With a howl, she lurched to the left. She heard the ripping sound of moist silk as she lunged down the hill. His colorful curses followed her. She heard him pounding behind her.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God…” she whispered in a desperate prayer.
Just as she reached the anvil, a streak of white-blue lightening lit the sky. Daphne fell to her knees in shock. She could have sworn she had just seen a black panther racing across the hill.
It was too late, she thought as she felt the heavy weight of her pursuer topple her. She twisted and kicked against him, but he was steadily rolling her over and tugging at the sodden silk that covered her.
“No, no, no, noooo!” Daphne cried. She thrashed wildly, raking nails across his cheeks, kicking, but it was no use. He outweighed her by a good two hundred pounds. “No,” she screamed at the top of her lungs.
“You bitch!” Brentwood howled as her nails brought blood. He slapped her hard across the face.
“Kindly take your hands off her,” an icy voice hissed from the darkness.
Daphne stared up, thankful and terrified at once. Another bolt of lightning slashed across the sky, illuminating a harsh face chiseled in absolute hatred. A shiny pistol was aimed at the Earl.
Dumbfounded, Brentwood looked up. “This is none of your concern, mate.”
Her savior stepped forward even as he pulled back the hammer.
“Oh, but I think it is, Kenneth.”
Daphne closed her eyes in relief. James had come for her.
“Think so, do you,” Brentwood sneered. “I’ve already tasted your leftovers, old chap. She wasn’t that good.”
Daphne began to weep. Oh God, what if James believed his foul lies? What if he-
“I told you to step away from the lady, Kenneth. You can do it willingly, or I can force you, but either way you will be releasing her.”
Daphne quivered in fear. It was James, she recognized his voice, but somehow it was not his voice. It was so cold, almost cruel, with vicious intent. He sounded as though he did not have a soul in that moment. She was suddenly as frightened of him as she was of Brentwood. Indeed, more so. She knew what Brentwood was capable of and what he wanted.
She felt, for the first time in her memory, she did not know James at all.
Somehow, the earl obeyed him. He moved back slowly rising and stepping away from her. Daphne managed to sit up. She was trembling in reaction to everything that was happening.
Suddenly, James was beside her, just as he always had been whenever she needed him. She felt the warm, dry press of his woolen coat, the heat of him beneath. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into a standing position by his side. Awed, she stared up at his expressionless face.
“Are you all right, Daphne?”
“Y-yes,” she stammered.
He slowly removed his arm. “Please go and stand by my horse. I have some unfinished business here with Kenneth. It will but take a moment.”
“Please, I just want to go home!”
His hand briefly slid over her wet hair. “We will, Daphne.”
Warily, she backed away. He was acting peculiar, and it frightened her. Still, at least he had not turned on her. She still worried he might believe whatever Brentwood said, but he did not seem to be angry. Or what if he was waiting? What if he wanted privacy before he let loose his temper on her?
She grasped the horse’s reigns and stood, cowering and shivering, as the scene unfolded.
Kenneth, tenth earl of Brentwood, was taking slow, measured steps backward. James was moving towards him with slow, measured steps. It was obvious why, of course. The earl did not have a pistol.
“She’s a such a slut, I don’t know why you wasted the time to come after her,” he was babbling. “Well, she is a good lay but they are so easily replaced.”
James cornered him by the anvil.
“She did things that made me blush. Eager for it, they are. You can’t blame a man. I mean, she asked for it. Begged, even. Can’t get enough…”
A single shot echoed through the darkness. The sudden silence reverberated, chilling and absolute. Daphne patted the skittish horse as it tried to buck. She could not believe… James would never…
There was a resounding thud as Brentwood collapsed to the muddy earth. She stared, unbelieving, as her guardian, her protector, the man she loved, slowly lowered his weapon.
Slowly, he came over to her. He was breathing heavily, as though he had done more than simply walk the few feet that had stretched between them. His hands cupped her shoulders as he forced her to face him.
“Are you truly all right, Daphne?” he demanded hoarsely.
She nodded wordlessly. She suddenly felt as though she were alone with a stranger. Not just any stranger, but a deadly one.
Suddenly her James was back. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him. She felt his cheek brush over the top of her head. Desperately needing his comfort, she wrapped her arms around his waist.
“I was so afraid,” he groaned.
“Oh, James,” Daphne sniffed into his clean, dry chest. “I have had the absolutely worst week.”
Chapter Twenty
Daphne roused as she was lifted from the high back of a horse. She rubbed her eyes against the setting sun, glancing around in wonder.
“Where are we?” she asked huskily.
James glanced down at her, smiling grimly. His heavy coat dwarfed her, but adequately covering her from head to toe. She looked pale and bedraggled and absolutely adorable.
“Just outside of Suffolk,” he told her gently. “We are back in England, sweetheart.”
She shuffled into his side, glancing around. It was much prettier than Gretna had been. There was not all that much mud, only a few puddles, and a few of the little buildings had pretty little flowers growing outside. They were more than small boxes, but warm and inviting.
“I did not much care for Scotland,” she admitted.
“Not all of Scotland is bad,” James soothed her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her towards the inn. “You were barely over the border.”
“Well, I will be happy never to leave England again,” she assured him simply. “I am not all that curious to see the rest of that place.”
James sighed. He had yet to survey the true damage done to his ward. He was terrified of what he would find.
Daphne quickly brushed her knotted hair over her bruised cheek as they entered the inn. A homely looking woman came over at once, gawking at them.
“May I help his lordship?” she inquired warily.
“We will be needing a room, a meal,” he sent a telling look at Daphne, “and a bath, for now, mistress.”
The woman gave Daphne a considering look. “Has her ladyship had a difficult night?”
“Her ladyship is cold and hungry and tired from a long journey,” James told the hostess in that terrifying, icy tone.
The woman came to attention at once and started shouting orders to two adolescents who Daphne guessed were her children. Water was put on the boil as she led them towards a steep, creaky stairwell.
“You follow her,” he told Daphne quietly. “I will give you privacy for your bath.”
She nodded and followed the woman all the way up to the attic room. “The best room in the house,” the woman announced proudly.
Daphne was pleased with the room although, by most standards, it would not been at all impressive. The room itself was not at all large and boasted only of a rather compact bed and a single wooden stool. There was only one small, circular window above the bed, and a small table held a single oil lamp.
A wooden tub was promptly brought up, along with steaming buckets of water. Her hostess had several large linen strips and a fresh bar of rose scented soap brought up. Da
phne did not waste time in shedding her clothes and diving right in.
It was a wonder she would ever be clean again, she thought as she soaked and scrubbed at her hair. She washed herself several times, until her skin all but stung with her fervent scouring before she left the now brown water.
She had only just wrapped a clean, dry linen around herself when James came in. He looked startled at seeing her, still damp, but quickly shut the door.
Daphne blushed, suddenly grateful that the linen was large, almost as long as a bed sheet. It covered her from the top of her breasts all the way down to her pink toes.
James laid several packages down on the table and moved to the hearth. Kneeling, he toyed around with the logs and kindling until he managed to get a fire started.
“Oh, thank goodness,” she exclaimed, rushing to the heat. “I feel like I will never be warm again.”
Wordlessly, James found the stool and placed it before the fire. He then went and, opening one package, brought her a small, simply made brush.
“I purchased a few things I thought you might need,” he said quietly.
She looked up at him, smiling gently. “Thank you, James.”
He knelt by her feet as she began to attack the mass of knots and tangles of her hair. She started when she felt him reach up and lightly brush his knuckles over her bruised cheek.
Breathing shallowly, Daphne captured his hand. Her dark chocolate eyes met the steady honey-gold of his stare.
Suddenly, the spell was broken. He jerked away as though burned. Turning, he paced away from her. Daphne let out a long, ragged sigh.
“I need a bath, too,” he commented.
Daphne sent a disgusted look at her filthy bath water. “I think you will have to order another,” she laughed. “I was filthy.”
“Yes, I will have to.” He frowned, staring intently at a splinter of wood in the floor. “Ah, I cannot ask you to leave in your sheet.”
She smiled. He was actually blushing. “Yes, well, I think my dressing gown is completely ruined.”
They both sent a glare at the offensive, mud-caked silk.
“Well, I shall figure something out, Daphne. After dinner, why don’t you try to rest. Tomorrow will be another long day’s ride.”
She nodded absently. She was quite tired. Being abducted, and then trying to get away from the criminal was difficult work.
She sighed. There was so much she wanted to say to him. When Brentwood had first taken her, all she could think about was how foolish she had been where James was concerned. She had thought she might die, and there were still so many things she wanted to say to him. Now that she was safe again, she still wanted to tell him so much.
Yet, no matter how she tried to work her mind around such matters, her lips refused to utter the words.
“Sleep well, Daphne.”
She stared after him, feeling lost and alone.
* * * *
It was late before James returned to their room. Daphne should know, for she had waited up for him. She was too upset to sleep, and anyway, they had not worked out sleeping arrangements. It would be difficult for them both to squeeze onto the small bed, but it was possible. However, she did not know if it would be more appropriate for her to sleep on the floor.
When he walked in, his hair was still damp from his bath. His silk shirt was carelessly untucked, his face cleanly shaven. Whatever else she had been feeling, when her eyes lit on him, her belly did a back flip in pure, feminine appreciation.
Almost immediately, his eyes fell on her. She felt his gaze sweet down her bare shoulders, over the loose linen that covered her, then up to her face. What she saw in his eyes made the breath catch in the back of her throat.
“James,” she breathed.
He took a step back. “I thought you would be abed.”
She shook her head. “I waited up for you.”
That much was obvious. He waved his hands at the bed. “Why don’t you lie down?”
“Where?” Daphne asked impatiently. “The bed, the floor—”
“You sleep on the bed. I’ll take the floor.”
Daphne took a step towards him. “I am not going to allow you to sleep on the floor, James. I’ll take the floor.”
“The hell you will!”
“James, I do not mind to sleep on the floor.”
“You must be sore enough,” he hedged, taking another step away from her.
She sent him a perplexed look. “Only my feet.”
Apparently, that was all it took. He came to her in two long strides, lifting her carefully and plopping her down on the soft down mattress. He knelt before her and took her chilled feet in hand, inspecting them for cuts and abrasions. When he ran his thumb over her instep, she giggled. She was incredibly ticklish.
“This is no laughing matter,” he grumbled. She had a bruise on her heel.
In response, she wiggled her toes. “They are only sore from running, James.”
He sat back on his haunches and rubbed upward. “Your feet are cold, Daphne. You should have been asleep hours ago.”
She shook her head. “James,” she sighed. Daphne ran her fingertips through his hair.
He glanced away from her. “I am such a fool! I should have seen if there was a midwife in the village.”
“Midwife? Whatever for, James?”
“Are you badly hurt, Daphne?” His eyes met her eyes. “Tell me the truth, for I cannot help if I do not know.”
She briefly touched her cheek. “The bruises will fade in a week, two at most,” she murmured worriedly. “Are they so terrible?”
He kissed her toes briefly. “You are beautiful always, sweetheart. Nothing could change that.”
“James, why are you having trouble looking at me?” Daphne wondered.
“You are too beautiful for mere mortals such as I,” he praised lightly.
“Now I know you are jesting,” she muttered.
James stood up abruptly. “Tomorrow morning, I will see if I can purchase a dress off someone. There are no dress shops in the village,” he explained quickly. “I fear it will not be as fine as you are accustomed, Daphne.”
“It does not matter,” she whispered.
He glanced back at her. “It does, Daphne. Only the rarest silk should rest against your skin.”
Daphne followed him. She hesitated, feeling somehow nervous and excited at once. She pressed her cheek to his back. He was tensed. She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him, pressing close.
He betrayed himself with a single, low careening groan.
“Don’t,” he begged in a rough voice.
“Don’t what?” she asked impatiently.
Slowly, he turned around to stare at her. “Daphne, you know I don’t want to talk.”
“I don’t want to talk either,” she whispered.
“This can’t—”
“Happen,” she supplied.
Then they were lunging for one another. She stood on her toes, clutching the silk of his shirt and tugging him down. His large hands framed her face as his mouth lowered. The moment their mouths met, fire exploded between them.
Daphne delved her fingers into his hair as she opened her mouth. He tasted of wine and a more subtle flavor that was his own essence. Her tongue reached for his, rubbing insistently with all the love she had struggled to hide these past weeks.
His arms fell to her shoulders, holding her securely against him. He suckled her tongue into his mouth. She bit his lip. He swept his tongue inside to mate with hers. She sucked on his lower lip. Daphne kneaded the taut muscles of his neck as his hands slid down her arms. They both staggered towards the bed, neither willing to pull away for a single breath.
Somehow, the wrap had fallen away from her body. By the t
ime they collapsed together atop the rough blanket, her bare skin was there, rubbing against the rough-softness of his clothing. She cried out at the erotic sensations that flooded through her body.
James jerked away abruptly. “Did I hurt you?”
With a low hum, she rolled on top of him. Her hands swept up his chest as her mouth pressed almost painfully against his. She was wild for the taste of him now, desperate. Her tongue dueled with his impatiently, needing more and more even as her body thrummed.
James swept his hands up her back and down again, reveling in the softness of her skin. He swallowed her sigh when his hands moved around to cup the heavy weight of her breasts. She was a live fire, moving over him, around him, arching and shifting against him so that ever inch of her body was pressed against a part of him.
He became the aggressor, rolling her over onto her back. He was starved for every inch of her body. His mouth trailed down her neck to the valley between her fragrant breasts. She was so aroused already that her nipples were tight, pouting buds, demanding his attention.
Daphne cried out, not in pain but in absolute pleasure, as his wet tongue scraped against one sensitized nipple. Her hands cupped his head as she arched into his mouth, panting. White-hot fire shot straight from her bosom down to the very center of her body. She moaned and whimpered, fear mingling with excitement that only made her wilder for him.
James groaned as her leg lifted. He swept his fingers up her inner thigh until he brushed the fine hairs at the apex of her legs. Moaning, he kissed a trail of fire to her other waiting breast even as he found her. As rubbed the heel of his hand against her, he tugged another pert nipple into his waiting mouth.
Daphne was feeling too much at once. Where he touched her between her legs sent waves of spiraling pleasure up through her entire body. White-hot heat encircled her from his insistent mouth. She writhed against him, whimpering.
James lifted his mouth to hers, swallowing her cries. His fingers delved deeper, finding the taut, swollen nub he knew would drive her crazy. He stroked her slowly at first, testing her reaction. Sensitive, so sensitive, she lifted her hips off the bed in shocked arousal. As he sucked her tongue into his mouth, and stroked faster and faster, she began to writhe. Her body was tightening, rising, he could all but taste her release on his lips.
A Kiss to Remember Page 20