest when I am hungry. If I must repeat everything I say, we shall lodge in these woods well into summer. A prospect you might wish to avoid.”
She steeled herself to ignore his demands. “If you were dying of thirst, I would not fetch so much as a cup of water for you. I am a lady, not a lackey pressed into your service.”
“Are you? I hadn’t noticed.”
“I happen to be educated, sir.”
His dark brows lifted. “Indeed.” His neutral tone made it difficult to decide if he were mocking her. “Which subjects besides needlework and the other ... womanly arts would interest such a lady?”
He was beyond infuriating and somewhat less threatening, perhaps because darkness no longer cloaked the scene. The bright morning sun bathed the ground in luminous rays and brushed her skin with gentle warmth. High in the trees birds trilled a merry chorus. An intense blue draped the sky, as if to defy a painter to reproduce it on canvas.
In answering him, she was not above a small boast. “I am well versed in history and mathematics. I play the pianoforte, have read extensively and am somewhat familiar with the French language.” He seemed to ponder her last bit of information. She wondered if he were rethinking last night’s conversation with his friend and weighing how much of it she might have heard.
“By your own admission, you are an accomplished woman. Who, might I ask, instructed you in those subjects?”
Catherine fixed him with a smug look. “I had a tutor.”
“A tutor. Your mother, then? What did she teach you? I shall assume manners among other things, although I have seen no evidence.”
She hesitated, the subject of her mother’s greatly reduced circumstances being all too raw. At first she thought not to answer him but, upon further contemplation, changed her mind. “She taught me that if I must make my own way in the world, to do so with dignity and honor.”
He let the silence stretch out between them, as if he had lost interest in the conversation. “You have made your way into a world that, shortly, would have stripped you of all dignity.”
“I did not willingly enter your world.”
“I do not speak of myself.”
Flint. Consumed by her predicament, she had not entertained a single thought of him. In contemplating escape, she had dwelt on the need to save herself from whatever affront this man might impose upon her. Now, with her mind clearer, her desperation became more acute. Would her husband mount a rescue or deem it too dangerous? Either way, she must find a way to reunite with him. Failing to do so would mean disgrace and destitution for her family, surely prison for her father. Dignity? She’d surrendered it the day she agreed to Jeremy Flint’s marriage proposal.
“Are you always so difficult?” Rive asked. “You’ll make both of our lives more tolerable if you obey me, especially since you no longer have Louis to plead your cause. He was most concerned for your welfare.”
“If I refuse?” For the life of her she could not imagine what had prompted such a provocative statement.
* * * *
Rive smiled even as he shook his head. He guessed her conflict, evidenced in the wide blue eyes that met his gaze without faltering. At the same time she seemed unable to control the slight trembling of her lower lip. She was determined to defy him. This he understood, although it vexed him greatly. She feared him, too, and this he also recognized. Only God knew what she thought he was going to do to her.
He knew what he wanted to do. He would start by taking that stray curl that rested against her brow, coiling it about his finger and bringing it to his lips. Then he would brush her cheek and, next, the sweet line of her long, slender neck, which he would follow to the little hollow at the base of her throat. There he would pause briefly before venturing to the pale flesh that lay hidden below the neckline of her gown. He wanted to explore every part of her—from the tip of her delicately pointed, defiant chin to her toes—without haste. He would give special attention to all the soft, secret places concealed by a thin veil of dress fabric.
He was becoming aroused. To follow thought with deed would be unwise, if not dangerous. Earlier he had wondered what kind of woman would consort with the likes of Flint. The word that came to mind was one not spoken lightly and only in the company of men. Twelve hours later he conceded the woman he ached to possess was indeed a lady.
Why must life be so complicated?
With a sigh, he admonished himself to deal with the part of his anatomy that, at the moment, made it extremely difficult to adhere to his higher instincts. And to do it in all haste.
He needed a task. The rabbit lay on the ground where he had tossed it earlier. He waited a moment for his body to ease, before he walked over and snatched up his catch. He held it aloft by its hind legs.
“Would you rather help prepare the meat?” He unsheathed his knife.
“You are a brute and an unconscionable heathen.”
He watched her lips tremble with indignation. Lush, full lips that made him want to trace their contour with his thumb. Perhaps later. No, definitely later when they were settled in and awaiting Flint.
“Does that mean no?” With what she now realized was inherent stealthy grace, he was beside her in an instant, holding out his offering. As he expected, the sight of the poor dead creature produced the desired effect. Her face pinched into a frown. She looked as if she had swallowed a spoonful of rancid stew.
“You are—”
“Yes, I know.” He cut short her litany. “I am a brute, a savage, a beast and inhabit at least half a dozen other incarnations, all of which offend you. Remember, I am in charge here.” He tone bespoke utter conviction. “Or do you need further proof
?”
Chapter 3
Catherine recognized that if he chose to demand her submission, he had the will and strength to accomplish it. He must know something of her, too. She would not easily cave under his pressure.
He had moved very close to her. Too close. His restless gaze shifted over her body as if, mentally, he were stripping away her few garments. Although modestly clothed, she was gripped by the feeling of standing naked before him. Her pulse quickened and an odd sensation of heat settled deep inside. A sensation she had never before experienced, but whose meaning even a woman of sheltered upbringing could fathom. The knowledge that he could bring this about horrified her.
“Catherine?”
She took a moment to collect her senses. “The
kindling ...” Then she turned and hurried away.
“Don’t wander from my sight. Make certain the wood is dry and a decent size. I have a most fearsome appetite this morning.”
His last words sent her off with even quicker steps.
Seconds later, she skirted the edge of the meadow. The forest loomed thick with towering fir and pine trees, along with a smattering of maples. She yearned to run, but a glance over her shoulder confirmed that he was keeping a watchful eye. She did feel almost faint from hunger. The thought of rabbit roasting on a spit had her almost licking her lips. Common sense dictated she would not venture far before he tracked her down. She must first regain her strength and then wait for him to become careless.
The freshness of the air mingled with the woody scent of bark and foliage. She noted that they were in a hilly, even mountainous region and tucked that bit of information away. In the future, it might prove useful.
She tried not to torture herself with worries about the future: the peril to her family if a disaster were to befall Jeremy Flint. Perhaps he had already decided he valued his life far more than his desire to possess her. What past involvement with Rive had induced him to abduct her? By now, her husband might have sent word to his agent to cease subsequent deposits to her father’s account.
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