"Oh, please, you mustn't!" Mary cried. "I mean, it would be too much bother and upset my aunt terribly, what with the constant reminder of our immediate danger." Mary quickly recovered, smiling frozenly into the colonel's interested stare.
"I really can't allow it. We are perfectly safe. Just knowing you are here in the neighborhood sets my mind at rest. Lord Malton exaggerates on our behalf, truly. After all, we have not been robbed. Surely that proves that we are safe? We are not excessively rich."
Mary averted her eyes, praying the colonel would agree. If he posted his men around their property, Sabrina might stumble into them trying to get into the house..
The colonel controlled his expression as he answered carefully, "It will, of course, be as you wish, although I have doubled the patrols and I'm confident of catching this highwayman. I doubt whether you are completely safe, even though you've not been robbed." He pondered that fact silently. Odd that the Verrick family had not been harassed by the highwayman. But then as the lady had said, they were not rich.
He accepted Lady Mary's offer to tea, unwilling to take his leave of this rather unusual woman's company for a few minutes yet. For there was a puzzle here. Most women enjoyed his company, he had found, although he hadn't had much time for prolonged affairs, but he would have sworn there had been a look of terror in Lady Mary's eyes when she'd seen him and a sense of revulsion when she'd held out her hand.
He watched her carefully while she poured the tea from a silver teapot, her hands slim and steady now that she'd seemed to regain some of her composure.
Her hair glowed red beneath the wisp of starched lace that served as a cap, and her features were delicately moulded, although there was a sprinkling of freckles like gold dust across her nose. But her most unusual feature was her eyes; light gray with the translucence of crystal.
She was holding out his teacup and saucer, a quizzical look in those eyes now as she patiently waited to gain his attention.
"I beg your pardon for staring," he apologized, "but you've most unusual eyes."
Mary flushed and took a sip of tea in embarrassment, her lashes sweeping low and masking her expression.
"Have I embarrassed you? I didn't intend my compliment to do that," he said with a challenging light entering his eyes as he watched her shy away from him like a startled fawn. He smiled slightly, getting to his feet.
"I'll take my leave of you, Lady Mary," he addressed her, startling her by his use of her first name. "It has been a pleasure. I am only sorry I didn't get the opportunity to meet the rest of your family."
Mary responded volubly, relief evident on her face. "Oh, Aunt Margaret seldom comes down when we've visitors, and Richard is at his lessons and my sister Sabrina," Mary stuttered in nervousness, "s-she isn't feeling too well, a c-cold."
"I'm sorry to hear that. I hope she'll feel better soon," Colonel Fletcher commiserated, a thoughtful look on his face as he sensed Mary's unease. "I will keep you informed on my progress, Lady Mary, concerning the highwayman. I shouldn't want you to worry needlessly. Good afternoon."
Mary sank back against the cushions of the settee, feeling drained of emotion. There was something about that man that worried her, a certain singleness of purpose that meant he seldom gave up or accepted failure. The colonel had frightened her. If only Sabrina were here—she would have known what to do, and how to have handled the colonel. She was never at a loss for words. It would have been very interesting, Mary thought, to have seen the colonel and Sabrina meet and exchange barbs.
Sabrina opened her eyes sleepily and yawned. She began to stretch, but her shoulder felt stiff and sore and was restricted by a firm bandage. She frowned and put a curious hand to it and noticed the fine white fabric of the shirt she wore. It was too long for her arms and flopped over her fingertips. She rolled back the lace-edged cuffs and sat up in the big bed. A fire was burning softly and casting a glow about the room, while rain tapped against the window outside. She was weak, but somehow refreshed, and the burning heat she'd been consumed by was gone. She put a tentative hand to her forehead and felt the dry coolness of it beneath her fingertips.
"I see you have rejoined the living," a deep voice commented from a corner of the room, and as Sabrina's startled glance sought it out, a large form rose from a winged-back chair in the shadows.
Sabrina felt her pulses quicken as the scar-faced man came close to the bed and stood staring down at her speculatively. She pulled the neck of the large shirt together protectively and cowered beneath the coverlet.
A grin appeared on his face as he commented dryly, "Your modesty is misplaced, I fear, for I have cared for you since your illness, and—" He spread his hands dispassionately, letting her draw her own conclusions.
Sabrina glared up at him impotently, unaware of the lovely picture she presented to him wearing his shirt, her midnight-black hair tumbling over it in startling dark waves and her eyes a wild violet color in a face flushed pink with embar-rassment.
The Duke pulled up a chair and straddled it, his arms resting on its back as he directed an interrogating look at Sabrina's bent head as she toyed with the edge of lace that had fallen over her wrist.
"Now, I think it is time we had a few answers, but first allow me to reintroduce myself. I am Lucien Dominick, Duke of Camareigh. You might have forgotten in the excitement."
Sabrina stared up at him insolently. "Certainly not, Your Grace," she contradicted smoothly. "I'll never forget your name."
"Good. Now what is yours? Ah," he interrupted before she could open her lips, "not your professional name, if you please," he warned softly. "I don't imagine Bonnie Charlie is your Christian name."
Sabrina looked away, a mutinous expression on her face. She jumped as hard fingers closed around the point of her small chin and turned her face back to face his. She stared up into his sherry-brown eyes unflinchingly.
"Why all the fuss, Your Grace?" Sabrina demanded flippantly. "I'll be hanged soon enough when the soldiers arrive, now won't I?"
The Duke grinned unpleasantly. "Who said anything about soldiers?"
Sabrina put up her hand and tried to pry his fingers from her chin, only to have her hand grasped instead.
"Such a small, bloodthirsty little hand," he murmured and then put back his head and laughed. "And to think this has been terrorizing the countryside, a slip of a girl." He continued to laugh deeply, his muscular throat arched back and vibrating with sound, his body relaxed.
When he stopped laughing he stared down at Sabrina, his eyes narrowed and piercing, his body tense as he rapped out, "Who are you? Where do you come from?"
He continued to stare at her, taking in the delicate contours of her face, and asked suddenly, "Is that big fellow your husband?"
"Of course not!" Sabrina answered unthinkingly.
The Duke smiled. "I thought not, but I wasn't sure. I've not seen many husbands take orders so meekly from then-wives, and it is evident that you are the leader of this little band of ruffians."
"Did you kill him?" Sabrina asked faintly.
"The giant? No, he had a mighty headache for a day or two, but he is safely locked up belowstairs."
Sabrina sighed in relief. If anything had happened to Will. ..
"You haven't answered my question," the Duke continued. "Who are you?"
"Just a poor country lass having to live by her wits, Your Grace," she answered demurely.
"A very rich country lass I would say, and one who has led us all on a wild-goose chase," he corrected her coldly, his humor forgotten as he realized what a fool he'd looked to her. Challenging a woman to a duel, he thought in disgust. What if he'd killed her? He watched her as she sat smugly before him, feeling no remorse at what she'd done. He was in a quandary and he suspected she knew it. She wasn't the ordinary highwayman—nor was she low-bred. Her features disproved that—unless she was the illegitimate offspring of some nobleman? And yet she was well-educated and cultured. Her speech evidenced that.
No, this little bit of fluff was quite an enigma—and had caught his interest. She was too cool, too arrogant. She needed to be taught a lesson.
"You're a thief and a liar, and"—he paused, looking her over contemptuously, then added purposefully—"no telling what else."
Sabrina flushed. "I'm not a thief! At least not an ordinary one," she defended herself. "I never take more than I need, and even then I give half to people who need it. And," she finished haughtily, drawing herself up, "you insult me grossly with your other disparaging remarks."
The Duke smiled cynically. "You are quite an actress, but your contrite little excuses won't change the verdict when a rope is tightened about that slim neck of yours." He spoke softly and, reaching out, encircled her throat with his warm hand, his fingers rhythmically smoothing the downy-soft hairs at her nape as he continued, "It would be a pity for such a beautiful woman to choke and gasp as the rope tightened, taking away her breath, her eyes bulging in terror, the blood pounding in her head as she felt her little feet swing in the air, that petal-smooth skin mottled and purple. Not a very pretty sight." His fingers gradually stopped and began to tighten around Sabrina's neck. Her pulse was beating rapidly beneath his big thumb and as it continued to press she began to hear thundering in her ears, and, reaching up, grabbed frantically at his fingers, trying to prise them loose from around her neck.
She stared into his eyes, which had turned almost black with his anger, disbelief on her face when he suddenly loosened his grip and allowed her to breathe. Sabrina took deep breaths of air, her chest moving rapidly as the room stopped swimming.
A cruel smile curved the Duke's mouth. "It wasn't very nice was it? Were you frightened?" He laughed heartlessly. "No, you wouldn't admit to feeling fear, would you, Bonnie Charlie? Defiant to the end, are you? We'll see," he told her enigmatically.
Sabrina controlled the shiver that threatened to shake her and spat back, "I'll never cower at your feet. Do you think you, a white-livered Judas, can dictate to me? You deceive yourself, Your Grace."
Sabrina raised her chin defiantly, the sparkle back in her violet eyes as she continued to ridicule him in her anger and fright.
"Do you really want your friends to know that the brave Duke of Camareigh dueled with a mere woman? That he nearly killed her? Do you really think that they would appreciate learning that the infamous and bloodthirsty Bonnie Charlie, who had been terrorizing them for so long, was in actual fact a woman? No, I don't think they would thank you on that score, Your Grace. They would never be able to hold up their perfumed heads in public again," Sabrina jeered laughingly, feeling the master of the situation.
She returned the Duke's proud stare. "You're in a quandary, for your own self-esteem is at stake, and a gentleman's honor and name is everything, isn't it? No, I think you will not turn Bonnie Charlie over to the authorities."
The Duke smiled grimly. "You speak very persuasively in your defense. However, who said I planned to turn a highwayman over to the authorities?" He smiled at the puzzlement on Sabrina's face. "On the other hand, I might turn over to them a thieving wench who broke into my home intent upon mischief. And along with her, a certain large friend. Ah, you had forgotten your giant protector I see," he reminded her with a smile of satisfaction. "Yes, he will undoubtedly be hanged, or possibly after a prolonged stay in prison, you will both be deported. Not very pleasant, I assure you. Yes, you should really be quite frightened by the predicament you find yourself in. Either that or you're a fool, which for some reason I don't think you are."
Sabrina's face had whitened at his threatening words and her eyes had grown wide, darkening with fear.
The Duke seemed satisfied with the calculated effect of his words, and sauntering to the door added, "You might think on that, and when you are a bit more communicative and forthcoming with the information I seek, we will have more to say to one another."
Sabrina stared in impotent fury at the closed door, his words sinking into her numbed mind like quicksand. She fell back against the soft pillows and dragged the bedcovers over her shaking shoulders as a hesitant tear found its way from her eye onto her cheek.
What was she going to do? She couldn't seem to think clearly since this had happened. Always in the past she'd had her way. She'd never come up against someone like the Duke before. He was ruthless, mean, vengeful—and intelligent. And, he had caught her.
Sabrina sniffed and wiped away her tears with the back of her hand like a small child, then sat up in dismay as a sudden thought struck her.
Mary! What must she be thinking? She'd been missing countless days now. Poor Mary, she must think she was dead, or captured. And John would be storming about the countryside looking for them, and he would find nothing because they weren't there. They'd left the area and no one knew where they'd gone. How could he possibly find them? And even then, there would be little he could do except get caught himself. This place was like a fortress, and the Duke wasn't one to be caught off guard. No, if they were to escape it was up to her. But how?
Sabrina rubbed the back of her neck thoughtfully, the movement bringing back the memory of other fingers. Gradually a look of cunning entered her eyes as she remembered further.
The Duke had not been unaware of her as a woman. She instinctively knew this. There had been something about the way his hand had caressed her waist when he'd held her to him and threatened to strangle her. It had been at variance to the violence of his actions. He had been trying to frighten her, yet he couldn't control the automatic gentleness of his hand at her waist.
His eyes had given him away also. They had softened, just for a moment, maybe with pity, but soften they had, and that surely meant that he felt something besides anger. Sabrina had seen other men's eyes widen when they'd gazed at her face and body, but she'd always disdained it and never encouraged a man—but now—now she would play the game.
Sabrina straightened her slim shoulders resolutely. She would attract this arrogant Duke. She would bring him to his knees before her, and when he was at her mercy, deceived by her honeyed words, she would escape him. She would manage to free Will and they would flee this prison, leaving the beguiled Duke looking the fool.
Sabrina climbed from the bed, feeling a momentary faintness as she stood and walked on wobbly legs to the porcelain bowl placed on the bedside table. Rolling the sleeves of the Duke's shirt above her elbows, she poured icy water into the bowl from a matching pitcher, and splashed the refreshing water on her face. She toweled it dry with a large handkerchief folded next to it, and then began to brush her hair free of tangles, smoothing it back from her face in long waves. It was dull and lifeless from her fever. Sabrina frowned at her reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall. She would demand a bath, wash her hair and get clean linen. She felt her shoulder experimentally; it was stiff and when she moved it she felt a twinge of pain, but it was healing. At least she had been given careful treatment at his hands while she'd been ill; apparently his velvet gloves were off now that she'd recovered.
A frown of uncertainty settled on her face as she realized what she was about to do. She stared at the angry scratch across the back of her hand, remembering vaguely how she had received it. The sense of the danger she had placed herself in intruded realistically into her plans. That scratch could be a minor wound compared to what could happen to her along this course of action. But what else could she do? She had to escape and rescue Will, and they had to get out of the Duke's way before he discovered her true identity—at all costs that must remain a secret. Besides, she would call a halt to the game before it progressed too far. She would play the seductress, take the Duke by surprise, then when he was least suspecting it, attack and the game was hers.
The Duke insolently tapped the giant's cheek with the tip of his sword. "Do be a good fellow and tell me about your escapades. I'm much kinder than my servants, one or two of whom are nursing sore jaws and the thought of revenge against you, my big friend," the D
uke said in a friendly tone.
Will glared back, one eye black and blue, his lip swollen, and remained silent.
The Duke shrugged. "You will talk eventually, you know. I'm merely trying to make it easier for you." He paused reflectively, then added significantly, "And of course it won't be easy for your small female friend. A pity, she is rather pretty, don't you think?"
Will strained ineffectively at the bonds that bound him to the chair. "You touch her and I'll cut you into a thousand pieces," he snarled in rage.
"My, my," the Duke declared. "You've found your tongue at last. I seem to have touched a sore point with you."
The Duke walked the small confines of the storage room and, turning abruptly, demanded sharply, "Who is she?"
But the giant remained mute, a venomous look in his clear blue eyes as he met the Duke's stare.
"I’ll find out sooner or later, then . . . well, it will be too late to ask mercy of me."
"You ain't going to do nothing," Will muttered, challenging the surprised look on the Duke's face, "or you'd a done it by now. The soldiers would've been here and taken me and Charlie away by now. But I don't see no redcoats, Duke—so I call your bluff."
The Duke gave a reluctant smile, which didn't reach Will's eyes, at the giant's reasoning. "Ah, but you're wrong. Why should I spare you and that hotheaded female friend of yours?" he demanded coldly. "I have a few debts to collect with interest, my big friend, and if that means amusing myself with you two for a while before I kill you— then that is my privilege. Who cares what happens to two vicious criminals who attacked me in my home?"
Will's face reddened with his anger and fear for Sabrina at this man's hands. "What have you done to Charlie?" he demanded, straining against the rope that held him firm. "If you've hurt her—?"
"She's in good health, for the moment at least, but who can predict the future good fortunes of people in the precarious business you're in? Anything could befall her. Such a pity too, for you seem quite fond of the little vixen." The Duke smiled knowingly. "Of course she is quite a beauty in a wild, untamed fashion. You may have far warmer feelings towards her, eh? Hmmm, it might be interesting to form a closer friendship with her myself," he speculated aloud.
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