Sweeter Than Sin

by Andrea Pickens

  Kyra decided protests were futile. Lifting her chin, she answered, "And he's learned enough sordid details to put an end to your foul machinations. So unhand me and leave Pierpont Manor."

  "Oh, I will be leaving the Manor, seeing as your mongrel lapdog has forced me to change plans." Swift as a serpent, Matherton twisted her arm behind her back, and pressed the point of the cudgel against her throat. "But you are coming with me."

  Fear spiked through her as the cold steel bit into her flesh. But thoughts of Rafael and a future together gave her courage—she struggled to break away.

  Snarling an oath, Matherton shifted his hold, jamming the cudgel hard against her ribs while slapping his other hand over her mouth.

  Kyra fought, but he was too strong, and the breath was being squeezed from her lungs. When he lifted her off her feet and swung around for the trees, she was powerless to resist.

  "There will be a wedding as soon as we reach Gretna Green, and then I will most definitely be returning to Pierpont Manor to collect the dowry and patronage that your father will have no choice but to give me."

  Dear God, the man was truly a monster.

  "As for you..." Another rough shake. "You will soon learn never again to defy my wishes."

  Hero lunged and managed to seize her sash. A lashing kick from her abductor smashed against his jaws, but he held fast.

  "Plaguey cur," grunted Matherton as he jerked her around and kicked out again. Loosened by all the tugging, the smooth satin slipped out of its bow and slithered to the ground.

  He whirled again and set off with a loping stride along the narrow footpath. As wave of nausea washed over her as the jagged shadows spun wildly before her eyes. But she willed herself not to swoon. While there was still a breath left in her body, she would not give in to despair.

  Scotland was a long way from Devonshire, and surely the power of Love was more than a match for the power of Evil.

  Chapter 17

  "You ladies will be the belles of the ball," murmured Jack as he and Rafael helped Harriet and Theo into the earl's carriage.

  "Indeed," chimed in Hendrie. "You must promise me the pleasure of a dance—that is, if these two jackanapes haven't already seized all the spots on your dance card."

  "You are kind, sirs. Too kind, in fact." Harriet settled herself on the plush seat and smoothed out the skirts of her gown. "I am quite aware that my looks are no more than ordinary, but as tonight has a certain fairie tale magic to it, I shall pretend your flummeries are real."

  "I never flumm," drawled Jack.

  Theo laughed as she tugged at her elegant kidskin gloves. Rafael noted that her eyes were sparkling with excitement in the glow of the oil lamp.

  "Nor do I," he added. "And the so-called glittering Diamonds of the First Water will look dull and lifeless compared to the grace and spirit that shines from the pair of you."

  Both ladies blinked, and for once, Harriet appeared speechless.

  It was Theo who recovered her voice first. "Flumm or not, I am exceedingly grateful to you gentlemen for making me feel like a princess tonight." A fluttery sigh slipped from her lips. "Dancing, champagne—I shall savor every moment until midnight, when I turn back into a plump toad." She made a rueful face. "Or is it a pumpkin?"

  "Perhaps," murmured Rafael, "you will make your own magic, a spell that will long outlast any fairie dust."

  Her expression turned pensive.

  "Mrs. Ganton went to the Manor this afternoon to help with some last minute arrangements," said Hendrie, craning his neck to peer out the carriage window at the vehicle passed through one of the side entrances to the estate. "She says the flower arrangements are magnificent and that the myriad candles will blaze brighter than the solstice sun. I wonder..." His voice trailed off in a quizzical "hmmph."

  Jack leaned forward in his seat. "What is it, Father?"

  "I'm not sure," confessed Hendrie. "There looks to be an animal running along the road, dragging... I can't quite make it out, save for that it seems to be a long, light-colored piece of fabric."

  Mystified, Harriet and Theo peered through glass panes by their seat.

  "Why, it looks like a sash," announced Theo after a moment.

  "Good Lord, it's Hero," exclaimed Harriet. "And the sash is just like the one gracing the gown Kyra planned to wear tonight. She showed it to us yesterday."

  Rafael was already rapping on the trap to order the coachman to halt the horses. Before the wheels rolled to a halt, he wrenched open the door and jumped down to the road.

  On seeing him, the exhausted hound mustered a last sprint and dropped the sash by his feet.

  Woof, woof. Hero whined and tugged at his sleeve as he reached to pick up the muddy length of satin. The smoothness of the fabric sent a cold shiver galloping down his spine.

  Jack dropped down beside him. "Damnation," he muttered under his breath so the others wouldn't hear. "Something's gone terribly wrong."

  "I should have been more alert," said Rafael tightly. He had made the mistake of underestimating Matherton's cunning.

  Hero tugged at his coat again, and backed away, pulling him off-balance.

  "Yes, yes, amigo. Take me to her."

  "I'm coming with you," said Jack.

  "No!" He pushed his cousin back toward the carriage. "Take the others to the ball—you're the guest of honor and your absence will stir questions. There may be a way to avoid scandal if we act quickly."

  Harriet poked her head out the open door. "What can we do to help?"

  "Think of some excuse on why Kyra is not greeting the guests. A headache, a twisted ankle—bloody hell, the plague! Anything!"

  "Leave it to us," came the grim reply. "Now go!"

  Hero was dancing impatiently, his growls growing louder. Seeing Rafael rise, the hound whirled and raced off toward the glade of beech trees bordering the drive.

  * * *

  "Move faster, damn you." Matherton punctuated his order with a rough shove. He had put her down once they were hidden in the tangle of the trees and was now half dragging her along the narrow footpath. She guessed he must have a carriage waiting somewhere on one of the cart roads crisscrossing the estate.

  "Ballroom slippers are not made for woodland treks," she replied, stumbling yet again as her gown snagged on a twist of brambles. "Nor," she added defiantly, "Do I dance to your tune."

  He swore again and yanked the fabric free. "You won't dare step out of line once I've made you my bride." A nasty laugh rumbled through the overhanging leaves. "Remember, a wife's duty is to honor and obey."

  I will never be your wife, Kyra vowed. Drawing a deep breath, she made herself gather her wits. It was imperative to stay alert. She knew the estate like the back of her hand, and if she could choose the right place to break free, there was a chance she could evade recapture.

  If only she wasn't hampered by her cursed skirts! But Matherton looked even more uncomfortable in the woods. Slapping at the branches, stumbling over the roots, he was swearing most foully. In a footrace over rough ground, she just might win.

  Looking around, Kyra saw they were heading in the direction of the river and the stone bridge leading to the abbey ruins. The abbey ruins. Squeezing her eyes shut, she forced herself not to think of that fateful evening. That was in the past—having Rafael in her life gave her the courage to believe tonight would not bring another tragedy. With that in mind, every few steps she made a point of snapping a twig or stamping a footprint in the damp earth. Not that she had any real hope of Rafael discovering what had happened, but the small actions helped to buck up her spirits.

  After thrashing to the top of a steep rise in the glade, Matherton halted to wipe the sweat from his brow. His carefully cultivated aura of polished charm had given way to edgy agitation. He looked desperate. Which of course made him more dangerous than ever.

  "Bloody Hell, how much farther to the bridge?" he asked.

  "Maybe a half mile," she replied, deliberately exaggerating the distance.

 
; He swore again and raked a hand through his disheveled curls as his gaze lingered uncertainly on the fork up ahead. "Which way? And I warn you, don't trifle with me or you'll be very sorry for it."

  "To the right," answered Kyra without hesitation. Both ways led to the river path, but the left was far shorter. "Be assured, milord, I realize that I am at your mercy."

  Her meek reply seemed to steady his jumpy nerves. Though he kept a grip on her arm as he started forward, it relaxed ever so slightly. Bidding her time, she moved with him. When the right moment came, she would be ready to seize it.

  And if the right moment didn't come? Well, she would simply have to make her own luck.

  * * *

  Hackles raised, Hero circled the shattered vase that lay in the middle of the garden walkway, emitting a mix of whines and growls. Rafael studied the scuffs in the gravel, needing only a moment to read what had happened. A struggle, and it took little imagination to picture the confrontation. Matherton had stolen a march on him. However the dastard couldn't have much of a head start, and logistics dictated that his carriage was hidden some distance away to avoid being spotted by any of the revelers. Familiar with the area through his daily walks, Rafael quickly decided there were only two likely possibilities. But he couldn't afford to make a mistake.

  "Kyra—find Kyra!" he said to Hero.

  The hound had already anticipated the order. Tail waving like a battle flag, he raced to the footpath leading through the sloping grove of trees to the left of the hothouses and turned with a low bark.

  Rafael was after him like a pistol shot. "We must move quickly, amigo. Once he gets her to a carriage, our chances of stopping his nefarious plans become far more difficult."

  He could well guess what Matherton had in mind. Marriage was the miscreant's only hope of dodging ruin, so he would be heading to the Scottish border to force an over-the-anvil union. That Kyra would refuse would not matter. There were far too many unscrupulous men willing to overlook a drugged or bruised lady and perform the simple rites for a price. The legalities could be contested, but the damage would be done. It could ages to unknot the tangle of conflicting claims, giving Matherton a powerful hold over the duke.

  As for Kyra, she would not be free.

  No, he must catch them now, before they took to the roads and the trail grew too cold. And when he did...

  He took no pleasure in violence, but at the moment he would have cut out Matherton's liver without batting an eye.

  Nose to the ground, Hero zigzagged back and forth through the underbrush but kept following the footpath. Twilight was deepening, making it difficult to see. But as he round a thicket of brambles, Rafael caught sight of a few gossamer threads of pale silk hanging from the thorns.

  "Bueno," he said under his breath. A moment later, the sound was echoed by the hound's low woof, as he hesitated at a fork in the path, and then swung to the right.

  A broken twig, a deep footprint—Kyra was leaving a clear trail to follow now. A fleeting smile tugged at his mouth. She was pluck to the bone, even when she must be frightened and acutely aware that the odds of being rescued were not in her favor.

  Rafael quickened his pace, intent on changing those odds. Matherton may have won the first skirmish, but the battle was far from over.

  Up ahead, he saw Hero slow to a stiff-legged walk, his ears flattening, and his hackles rising. A low growl reverberated in his throat. Rafael hurried to his side and crouched down. "Silence, amigo."

  The sound ceased.

  Rafael cocked his head to listen. Over the faint swirl of eddying river, he heard the slipping and sliding of footsteps. Fisting his hand around the hound's collar, he started forward, a swift, silent predator, stalking his prey. Picking his way over the rough ground, he kept to the higher ground, and at the next small bend, he spotted Matherton and Kyra walking along the narrow path at the river's edge.

  Slowly, slowly, he crept closer—close enough to overhear what was being said.

  With his hair in disarray and his bedraggled evening clothes spattered with mud, Matherton looked like a demon just dragged up from some underworld cesspool. His mood was apparently equally foul, for he was in the midst of needling Kyra about her fateful accident.

  "Ah, this stretch of riverbank brings back memories, does it not? If you hadn't been so reckless, I'd be well-settled in an advantageous marriage, and enjoying all the special favors that go along with being the son-in-law of a duke." A pause. "You caused me a great deal of trouble."

  When Kyra didn't answer him, he added, "And let's not forget that your dear sister Lexy would be alive."

  The last comment finally goaded Kyra into replying. "You aren't fit to speak her name."

  "Aren't I?" A dappling of moonlight illuminated his nasty sneer. "I have no doubt that I could have seduced her too. That was my plan you know—to woo her secretly after we were wed. The idea of deflowering the pair of you was... exciting. But then, you went and ruined it all."

  Rage boiled through Rafael's blood on hearing the cruel taunt, then turned to an ice-cold calm. He crept up close behind them, then rose from a half crouch. "Just as I shall ruin this cowardly abduction."

  * * *

  The sound of Rafael's voice was like a blade of pure light piercing the blackness of her captor's malevolence. As Matherton whirled around, surprise loosened his grip for an instant, allowing Kyra to twist free.

  He lunged to recapture her, only to be knocked backward by a hard punch to the face.

  "My nose!" he howled as blood streamed down his chin. "You've broken my nose!"

  "Yes, and I intend to break every bone in your miserable body," answered Rafael. He caught Kyra as she swayed and steadied her with a quick hug. "Are you alright, my love?" he murmured. "If this miscreant has harmed you in any way, I shall also break his worthless neck."

  "I'm fine," she whispered, reveling in the feel of his warm, solid body. Nothing could harm her now. "With your arms around me, I could face Lucifer and a legion of dark devils."

  His lips touched her brow. "You won't ever have to face devils or demons again."

  Wiping the gore from his face, Matherton scrabbled back a step, a mingling of bullying bravado and fear contorting his features. He whipped out a concealed knife from inside his coat. "Stay back," he blustered in a shrill voice. "Or I'll slash your neck from ear to ear."

  "Not bloody likely." Rafael released his hold and angled his body to shield her. "Fancy yourself a warrior, Matherton? Well, let's see who has more expertise with a blade. Just a word of fair warning—point that at me and it will end up rammed down your gullet."

  Matherton retreated again, waving the weapon wildly through the air. Darting a nervous glance at the dark silhouette of the bridge, he replied, "Bloody Hell, you want damaged goods? Very well, you can have her. There are plenty of other plump pigeons to pluck."

  "Not for you," said Rafael calmly. "Your days as a predator are over."

  "I am a titled English lord, and you are a half breed nobody," shouted Matherton. He added a harsh laugh. "Kyra is a ruined lady, shunned by Society. Whose story do you think will be believed?"

  "Lord Olivito has the most noble blood from both Spain and England running through his veins," countered Kyra. "While you have polluted any claim to honor with your evil."

  Matherton's foul oath was cut off by Hero's snapping growl. Teeth bared, the hound slowly stalked closer.

  The knife flashed up, and with a grunt, Matherton swung a vicious blow—

  BANG!

  Kyra flinched, but in the momentary flare of gunpowder sparks she saw the weapon fly out of her former fiancé's hand.

  Raphael lowered his pocket pistol and let it drop to the ground. "There—we're now both unarmed. Shall we go mano a mano as real men do?"

  Clutching his hand, which had been nicked by the bullet, Matherton began babbling a mad mix of invectives and threats. "You'll both pay for this! I'll see you disgraced! I have powerful friends—"

  "You have nothing,
save a list of sordid sins. Whatever influence you once wielded, it is over."

  "No! No!" As he screamed, Matherton was crabbing toward the river and the grassy verge on the far side of the bridge, where his carriage was poised for flight. Boots slipping and sliding over the damp slope, he had just reached the path when Hero suddenly took off after him.

  In a blur of starlit grey, the hound leaped, teeth gnashing, paws flailing. The impact sent them both flying into the water.

  "Hero!" cried Kyra, and started forward.

  "Have no fear." Rafael eased her back with a gruff chuckle. "I am quite confident our amigo will come to no harm."

  Sure enough, after a frenzy of thrashing and bubbling, the hound swam back to the near bank and clawed his way back up to the path. Clamped in his jaws was a mass of sodden fabric.

  As for Matherton, he splashed through the far shallows and fell to his knees in the mud, exhausted and fighting for breath around his sobs of rage. The moon broke free from the scudding clouds, and for a moment the silver light shone bright on his naked arse.

  "How apt—you are stripped of your lies, and your perfidy is now bared for all to see!" called Rafael. "Listen, and listen carefully, Matherton. You will get in your carriage and fly to the coast, where you will embark on the first ship leaving for Continent. I own all your debts, and if you are still on English soil at dawn, I will have you arrested and thrown into debtor's prison. If you ever set foot back in England, you will be thrown into debtor's prison. Do you understand me?"

  "But I can't go to a strange country," wailed Matherton. "With no money, no friends, no entrée into society, my future prospects will be ruined!"

  Rafael's face looked as if it had been chiseled out of granite. "Precisely."

  Kyra couldn't summon up twinge of pity for her former fiancé. A man that rotten to the core deserved none.

  "You are wasting precious time, Matherton," added Rafael. "The clock is ticking."

  Dragging himself to his feet, he yanked his shirttails and coat down to cover his nakedness and hurriedly limped off.

  Woof. A shower of muddy river water dampened Kyra's gown as Hero shook himself vigorously and dropped Matherton's torn trousers at her feet with a happy canine smile.