Sweet Seduction hmtl

by Patricia Pellicane

  They were at an inn, sitting opposite one another as they took their evening meal. Tristan looked at the silent woman across from him and denied the feelings of remorse that filled his soul. She was pale, but he hadn't caused that. It was the strain of traveling that turned her creamy complexion pallid. She'd be fine once they reached his home and she rested for a day or so. "How do you feel?"

  Meg raised her dark gaze to his. Her eyes held no emotion. He'd never seen them so flat. She might have been looking at a total stranger. She smiled politely. "I feel fine, thank you."

  "Are you tired?"

  "A little," she said.

  "Would you like to spend the night?"

  "How much farther is it?"

  "Another eight hours."

  God in heaven. He was taking her days away from her family home. How was she ever going to find her way back? Meg twisted her back, keeping her eyes to her plate and her thoughts to herself.

  "How long have we traveled already?"

  "Five hours." He watched her movement and realized how she must ache. It was then that he made up his mind. They were going to stay the night. Not that his decision was based solely on her, he reasoned. He was tired himself. There was no need to hurry this trip. "I think that's enough for one day. I'll get a room."

  Meg wiped at her mouth with a napkin, hiding her grin as he left the table and alerted the innkeeper. She wasn't that tired, having slept most of the last five hours. Meg figured what she needed was a really long walk. She bit her lip, forcing back her laughter. Her heart pounded with excitement. It was almost over.

  All she had to do was remain calm and wait for the beast to fall asleep. She could do it. She had to do it.

  Meg was already in bed, her back turned to him when she heard him enter the room. She listened in silence to the sounds of his undressing. Tristan groaned as he settled himself beside her in bed. His arm reached out and pulled her against him. He felt her stiffen. "What's the matter? Are you still angry?"

  Angry? Is anger what he thought she felt? Meg would have loved to have set the man straight, for anger didn't come close to the hatred that filled her heart. But if she told him what she felt, she'd be admitting to things, to feelings she wasn't sure she could understand. And she wouldn't do that under the threat of death. She shrugged. "Of course I'm not angry. I just want to sleep."

  "Well, so do I, but I can't if you don't relax." he as he curved his body against hers.

  Meg forced her body to soften as he cuddled her to his chest. It took a great deal of will to permit the loathsome action, for she wanted nothing more than to lash out and rain upon this man's head her pent-up rage.

  A few moments later she heard his even breathing. He was well on his way to sleep. She waited, knowing he had to fall deeper asleep, much deeper, before she dared try her escape. No. She wasn't going to try. This time she was going to do it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Meg moved in absolute and total silence. Feeling her way in an unfamiliar room, hampered by darkness as she dressed, was not an easy chore. Her foot hit his discarded boot. She gasped soundlessly and then cringed in fear as she heard the boot topple to its side. The soft sound was like a cannon blast to her ears.

  She glanced quickly behind her and relaxed. No movement came from the bed. She could just about make out his form. The low sounds of his breathing told her he was deeply asleep.

  She sighed quietly as she found her shoes. Not wanting to risk putting them on, she held them tightly to her chest, and moved to the door. She couldn't chance staying a moment longer. Any second she expected the man to lunge from the bed and grab her.

  At the landing Meg slid her slippers over her feet. She made a face at the soft kid leather, knowing dancing shoes were next to useless for trekking through woods. It didn't matter. She'd go if she had walk barefoot. All she wanted was to never see this again.

  It was daylight. The hour, she judged by the sun, close to noon. Meg hadn't made much progress at all. She supposed she hadn't walked farther than

  three miles and even that small distance had taken all of last night and most of the morning. She'd moved slowly, stopping often to rest. This was only her second day out of bed, and Meg was loath to admit she was decidedly weaker than she'd imagined.

  She sat high in a tree, breathless and trembling from the effort of climbing. Her lips were clamped tightly together as every nerve in her body silently screamed out to the Almighty for help. She watched the rider speed on by. He passed just below the branch she sat upon. Meg felt a shiver of fear race up her spine as all her fears proved true. It was Tristan, and he was obviously searching for her. How had he known which direction to take? What clue had she left behind to lead him directly to her?

  Thank God the forest was quiet enough so that the sounds of pounding hoofs could be clearly heard long before he came into view. She gave a soft groan as she imagined all she'd done had been for naught. He just couldn't find her! Lord, she couldn't allow him to find her.

  Meg waited endless moments before she slowly lowered herself gingerly to the ground. She leaned against the tree, trying to steady the wild pounding of her heart and the almost hysterical impulse to run in any direction. She had to think. She'd never get away if she didn't think this out.

  In which direction should she go? She had to move, but to where? Calmer now, she realized she couldn't go on in the same direction. There was always the chance he'd turn back.

  Meg shook her head at the thought, even as her stomach rumbled hungrily. For the dozenth time in one morning, she cursed her lack of preparation. Why hadn't she thought to stop at the inn's kitchen and take something to eat and drink along with her? Surely she'd have found something. Even a slice of stale bread would satisfy right now. Meg sighed. There was no help for it; so she'd simply have to ignore the building hunger.

  Eventually she'd come across a stream or lake. Soon enough she'd slake her thirst.

  Her leg was on fire, but Meg ignored the pain and limped off the seldom-used trail and into the thicket of woods. Walking through heavy underbrush made maneuvering much harder, taxing her meager strength to the limit, for her skirt snagged on nearly every bush she passed.

  She'd changed direction. Meg figured walking a full day west would take her far out of the way, but, without a doubt, deeper into the security of the forest. He'd never expect her to continue on in a westerly direction. He'd expect her to double back toward the way they'd come, heading for the docks and a ship that would take her home.

  Meg chuckled and for the first time felt a measure of relief that the man had never believed her story. He thought she was an English Gypsy. He'd therefore expect her to try and find her way back to England. Meg felt a wave of confidence. All she had to do was I being caught within the next few hours. After that, he'd look in the wrong place.

  During the day's damp heat, she walked into swarms of gnats that tried to invade her nose, her mouth, and eyes. She'd run from bees, jumped with fright at a slithering snake, and smiled at darting frightened rabbits, all the while fighting back the fear of the oncoming night. She didn't want to think of the horror of spending a night alone in this forest. God only knew how many nocturnal animals roamed within its haven.

  In the evening mosquitoes buzzed around her face, neck and arms, just about driving her wild. She stopped only moments after the torture began. Exhausted, she leaned her trembling body against a bide tree. Every muscle and joint in her body ached. Lord, would she ever get home? she wondered. Would she ever find her way out of this endless maze of brush?

  Meg tried to ward off the night's penetrating chill curling herself into a tight ball. It did little good. With her skirt flung over her head to protect what she could of her exposed skin from mosquitos, she slept at last.

  Tristan knew a terror unlike anything he'd ever before suffered. She was gone. He'd awakened that morning knowing something was wrong even before he'd opened his eyes. He'd lunged from the bed only to find no trace of her.

  W
ithin minutes he had looked through every damn room of the inn and been in the barn out back to saddle a hastily bought horse. His eyes scoured the yard, knowing she wouldn't have taken a road. She'd be hiding. She wouldn't chance being caught so easily. He breathed a sigh as he noted a footprint leading to an almost overgrown path. It had to be hers, for it had rained only the day before. Please God, he silently prayed, let it be hers.

  Tristan hurried the horse into a gallop as he followed the trail. His heart pounded furiously in his chest. He had to find her before someone else did. He shuddered as he imagined what might become of her.

  Tristan pushed the horse harder. How far could she have gone? God please, he prayed. Where was she?

  He had to be at least five miles from the inn. He shook his head and brought the horse to a stop. She couldn't have gone this far. She wasn't strong enough to travel so far on foot. Tristan tried desperately to control his panic. He had to think. He'd find her if he could only think.

  He doubled back. He must have passed her. No doubt she'd heard the horse approach and had ducked into the woods. God damn her! Didn't she know the danger she faced out here alone?

  He was about three miles from the inn when he saw her footprints again. He stopped the horse and looked closely at the soft dirt road. The prints came stop at a tree and then showed clearly her movement across the trail and into the woods. Tristan cursed. He'd been right; she was hiding from him. She had heard him approach. Directing horse into the woods, he soon found pieces of her dress hanging from thorny weeds. He sighed with relief, recognizing the gold fabric. It was her. She couldn't be far away. It wouldn't be long until he found her.

  But it was. He fought hard to keep his panic at bay, even as he found an occasional piece of fabric, a broken branch, crushed undergrowth, and even a footprint, though it had taken him most of the day to do it. When darkness closed over the forest, Tristan

  no choice but to give up his search for the night. He wrapped the horse blanket around his shoulders and cursed as he waited for enough light to begin his search again.

  Meg slept for a time but after a few hours came awake. She was hungry. Terribly hungry. Meg smiled. The imagination was truly a wondrous thing. Here, she was sitting alone in the dark, miles from anywhere, and she could clearly smell a wood fire and coffee. Her stomach growled and she snuggled tighter into a ball, trying to protect herself from the elements.

  She was terribly chilled, but that wasn't the worst of it. The smells were growing in strength. Now she was sure she detected the delicious scent of beans. Oh, God, beans. Hot and syrupy, with brown sugar molasses. Lord, she couldn't stand it!

  Meg groaned as she yanked her skirt back into place. It was dark, but amazingly enough a flicker of light showed itself through the trees. Her heart gave a lurch. Was it Tristan? Could it be that he was that close?

  Meg forgot about her aching body. She forgot her tiredness. Adrenalin pumped furiously, her heartbeat quickened, and she felt instantly alert. Quickly coming to her feet, she moved silently through the forest. She had to see. It might not be Tristan's fire. It might be another. Perhaps a fellow traveler would take pity on finding a woman out here alone. Perhaps he might even be persuaded to take her home.

  But it wasn't one man who sat around a fire drinking coffee and eating. It was three.

  Meg sighed in despair. There was no way that she could approach three men. Her hunger wasn't that great, nor was her thirst to take so great a chance. Silently she backed away. When she believed herself safe, she turned. Her intent was to move even deeper into the woods when she came smack up against a huge chest.

  In an instant a hand was at her mouth. She struggled wildly as she tore at her assailant only to hear his voice and know her greatest fear had come to pass. She groaned as she heard him say, "If you scream, they might come to your aid. Then again, they might be the kind to enjoy a woman's struggles. Do you want to chance it?"

  Meg slumped against him and shook her head.

  The sounds of birds chirping cheerfully as they flitted from tree branch to tree branch brought Meg out of a deep sleep. She groaned at the stiffness in all her joints even as she snuggled closer to the warmth of Tristan's body.

  He was already awake, his dark eyes watching her face in sleep. Her skin was blotched from insect bites, her hair a mass of knots and tangles covered with brown dust and littered with leaves and twigs. Dirt covered most of her face except for a narrow trail where tears of frustration had cleansed the skin, and yet Tristan knew he'd never seen a woman half so beautiful.

  She hadn't washed in more than twenty-four hours, and yet her scent was deliciously pleasant. Combined with the freshness of earth and their bed of pine needles, it became a powerful aphrodisiac.

  Unhappily, almost with a sense of doom, for the realization brought no joy to his heart, Tristan knew he loved this woman. No doubt he'd loved her for some time. He called himself every kind of fool for allowing this to happen, but even as he cursed his foolishness, he knew he'd had no choice. From the night when he'd seen her across the campfire in London, he'd had no choice but to love her. He'd often wondered why he couldn't let her go, and now he knew. No doubt that was why he'd spoken those cruel words two days ago. He'd been afraid of what she'd made him feel, of what she could do to him, and he'd attacked before he found himself begging her to love back.

  Tristan sighed. There was no hope for it. When a man loved a woman, he became a fool. And he'd no doubt become the greatest fool of all.

  "It's time to get up." He sighed, knowing he couldn't stay there much longer without touching her, kissing her. She rolled from his arms, eyes wide with surprise to find him beside her. It took a moment and then she remembered how he'd dragged her miles from the fire. How she'd begged and cried to be set free, all to no avail. God, but she hated him.

  Tristan ignored the anger in her eyes. "No doubt you're hungry, and both of us could use a bath. We'd better be on our way."

  Tristan stood, his arm resting upon the fireplace mantel, a drink in his hand. His dark gaze moved over her face, neck, and shoulders. He couldn't see more, for she sat low in a tub of soapy water.

  Meg fidgeted nervously beneath his penetrating stare. "Will you stop that?"

  "Stop what?"

  "Staring like that. I don't like it."

  "Why?"

  "What kind of question is that? Do you know anyone who likes being stared at?"

  "It couldn't be that you're feeling a bit nervous, could it?"

  "What I feel is the need for a little privacy."

  "Why? You've nothing I haven't seen a dozen times over."

  Meg's dark eyes grew bright with fire. Her chin rose stubbornly at his words, and her cheeks blazed. "I was ill. That couldn't be helped. And what would I have to be nervous about?"

  "Your punishment, for one."

  "Punishment?" Her eyes widened with surprise and perhaps a touch of humor. "What is that supposed to mean?"

  "It means you tried to escape and now you'll have to suffer whatever I deem just."

  "Good God! I don't believe I'm hearing this. You?" she jeered. "A man who belongs in prison for his hideous crimes has the gall to judge me? Just what would you have done if someone held you against your will?"

  Tristan only smiled for answer. The woman had a point. He wouldn't take kindly to anyone who held a prisoner unless, of course, it was her. He grinned at the thought and then sighed. There was help for it. He loved her. And now that he'd acknowledged the truth of the matter, it was easy to admit that he loved her madly. He couldn't for a minute imagine life without her. What he had to do was convince her to love him in return. It was entirely possible that she'd been close to doing just that only two days ago. Tristan cursed as he remembered how he'd deliberately hurt her. He only prayed he hadn't destroyed any chance they might have had together.

  She snorted derisively. "Besides, what could you do to me that hasn't already been done?"

  Tristan ignored her question and instead said, "I w
ant you to stop trying to escape."

  "'Well, I won't," she returned spitefully. "As long as I'm alive, I'll keep trying. And one of these days, I'll succeed."

  Tristan nodded. "I believe you. That's why we're getting married."

  Meg made a move as if to leave the tub but slipped instead and slid beneath the water. She came up choking, splattering water everywhere. "M . . . m . . . married! Are you insane?"

  Tristan nodded at his thoughts, knowing he'd never keep her any other way. "I think once you marry me, you'll forget this need to escape."

  "Good God, the man is quite mad," she said to the ceiling.

  Tristan shrugged. "You'd best hurry. The preacher is waiting downstairs."

  It was too much. Meg had never heard anything so hilarious in her entire life. The idea that she'd marry at all, never mind this arrogant, obnoxious madman, was simply too much. She burst out laughing and continued to laugh until tears of mirth rolled down her Cheeks.

  Tristan checked his timepiece as her laughter turned into soft irregular giggles. "You'd better hurry."

  Meg smiled in ridicule as she dared, "Or what?"

  "Or I'll invite the man up here and have him marry us while you're still in the tub."

  "You are to be pitied, I think. Your delusions grow more ridiculous every day. We both know he'd never do it."

  "You don't think so?" Tristan started for the door. "Watch." He left.

  "Wait!" Meg got out of the tub so fast she never how she didn't kill herself. She almost fell twice as her slippery feet hit the floor. Staggering toward door, she tried to wrap a towel around her even as she wrenched open the door and yelled, "Wait!" only to find a smirking Tristan standing just outside.

  "I thought you might change your mind."

  Meg slammed the door in his face.

  Tristan laughed as he reentered the room again. "Life's not going to be easy married to a little spitfire, Gypsy."

  "Then don't marry me."

  "Ah, Gypsy," he said as he moved behind her and gripped his arms around her waist, pulling her stiff form against his chest. "If only it was that easy."