Hunter would have discovered her missing by now. Was he angry or relieved that she left? Not that she gave a fig what he thought. Let him draw his own conclusions.
He complained of women’s manipulations, but men, in her experience, were far worse. Hadn’t he blackmailed her into marrying him? And what of Charlie, her long trusted friend? If he hadn’t lured her under false pretenses into helping him, she wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.
And then there was Herrington, who’d pursued her with the devotion of a saint after freshly tumbling out the other side of Phelia’s bed. How could a man greedily go from the obsession of one female to another in the blink of an eye?
At least Wallshire was honest. No declarations of love or promises of devotion. It was all lust to him—the unconscionable rake. He’d made it quite clear that he desired her and would gladly take whatever she had to offer. He’d even made it clear when their bargain ended, he’d no longer require her services. She wished now, she’d refused his bargain. There’d been no real need to consummate their vows—besides the one in his breeches. But, she’d been too innocent to know that at the time. And, he was so damn handsome.
She tossed off the last of her wine.
Well, the next time he’d not find her so easily seduced.
She lay back on the bed and stared at the flitting shadows the tallow candle cast from where it flickered on the table. What sweet justice it would be to play him for a fool, the way he’d done to her. It was a shame her experience was so limited. The idea of seducing him, then walking away without so much as a glance brought a secret smile to her lips. Perhaps then, he’d feel as used as she did. Perhaps then, he’d realize what he’d done to her and rethink his campaign of revenge—regret his harsh treatment of her.
But vengeful musings never dwelled long in Kay’s heart. No matter how much her mind wished to keep them there, they evaporated almost as soon as they came. All would be right and well once she was home where she belonged. She was certain of that.
With the thought of her mares waiting in their stalls at Butterfield Hall and the rippling windswept dunes, she drifted off to sleep.
Some hours later, the scrape of metal woke her.
It sounded like a key turning in the lock.
Her lock.
She lay frozen in the darkness, not daring to breath.
Had she imagined it?
Fear chased through her hot and fast.
Had Lord Herrington somehow scrounged the key from the little brown moth? The innkeeper would never have given it to him. He seemed dedicated to his guest’s protection and anonymity.
Ever so carefully, Kay edged herself off the bed. She crept to the half-opened window. A quarter moon lit the dark courtyard below, filtering through the leaves of the young oak an arm’s length away. If she climbed out on to the roof, one small leap would put her safely in the crook of its sturdy limbs.
There was no time for hesitation. In her fear soaked mind, the danger within far outweighed the risk. She pushed the sash higher. Then, she braced her hands on the ledge to heave herself up.
The door to her bedchamber creaked open just as she went tumbling out. If not for her own loud moan, she’d have been able to make out the louder curse from within. But she was fully occupied.
The tile roof was slippery like oil under her feet. She began to slide downward. With her heart in her throat and the rest of her innards heading south, she saw the stone flags in the courtyard looming ever closer.
A screech burst from her lips, just as two strong hands clamped around her ankles. For what seemed an eternity, she hung suspended in air. Then, just when she thought she’d faint from the blood rushing to her head, she felt herself being hauled back up through the window.
“What in the bloody hell were you thinking,” Hunter ground out as he grasped her around the waist to pull her the rest of the way through the window. She could hear his breath coming hard, feel his body shaking with suppressed anger. He spun her around by the shoulders and gave her a small shake. “You little fool! You might have killed yourself!”
At the sound of his voice, she collapsed against his chest. “I thought you were Herrington,” she gulped, stifling a half-sob.
“Herrington? Why would you think that?”
“He’s here! I saw him.” She shuddered, burrowing her face deeper into his shirt. He smelled so good and felt so warm, she wanted to stay there forever. “I thought you were him,” she babbled, hugging him close. “I crawled out the window, but the tiles were slippery and I thought I was going to fall.”
“Here, sit down.” He pushed her firmly down on the bed. Then he went to the small table to pour her a glass of wine. He handed it to her saying wryly, “Good God, in that white dress with your hair falling down around you, you look like an angel fallen off a cloud.”
He strode to the window.
She watched him warily over the rim of her glass.
When he turned back around, his tone turned to anger. “What did you propose to do, fly down?”
“Of course not! I was going to climb down the tree.”
“You wouldn’t have made it to the tree!”
“I would have… if I hadn’t slipped.”
He made a sound very much like a snort, then stalked to the table where he took a long hearty swig from the half-empty bottle of wine. After, he rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. When he spoke his voice came dangerously soft. “How can you behave so recklessly? I ought to beat you for scaring the hell out of me. Something those uncles of yours should have done a long time ago, instead of allowing you to run wild like a spoiled brat.”
Her heart gave a lurch. “Violence begets violence, Your Grace,” she warned, springing to her feet to back toward the window, attempting to put as much distance between him and her posterior as she could. “I informed Thornhill I was leaving.”
His eyes narrowed. “Yes, we’ll talk about that in the morning.” He set the bottle down, then began stripping off his clothes.
There was nothing to talk about. She would do as she pleased, but there was no sense goading his anger further. By the time his torso was bare and he was sitting on the bed tugging off his boots, Kay had found her tongue. “Both of us can’t fit in that bed.”
He cocked her a sardonic smile as his last boot thumped onto the wooden planks of the floor. “I’m sure we’ll manage.” He stretched out on his back to demonstrate, arms above his head, feet dangling over the end.
Kay stood glued to the windowsill, plagued by indecision. The floor looked far too hard with no rug to cushion her body. There was no chair to curl up in. Her gaze traveled back to the bed where Hunter lay with his eyes closed, looking very much like he was already asleep. She had no idea how she’d sleep on the sliver of ticking he’d left her, but she was so tired she could hardly see straight, so what choice did she have?
She abandoned her wine glass on the windowsill, then crawled gingerly over the end of the bed onto the slender spot left to her. Lying on her side with her back to him, she was fairly plastered against the wall, but what did it matter? She was far to tired to care.
Morning would be soon enough to tell him to go to Hades.
***
A gust of fresh morning air tickled across Kay’s cheeks. When her eyes fluttered opened, she found herself staring at Hunter’s well muscled chest. She shifted her head, nestled in the crook of his arm, to gaze up into his face.
His eyes were closed, his features relaxed.
Her gaze dropped to his perfectly formed lips, remembering how smooth and soft they felt. A shadow creased his cheek from the elusive dimple he rarely showed. She’d only seen it once, and wondered if she poked her finger in that spot if she could make him smile.
He didn’t seem so fierce when he was sleeping. With the steady thump of his heart beating next to her ear and her hand resting against his smooth bronze skin, he seemed more man than beast. She felt a strong urge to run her hands down his strong back and feel th
e warmth of his sleek skin.
Shocked by her own carnal thoughts, she rose to vacate the bed before any more surfaced.
She sat by the window to brush her hair, but had no pins to coil it in its usual knot. Searching the bed sheets just now was out of the question.
A timid knock rattled the door.
Kay rose to answer it. Finding the chambermaid on the threshold with fresh water and their breakfast tray, she whispered her thanks, then hastened to close the door, to set about washing before her husband awoke.
When he did rouse, she was sitting by the opened window sipping her tea. “Good morning, Your Grace.”
He grunted in answer, then stretched and groaned as though he’d been left twisting on a rack all night. “Thank God I’ll be sleeping in my own bed tonight.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I couldn’t take another night on that lumpy bag they’re attempting to pass off as a mattress.” He strode to the wash basin to splash cold water on his face, then reached for his shirt. “Gather your personal effects. We’ll leave as soon as I’ve spoken to Herrington.”
“What about breakfast?” She had no wish to be trapped in the carriage with him as hungry as a bear, assuming hunger could make his temper much worse.
“I travel better on an empty stomach,” he said, thrusting his arms into his black frock coat.
She wanted to ask how she’d know whether it was him growling or his stomach? But he’d closed the door behind him before she could summon the words forth.
While he was gone, she sent the chambermaid down to the chaise to fetch a clean gown from her trunk. By the time she’d returned, Kay had managed to scramble into the clean undergarments stuffed in her reticule and find her hair pins.
By the time Hunter returned to escort her downstairs, she was dressed and waiting in a blue muslin gown. “Did you speak with Lord Herrington?”
“No.” His features remained stoic. “I regret to say he’d already gone.”
She felt relieved to hear it, yet something about Herrington’s sudden appearance still nagged at the back of her mind.
Hunter chose to ride beside the carriage rather than tie his horse to the back and slow their progress. Nothing could have pleased her more. Hopefully the rigorous exercise would cool his ire before he took her to task over her recent desertion.
Her victory was short lived however, when an hour later the carriage stopped and he climbed in across from her. So much for the nap she’d hoped for. When after a time he said nothing, she wondered if he’d forgotten all about being angry with her. More likely his brooding silence was a precursor to the rage he planned to unleash on her when they arrived home.
The longer she waited the more tense she became.
She tried to ignore him—to concentrate on the passing countryside, but his presence loomed like a cleaver over a cockerel’s head. She’d have preferred to ride beside the carriage and leave him inside to work out whatever demons plagued him, but dared not suggest it for fear of some thunderous explosion.
Laud! Would they never be home? She twisted the emerald ring on her finger, shifting in her seat. Surely a team of four could move faster than this.
“Are you uncomfortable, madam?” His rich tenor voice cut through the silence, making her start.
Her gaze flitted to his sober face, then back to the window. “No, only a little tired.”
“Then perhaps you should lie back on the seat and rest. We have several hours of travel ahead of us.”
She didn’t know how she could possibly sleep with him scowling down at her, but she was willing to try—anything to shut out the agonizing silence. She tucked her feet beneath her, and, using her arms as a pillow, curled upon the seat and closed her eyes.
***
Kay clung to the side of the small wooden boat, wind lashing her cheeks. Where were the oars? There were no oars! The tide swept her further and further and further from the shore. Charlie waded out into the surf, trying to reach her, calling her name. She tried to paddle with her hands, but it was no use. She couldn’t get back to him. The wind and the tide were taking her out to sea. Charlie! Charlie! Charlie!
Kay opened her eyes.
The cool leather beneath her hands and the gentle rocking of the carriage reminded her of where she was. She struggled to an upright position on the seat, a sob of panic lodged in her throat. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, attempting to regain her bearings.
She opened her eyes to find Hunter lounging across from her, arms folded across his chest. A wry smile played over his lips. His brandy gaze regarded her with interest.
She turned away toward the window. The sun was setting over the horizon in a great fiery ball. Splashes of pink and mauve stretched on either side, lighting up the sky. Would they never arrive? She wished to be home—home at Butterfield Hall, where everything was familiar, everything she loved. Knowing that she couldn’t only made the yearning stronger.
“You were having a dream.”
She turned back from the window to regard her husband. “Was I? I dare say I’m overtired.”
“And who was your knight in shining armor this time, Charlie Galloway?”
He said his name with such derision, Kay felt compelled to rise to his defense. “Charlie isn’t the cause of all your troubles you know,” she said with heat. “None of this is his fault.”
He gave a harsh laugh. “Next you’ll be telling me he was possessed by the devil and forced to break into my house to save his own soul.”
“No,” she said matter-of-factly. “His father forced him to do that.”
“So, you knew all along what he was looking for.”
“No, I did not. Not until I saw him at Lady Carbery’s. At first I was angry that he lied to me, but I’ve since come to understand his dilemma—his innocence in all of this.”
Hunter raised one dark brow. “Theft is theft, whether he was doing it out of loyalty to his family or not.”
“Lord Galloway is a very hard man—an uncompromising man.” Kay sighed. How could she make him understand? Charlie was Charlie that was all. “Don’t you see, Charlie didn’t have any choice. His father would have disowned him.”
Hunter’s mouth flattened. “Better to be disowned and maintain your honor than to let yourself be forced into something that will blacken your conscience and eat at you soul forever.”
Kay huffed a loud breath in frustration. “How do you know how Charlie felt, what terrible pressure he was under? Have you no compassion for anyone else?” She waved one hand. “No, of course you don’t. All you ever think of is how it affects you and your precious reputation!”
Had she been paying attention instead of letting her temper get the better of her, she’d have seen the dangerous glint in his eyes sooner—the way his body tensed to perfect stillness.
“I don’t give a damn about my reputation,” he gritted out. “Justice is what I want.”
Kay had worked herself into such a lather she had to heave a long shuddering breath to restore her equilibrium. “You’re not exactly innocent yourself. Had you controlled your baser instincts in the first place, none this would have happened.”
Silence.
Kay shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Perhaps she’d gone too far. She chanced a quick glance through the golden curtain of her lashes, then flinched.
“You needn’t worry.” His voice sliced deathly quiet. “My baser instincts as you put it, madam, are in perfect control now.”
Kay turned back to the window, away from the coldness in his eyes. She hadn’t meant to throw his mistake up into his face, but his arrogance and contemptuous attitude had driven her beyond reason. Bitterness surrounded him like an iron shield. Trying to make him see sense was like battering a castle wall with a sliver. And this was only the beginning.
Sooner or later he’d want to know why she’d taken flight from London. She couldn’t very well tell him the greatest thing she feared was him. That every time he looked at her her flesh burned, that s
he found it hard to breathe when she was near him, and she’d do anything to free herself from the seductive hold he had over her.
It suddenly occurred to her that she’d been running away from the same thing she’d accused him of—desire.
And she could do nothing about it.
It just seemed to grow—this primal attraction, out of control, like a storm raging at sea, it would eventually have to break.
What chance did she have to resist it, being dragged back to his lair once again?
Chapter Nineteen
Kay tossed the reins to the groom with a grateful nod of thanks, then hastened for the house, a prickly sense of danger creeping up her back. The rider she’d seen thundering toward her, as she’d turned Storm toward the path through the dunes, had left her shaken. She would feel no peace until she discovered who he was.
After her wild ride down the shore, she was a sandy, bedraggled mess. But she wasn’t thinking about her crumpled appearance or the salt from the ocean breeze clinging to her lips as she strode toward the house. Her mind was centered on Miska—the one person who might be able to identify the stranger.
After a week of indulging herself on the beach, riding her mares until her thighs ached, her skin had developed a golden hue that would have scandalized Uncle Fergus. What did it matter? She was too busy enjoying her freedom.
A team of horses couldn’t drag her back to London.
She rarely saw Hunter. He made no demands or attempts to censure her behavior. Cora was the only one who put up a fuss when she climbed into the tub at night, tisk tisking over the state of her wind tossed hair.
Kay tried to put the incident at the Blue Garter behind her, but the terrible row she’d had with Hunter in the carriage still played over and over in her mind. Instead of taking her to task, he avoided her like the plague. He hadn’t even tried to pry what she knew about Herrington out of her. Instead, he spent long hours with the workmen who were putting the finishing touches on the new wing. They worked well past the dinner hour. After going to the trouble of dressing for dinner several evenings in a row, only to sit alone in an empty dining room, she’d taken to having a tray sent up to her room.
The Thief and the Rogue Page 22