“Do not overestimate your luck, my lady.” His voice was like granite.
“Afraid you won’t succeed?”
“Don’t do this. We will both pay for your recklessness.”
But India closed her ears, stubborn as only a Delamere could be. She was facing him, caught across his thighs. Slowly she bent her head. Her eyes locked on his mouth, sharply carved in moonlight and shadow. Silently she raised her hand to his chest.
And in that instant her plan began to backfire, for India found every gesture kindling memories of his low laughter and the heated pleasures he had taught her all those months ago in Brussels. Before she realized the extent of her danger, she was lost. What had begun as reckless provocation became ragged need.
Her eyes locked with Thorne’s.
“You have no idea what you’re doing.”
“I have every idea.”
“Do you think so?” Thorne said hoarsely. His hand fell, found the cool line of her neck, and slid lower. In taut silence he worked beneath the layers of muslin until he met the heat of one full breast. As India moved restlessly against him, he bared her to his gaze. “Do you still think so? And is this what you wanted of me, my lady?”
This time there was anger as well as desire in his voice. Dimly India realized that she had pushed him over the edge.
She knew a moment of fear. They were alone in a carriage, on a deserted London street. She was without anyone to help her. But anything was better than this emptiness. A century of pain would be worth one night of knowing he hadn’t forgotten her.
“Still in the mood for danger?”
She was. And, heaven help her, she was lost in memories of him. So India did not pull away from his possessing fingers, nor the lips that followed in their wake.
Suddenly she was bent over his arm as his mouth covered the hungry line of her nipple. She moaned, desire moving through her like a storm, leaving her weak and flushed.
And Thorne knew it. Like a hunter, he plotted his course, noting every moment of her weakness. With a single motion he slid her gown lower. His mouth turned demanding, nipping gently, drawing forth her husky cry.
“If it’s danger you wanted, it’s danger you shall have, my lady.”
“And — your memory?”
“Memory, be damned,” Thorne said hoarsely. “Maybe I want what he had, this man whom I cannot remember. Maybe I need it more than you can know.” His hands molded her hips. A moment later linen and cambric were shoved aside and he found the heat of her, yielding and sweet beneath his strong fingers.
“Dev, no. Not unless there’s more than touch. Not unless you remember.”
“It’s too late, my lady. Maybe touch is the only way to bring back that stranger you used to know.”
Long months before, he had been gentle, restrained, patient as he brought her inch by inch to an understanding of her own body and all its textures of desire.
Now the patient teacher was gone. Against her body India felt the angry line of Thorne’s desire and knew that this was no teacher, but a man. A man too long denied. But India wanted him too much to stop now. His recklessness goaded her own, which always simmered too near the surface. She felt his mouth nip at her neck and then an exquisite tingling as his teeth left a love mark on her naked skin. Her hands went to his throat, shoving away the buttons that kept his body from hers.
But Dev was stronger. He opened her thighs, groaning softly when he felt the lush, wet heat of her arousal. “My God,” he said hoarsely.
A shudder ran through India. Outside, the clatter of the carriage, the rush of the wind, the neighing of the horses, all were swept away, lost in the sensual haze washing over her. She fell deep into a world of darkness, texture and sensation. And because Dev’s touch was sweet and too long denied, she did not fight him as she was pulled relentlessly along those swift, dark currents.
Somewhere in the night a clock tolled twice. It brought India the memory of another clock in another time when two lovers had stood listening to the last chime fade away, their fingers tightly locked.
“I’ll come back,” Devlyn had whispered huskily. “I’ll find you, my reckless Delamere, even if I have to march back through the gates of hell to do it.” India thought of those fierce words as she studied Thorne’s shadowed face. Dear God, what if it was true? What if he couldn’t ever remember? What if her Dev was lost to her forever, leaving only a man with Dev’s likeness?
“Stop,” she said raggedly, shoving at his hands even as pleasure threatened to sweep away her logic. “I can’t, not like this.”
Devlyn’s jaw hardened. “Yes, now. So that I can see exactly what I’ve lost. So I can hear your restless cry of passion. I’ve waited too long for that.”
India shivered at the harshness of his voice, truly a stranger’s now, as his hands eased slowly into unthinkable places. How could she allow him such a caress? It shamed every memory of the man she had loved.
“No, not like this. Not with you — as a stranger.”
She heard him curse raggedly. The next minute his fingers stilled, although they did not leave her.
“A stranger?” His laugh was bitter. “But I’ve told you exactly what I was from the start. I’m Devlyn Carlisle and yet none of him. I’m simply a man, my lady, a man who’s fallen under your spell, intoxicated by your sweet passion. But I shall stop,” he said darkly, “if you tell me you wish that. If you convince me now.” He waited, body rigid, breath checked.
India felt the hard thrust of his manhood and knew that he was not half so controlled as he appeared. And then she realized he had wedged his arm painfully against the small compartment at the center of the carriage wall so that her side would be elevated. In spite of the pain of that position, he had done this without question, protecting her bandaged skin from scraping the sharp corners of wood.
Stranger or not, he had protected her without comment or hesitation.
Whoever this man was, he would not hurt her. His honor was clear, as was his honesty.
Some last shred of reason broke inside her then. She shuddered, driven by need and something far deeper then need. It might have been the force of memories as exquisite as they were tormenting, or it might have been the yearning of a heart that had met its match. Perhaps it did not matter why.
She moaned softly and moved against his fingers.
It was the sign Thorne had waited for. Eyes glinting, he eased deep inside her, every second wild with pleasure and endless torment.
“I want you,” he said harshly. “Right here and right now. With you welcoming and sweet, right out of a man’s darkest dreams. But that wouldn’t be enough for you, would it? You’ll always want answers and memories I can’t give.” His jaw hardened as passion filled her eyes. “But maybe this memory is all I need.” His thumb found the tiny hidden bud of her desire.
Instantly India cried out. Her body shimmered, tossed headlong into a blinding wave of desire. Again and again he moved, gentle and expert. And India melted against him, accepting the wild wonder that grew and grew until it took over her body, a body that accepted the dark care of a stranger’s hands, just as she accepted him and this blinding passion he taught her, knowing that somehow, someway he would keep her safe.
Even when her Delamere blood boiled and the very last thing she wanted was to be safe.
~ ~ ~
The watcher stood in the shadows, looking toward the darkened room on the second floor. The door was bolted and the curtains pulled. One by one the lights went out in the grand house. And still he did not move. His thoughts were dark, his mouth set in a harsh line.
It was not over yet, he swore. As he spoke, his fingers crushed the rose he had taken from the thronged ballroom, a blush-pink bloom whose petals reminded him of India Delamere’s creamy cheeks.
Petal after petal fell silently on the cold cobblestones and then were ground ruthlessly beneath his boot.
Soon the last prize would be within his grasp.
~ ~ ~
I
ndia’s eyes opened. A hundred different emotions warred in her head as she studied Devlyn’s dark features sculpted by moonlight.
She caught a ragged breath. “Devlyn, I—”
“No, don’t.” His voice was low, tight. He eased away and sat stiffly on the opposite seat. “Do not misunderstand. It was for you, but also for me, Princess.”
“Princess?” Her voice was unsteady.
“You might as well be. That Delamere pride is part of you, obvious in every gesture and look. But tonight I needed to feel that blind passion course through you. I had to see if your softness and your heat would fill the silence and all those dark holes.” He cleared his throat. “You know about the darkness. I’ve seen that in your eyes, too.”
She shivered. “It was chaos. The wounded just kept coming…”
Thorne’s mouth hardened. “I won’t shame either of us by apologizing for something I don’t regret in the slightest. And yet…” His hands tightened as he looked out at the passing streets, silent and lonely in the last hours before dawn. “One thing I swear. It won’t happen again. Never.”
Slowly, India sat up. “So this is all to be forgotten, as if it never happened?”
“Exactly. It’s the only way. What just took place never should have — and it never will again.”
Abruptly, Thorne sat forward. “You’re bleeding again.”
India looked down, surprised to see the dark stain at her side. “So I am,” she said mechanically.
Thorne muttered harshly, pulled his cravat free, then pressed it against her side. “Don’t move. How could I have been such a fool to—” He shook his head. “Maybe you’re right. Thornwood House is no longer safe for you.” He pulled away the tangle of linen and stared down at the dark drops of blood, then returned it to her side. “More of a fool than I thought,” he muttered. Leaning out the carriage window, he shouted hoarsely. “Devonham House, coachman. And be quick about it!”
A moment later the team turned. Devlyn sat in tight-lipped silence, his hand cradling India’s side.
“What if your memory doesn’t matter?” India said unsteadily. “What if I’m willing to take you any way I can have you, Devlyn Carlisle?”
“But not for long, I’ll warrant. You’ve too much dignity for that. Even if you accepted me, do you think I could agree, knowing that I could give only part of me? Knowing that every second we were together was built on lies and omissions that must eventually tear your heart in two?” he said bitterly. He reached out to catch her hand and with exquisite grace he raised her palm to his lips. “Not like a thief in the night. No, by heaven, not in this damned hole-in-the-wall manner.”
The carriage lurched to a halt outside the elegant town house belonging to the Duchess of Cranford.
After opening the door, Devlyn looked at India for long moments. Then he swept her up into his arms.
“I’m perfectly able to walk.”
“But I’m not able to let you,” he said roughly. “It is a small enough service to render, after all.”
Her body was stiff as he carried her up the steps, where the door was thrown open by a sleepy footman. “Who—” The startled servant rubbed his eyes. “My lady?”
“Yes, Thomas, I’m home again. You needn’t stay, however.”
“But, my lady, you’re bleeding!” The young footman’s eyes swept accusingly to Thornwood.
“Of course she is. She doesn’t know the meaning of rest.” Devlyn felt the damp trickle of her blood at his hand. “I’m taking her up to her room.”
“But—”
The earl did not wait for an answer. He strode toward the stairs. But at the foot of the great winding staircase Devlyn was stopped by an imperious butler. “Well, man, where’s her room?”
The old retainer, dignified and silent, did not move.
“Her room, blast it. Don’t you understand English?” He felt a tug at his shoulder and looked down at India.
“Don’t bother,” she said softly. “It’s Tuesday.”
“What in bloody hell does that have to do with anything?”
Her frown told him what she thought of his language.
“A thousand apologies, Princess. Now tell me why the day should be of any interest right now.”
“On Tuesdays Beach does not speak, of course.”
“Of course,” Devlyn muttered. “Why didn’t I know that? Since your butler does not deign to speak, why don’t you tell me where your room is?”
“Up the stairs and to the left.”
But Devlyn got no more than a few steps when his way was again blocked, this time by a plump woman with a string of keys jangling at her waist. “I beg your pardon,” he said, “but I need to get up the stairs.”
The woman did not move. Indeed, she gave no sign that she had noticed his presence.
Devlyn started to speak, then stopped. He stared down at India. “Don’t tell me. It’s Tuesday and she—”
“Oh, not because it’s Tuesday.” India’s voice was softly protective. “Mrs. Harrison never recognizes the presence of a male after midnight on the second week of the month. It has something to do with an uncle who had promised her passage to the West Indies, where she was to meet her future husband and be married. Unfortunately, her uncle died in a state of violent inebriation and his heir refused her any assistance. As a result, Mrs. Harrison’s chance at love was shattered. I suspect she has never quite forgiven either man.”
“Mrs.?”
“Just a formality. She never married,” India whispered.
Devlyn frowned. To India Delamere this all seemed entirely commonplace, but he was stunned. In his family servants had been treated well, but impersonally. Certainly his mother and father had never made the slightest effort to remember the likes and dislikes or personal history of their staff.
It struck Devlyn that he had never had any attachment to those who had served as he grew up. He began to think his life was made a great deal poorer by that loss.
He was wondering what else was in store as he sidestepped the motionless cook and made for the beautiful staircase that spiraled up to the second floor.
But when he put one foot on the stairs, India’s voice caught him up sharply. “No, don’t!”
He looked down, one dark brow cocked. “What now? No, don’t tell me. Napoleon is visiting and no one else may use the staircase when the emperor is in residence.”
“Of course not.” India’s eyes narrowed. “I see,” she said gravely. “You are poking fun at our little rituals. I suppose they must seem frivolous to an outsider. Others have told me so often enough.”
Pain darkened her eyes and instantly Devlyn regretted every sharp word. He had a furious desire to know who had dared to say a cutting word to this unique creature in his arms. Devlyn would gladly have run the bastard through with a blade at that moment.
“No, not frivolous. They simply require a bit of getting used to. Now perhaps you will tell me why I must not climb the staircase?”
India glanced at the elegant little timepiece pinned to the bodice of her dress. “Because it’s after twelve o’clock.”
Devlyn waited. No doubt this was supposed to mean something to him, but he had no idea what.
“It is nearly time, you see.” She looked expectantly at the staircase.
Devlyn also looked. A tall figure appeared at the top of the stairs, clad in the pristine crimson livery of the duchess. As Devlyn watched in amazement, the man hooked one leg over the banister and began a perfectly balanced, hair-raising descent that brought him in a matter of seconds down two flights of steps. At the bottom he slid off handily and came to a halt before India.
He made a careful bow. “My lady,” he murmured, and moved off toward the kitchen.
It was only then that Devlyn noticed the servant’s awkward limp as he tapped across the gleaming marble of the alcove. “An accident?”
“Albert and his family have been with us forever. He accompanied Papa on many of his archaeological excursions abroad. Bu
t he was badly wounded at Ciudad Rodrigo in the thick of the fighting. Papa called in the best physicians, but the leg was still lost. Papa insisted on giving him an easier job, but Albert wouldn’t hear of it. Every night he insists on patrolling the house to see that all is secure. With all those flights of stairs so devilishly difficult, Ian and I hit upon this method to ease his way.” She looked up at Devlyn, her face utterly sincere. “It is better for him, don’t you think?”
The Earl of Thornwood could only stare down in amazement. In his whole life, had he ever given half this much thought to the people who cleaned his dishes, laid his fires, or cared for his clothing?
He nodded gravely. “Yes, you are quite right, Princess. It is a much better system. It was very clever of you and Ian to have thought of it.”
“I’m glad you agree. It is safe to go up now. We will have no more activity for a quarter hour.”
Devlyn’s brow rose. “What happens then?”
“That’s when Albert returns by the little basket chair that we fitted to the staircase. He is most adept at using it by himself, but he would be uncomfortable if we were watching.”
Devlyn fought to hide a smile. “Of course, we must not be present,” he said gravely.
“Not that you have to carry me at all,” India began. “I am well able to walk. It is but a bit of blood and my side feels quite well, I assure you.”
“Out of the question. I’m taking you up and will see you placed safely in your bed. There you are to stay until the surgeon pays a visit tomorrow.”
“Oh, I shall, shall I?”
“Yes, you’ll do exactly that.” At that moment something brushed against Devlyn’s leg. A large gray shape ghosted around him and blocked the stairs. What now, Devlyn thought.
He looked down at feral green eyes, a wide nose, and gleaming white teeth.
Sweet heaven, it was a wolf and the huge creature was crouched to strike.
CHAPTER 12
Come the Dawn Page 11