by Gina Black
He pushed the barrel back toward Finch. “Then be sure you are pointing it at him at all times, and never at me. Put your finger here,” he repositioned the gun in her hand, “but do not pull back unless you mean to shoot, and if you do, intend to kill.”
Finch blanched as the pistol wavered unsteadily in his direction. “I have no wish to fight,” he said, and folded his arms across his chest.
“Then you will take a severe pounding,” Nicholas replied. “It matters naught to me whether you defend yourself.”
“The girl and I are to be wed. It is agreed. She can be nothing to you,” Finch asserted.
Nicholas turned to Katherine, his face registering mock surprise. “Do you wish to wed this man?”
“No!” Her voice rang loudly into the night.
Nicholas faced Finch. “Then prepare to fight.” He stood like a warrior, feet planted wide, hands on hips.
“Come, sir,” Finch said. “I do not wish to quarrel with you.”
“But I wish to quarrel with you. I do not care for the way you treat your bride.” Nicholas’s face drew into harsh lines. “And I do not care for the way you tie your cravat. You will fight me, whether you wish it or no.”
In a fair fight, Finch would not stand a chance against Nicholas, but Katherine did not trust Finch one bit. She tightened her grip on the firearm and kept it trained on him.
Even under the dark, cloud-laden sky, Katherine could see Finch’s eyes narrow as he studied Nicholas. “You are familiar to me,” he said. “Yet I know not from whence.”
“You will know me better after tonight,” Nicholas said. “But you will not be happy with the knowledge.”
With a shaking hand, Finch wiped at the raindrops landing on his face. He looked away and stood for a long moment, motionless except for the subtle movement of his jaw clenching and unclenching. Then he removed his periwig and made a great show of laying it inside the coach. His cravat followed, and his waistcoat. Suddenly, in one motion, he turned and lunged.
Katherine gasped as Nicholas stepped to the side. Finch fell past him to the ground, but was on his feet again in seconds. Katherine saw him pick up a jagged rock as he rose.
“Nicholas,” she yelled in warning. “Look out!”
At her call, Nicholas hesitated. Katherine watched in horror as Finch connected. Blood streamed from a gash just above Nicholas’s right eye.
Katherine shook in anger and frustration. She raised the gun, willing Finch to stand before it, but Nicholas stumbled into her view, so she let the heavy firearm drop, afraid she might shoot the wrong man.
Nicholas swung wild, missing Finch completely. Blood ran down his face.
Finch seemed to feel he had the upper hand. Fists raised, he swung at Nicholas’s belly, but Nicholas intercepted Finch’s thrust before it made impact.
Finch reeled back, his feet momentarily losing hold on the mucky ground. “Why?” he grunted.
“Someone needs to teach you a lesson,” said Nicholas, landing a blow to Finch’s jaw.
Finch’s head snapped back but he recovered quickly. He feinted with his left then landed a well-placed jab on Nicholas’s wounded shoulder with his right. The impact sent Nicholas back a couple steps. He gasped in pain.
“I owe you this for our previous encounter,” Nicholas made a wild punch, missing Finch completely. “And this,” his other fist slammed into Finch’s nose.
He crumpled under the force of the blow.
Nicholas rubbed his knuckles. “That,” he said, chest heaving from exertion, “was for Mistress Welles.”
Finch held his broken beak between his hands. Blood ran through his fingers, down his arms.
Nicholas faced him. “The fight is over,” he said with a grim chuckle. “You will stand over there,” he pointed at a spot away from the coach. “And you,” he waved at Jakes.
The rain had all but stopped now. Katherine’s arm ached from holding the heavy firearm. She gratefully handed it to Nicholas. Close-up, the cut above his eye did not look so bad. She raised a shaking finger to trace the trail of blood on his cheek. If she had not known him, he would be menacing indeed. But standing next to her, breathing heavily, emanating his own particular scent, his presence was warm and reassuring. Katherine wanted to wrap herself up in it, away from the cold rain and bad experiences of this night.
Nicholas waved the gun at the two men. “Remove your clothes,” he said to them, “and hand them to my partner.” To Katherine he said, “Get inside the coach.”
Katherine shook her head. She could not face the inside of that coach just yet.
“I cannot,” she said a quaver in her voice. She looked around for an acceptable alternative. A whinny announced the presence of the horses. “I will stand over there,” she said.
Nicholas nodded.
Some of Katherine’s hair had come out of her braid. As she walked, she unraveled what remained of the plait, spreading her hair over her chest, like a shawl to hide her nakedness.
The horses stood beside a group of trees. In the murky darkness, it was a moment before she saw the basket tied to a saddle. “Montford,” she cried. Untying the carrier, she took it into her arms.
Tears fell onto her hands, and she realized she was crying again. She had cried more in the last day than in all the months since Edward had died. Pulling the sleepy cat from inside the basket, she held her tightly. Montford purred in a warm vibration.
As her tears continued to flow, Katherine began to shake. Her teeth started to chatter, and she felt dizzy. Her stomach turned. She tried to call for Nicholas. She needed to tell him about Jeremy, that they must go back and get him, but her voice remained wedged solidly in her throat. She heard a loud rushing in her ears. The ground came up and then the earth blurred and tilted sideways.
* * *
As the moon broke through the clouds, heralding the end of the downpour, Nicholas watched Finch and Jakes fumble with their clothing. He enjoyed their clumsiness and embarrassment, knowing it was nothing compared to the humiliation they would feel when they were discovered.
Henry had come up to him, and now stood with his back to the men.
“Do you know the punishment in Algiers for rape?” Nicholas queried his friend idly, aiming his pistol at Finch.
“I do not, Nicky.”
“Castration.”
Finch’s fingers lost their hold on his cravat.
“You’re not in Algiers anymore, Nicky.”
“Pity…” Nicholas’s voice trailed off.
Henry cleared his throat. “Where do you think the boy is?” he asked.
Nicholas shook his head. “I had forgotten about the lad.”
“I can not imagine he would let his mistress come to any harm if he could prevent it,” Henry reasoned. “He would not have left her, I know it. Something is amiss.”
Nicholas scowled. “No he would not.” He turned to the two men. “Where is the boy?”
Neither answered.
“I am sure we will find out soon enough,” Nicholas muttered.
An uneasy silence fell upon the group. The men continued to disrobe. Finally, they stood naked. Even in the moonlight Nicholas could see Finch’s nose turning an angry purple. Jakes stood awkwardly, his hands covering his privates. Henry walked over to the two men and leveled his gun at Jakes. “Where is Jeremy?”
Jakes drew his lips together in a hard line.
Henry lowered his weapon so that it pointed at Jakes’ groin. “I’ll only ask you one more time,” he said calmly as he cocked the trigger.
Jakes’ mouth fell open. “Back in Marlborough, he be. At a tavern called The Goose, I think. We left him there.”
A wicked gleam lit Finch’s eyes. “We did indeed, after finding them kissing,” he hissed out the last word.
Katherine. A flash of hot jealousy ran through Nicholas. He looked back in the direction she had gone.
At first, he could not see her, but then a glint of moonlight reflected off the satin of her clothing, showing she
lay upon the ground.
He left Henry with his blunderbuss still trained on the two men and hastened to Katherine’s side. She had swooned. Her skin was the color of new plaster and felt cold to his touch. Her breathing was shallow. Montford had curled up in the blanket of her hair. Nicholas scooped the cat into the basket, then pulled Katherine into his arms, and carried them back to where Henry stood.
“Hurry man, let us be gone. Send off our horses. These two as well,” he nodded toward Finch and Jakes. “Quick!”
While Henry ordered the men off with his gun then shooed the horses in the opposite direction, Nicholas laid Katherine on a seat inside the coach. Kneeling on the floorboards, he brushed his fingers across her clammy forehead.
She lay so still.
Too still.
He needed to get her to safety and warmth. A roaring fire would thaw the ice that filled her veins. But he couldn’t bring an unconscious woman to an inn without drawing unwanted attention. And though he’d gained the advantage with Finch for now, he must do his best not to leave a trail to lead the man back to them. Where could he bring an unconscious woman with little remark?
Nicholas scowled and ran his fingers between her cold limp ones. Drawing them to his lips, he tried to blow some warmth into them.
Then an idea presented itself. Nicholas blessed his good fortune at running into his friends that afternoon. It would be perfect. With all eyes on the King, who would notice them?
He cast open the door as the coach swayed while Henry took the drivers seat. “Lydney Hall,” he called to his friend. “I believe ’tis not far from here. If we come back part of the way we came, ’twill be quite visible to the right.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
LYDNEY HALL stood in silent grandeur at the top of a gentle rise. Under the moody midnight sky, Nicholas recognized the silhouette of hipped roof, dormer windows, crowning balustrade and cupola. Tall chimney stacks bespoke warmth inside.
His goal now in sight, Nicholas considered the danger to himself. Lydney Hall would keep Katherine from peril, but bring him close to it. Once awake and among his acquaintances, she could discover the truth about him. Armed with the knowledge of his deceit, she could expose him as the Raven.
And he would not blame her if she did.
He braced himself and Katherine as the carriage careened up the tree bordered drive, slowing only as it gained the circle before the great house. He pulled the unconscious woman into his arms and kicked open the door.
“What about the boy?” Henry yelled from the coachman’s seat.
Nicholas paused but a moment to nod up to Henry. “Find him,” he barked.
Henry nodded. With a shouted command to the horses, the coach was off, sending a spray of dirty water in its wake.
Nicholas forded a mud puddle and mounted the marble steps in a few long strides. A butler opened the heavy door.
“M’lord.” He bowed as if it were an everyday affair for a nobleman to arrive with an unconscious woman in his arms.
Nicholas gave the servant his best withering stare. “Tell your master, the Earl of Ashton has arrived,” he said and strode into the entry hall, ignoring the man’s offer to deliver him to his host.
Distant chatter and sounds of gaiety came from the right. He stood for a moment trying to remember the arrangement of rooms in the vast residence he had only visited once before.
Of recent construction, Lydney Hall provided a modicum of privacy to its residents unheard of in older homes, such as Ashfield. Rooms opened off corridors, not off each other. A central staircase led to the first floor gallery. At least he remembered the bedroom suites were upstairs. Taking the steps two at a time, he paused a moment on the upper landing.
Was everyone downstairs enjoying the festivities? Talbot would be busy regaling his guests and no doubt partaking of the pleasures brought from London. Had the King arrived? Nicholas shook off the sense of dread he felt at walking straight in to the lion’s den. With a bit of luck, he should be quite safe here while the revelers debauched downstairs.
Closed doors ran down the hallway. There should be several empty bedrooms. He just had to find one that no one would wish to use until he was well done with it.
Nicholas put his ear against a door and listened. There were no telltale sounds coming from inside. If he opened the door, would he discover a couple in the throws of lovemaking?
He would just have to take his chances.
Cracking open the door, he cautiously peered within. It was dark and no one called out for him to close it. He shouldered the door open and went inside. It was empty. At least for now, they would be alone.
Kicking the door closed, he crossed to the hearth. Laying Katherine on the woolen rug, he stoked the embers until he had excited a cheery roar.
In the light of the fire, she seemed less wan. Golden lights danced in her hair. Pink slowly returned to her cheeks, yet she did not stir. Her bodice lay open where it had ripped, exposing a perfect pale breast, topped by a rosy nipple. He longed to touch it and had the sudden thought that he might return her to consciousness by doing so.
But that would not do.
Instead, he found a crock of water beside the tester bed. Kneeling beside her, he splashed her face with droplets of the cold liquid. She stirred and her eyelids blinked open.
Nicholas let out a great sigh. Relief washed over him as her eyes focused on his. A gentle smile played across her mouth. He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips.
“Where am I?” she said, her voice throaty.
“Safe.”
This seemed to satisfy her. She closed her eyes. Swallowing with apparent difficulty, she shifted, exposing her other breast to his view. Scratches ran along her tender flesh. A hot flash of anger ran through Nicholas. He had not made Finch pay enough by half for the damage done, nor was he sure of the extent of the fiend’s violation.
Drawing her up, supporting her back with one arm, he held the water jug to her lips. She opened her eyes and sipped. A large drop escaped, making a sensuous journey, first slipping down her chin, then over the crest to slide down the smooth plane of her neck. There it hovered a brief moment, gathering itself together before surmounting her collarbone. Finally, it crept bit by bit down the valley between her breasts to disappear into the remnants of her tattered clothing.
Katherine reached a weak hand to trace the path of the moisture, and flinched. Grabbing at the pieces of her bodice, she tried to hold it together, sitting up at the same time. Averting her face to the fire, she held her lower lip between her teeth in the way she did when troubled.
A hand gripped at Nicholas’s heart. Even though it was Finch who had hurt her, it was no less Nicholas’s own fault. He had helped her run from Finch, but instead of aiding and protecting her, Nicholas had frightened her, forcing her to flee again. Berating himself for his callous behavior, he resolved to treat her as a sister from now on.
“I am just now remembering,” she said, her voice low and rough.
“I am very sorry,” he said, and brushed an errant hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear. His fingers seemed too big for the simple task. “’Twould be best to forget.”
A great shudder ran through her. “He was very angry. He wanted to hurt me.” She spoke to the fire, not to him.
Wanted. A sudden jolt of happiness pierced through Nicholas. Finch had not ravished her then. “Ah, lass,” he spoke into her ear, “he is a bad one to be sure. You are safe now. ’Tis best not to dwell on’t.”
Even as the fire roared, she shivered. Then her shivers turned to sobs. Nicholas put a clumsy hand on her shoulder. Why was it he felt so comfortable evoking passion in a woman but so awkward giving solace?
She turned to him and threw her arms around his neck. He held her close as shudders wracked her small frame, and she clung to him with fierce desperation. Her bare breasts pressed against his chest through his linen shirt, awakening a physical need so strong he almost groaned aloud. He cursed inwardly and shift
ed to relieve the tightness in his breeches, while searching for chaste thoughts to fill his mind.
Katherine’s sobs eased, and she quieted. “I would die rather than marry him.” Raising a shaky hand, she looked into his eyes. Delicate fingers trailed along the stubble on his cheek.
Nicholas pulled back, fearing she could see the lust in his heart. But he could not look away. Her eyes glistened. Her lips parted, and she ran her tongue slowly over her bottom lip.
Katherine dragged her hands down his chest and grasped his shirt. “I would rather kiss you than anything else,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.
Nicholas’s good intentions melted away as she brought her lips to his.
It was a kiss of wild despair, a kiss of need. Artless. Passionate. What it lacked in artifice it more than made up for with intensity. His arms tightened around her, and he crushed her to him. The fire beside them sparked. Fever ran through his veins. He ran a hand over her curves as she clung to him.
A voice in his head said he should hold back, what had happened with Finch had muddled her senses, she could not know what she was doing and if he had any sense of honor, he would tell her. She was not some trollop he found in an inn, or an experienced lady at court who knew the game of love, but a simple country girl, grateful for her rescue. He’d taken her from her home, promised her safety but given her none. He’d teased her, taunted her, and tormented her with kisses; given her the first taste of arousal. He was a scoundrel and a knave.
And he’d just decided to treat her as a sister.
Nicholas sucked in a deep breath, hoping it would moderate his pounding heart and throbbing loins. “I am no hero.”
Her breath caught. She went still in his arms, looking up at him in surprise.
“I know you are grateful,” he said. “But it is not necessary to express it in this fashion.”
“I do feel gratitude, but I do not kiss you for it.” Katherine traced a finger along his ear, sending tender sensations all through him. Her eyes focused on the fastenings of his linen shirt. “I kiss you because it pleases me.” Her fingers trailed down from his ear to run feather-light over his lips and down his shirt to the fabric tie at the neck. “I should not have run away.” A light smile played upon her lips. “I was afraid of your kisses.” She tugged the knot apart exposing his chest, and put her hand inside his open shirt, onto his hot bare skin, settling over his heart.