Several minutes later, Austin eased himself into a huge tub of steaming water and closed his eyes with a contented sigh. His mind suddenly flashed to an image of Elizabeth, who was no doubt stepping into her own fragrant bath, her magnificent hair cascading down her back in a mass of glorious curls.
He imagined himself joining her in the tub, his wet hands gliding over her full breasts, teasing her nipples into hard peaks. Austin… she would groan in that heated, smoky voice. He saw himself lean forward and draw one ripe nipple between his lips and suckle until she moaned in pleasure.
“Are you all right, your grace?” Kingsbury called through the door.
Yanked from his sexual reverie, Austin realized with no small amount of chagrin that he had been the one moaning, a most annoying habit of late, it seemed.
“Yes, Kingsbury, I’m fine,” he snapped.
Damn.
This was turning out to be a very irritating house party.
At dinner that evening, Austin sat at the head of the table and surreptitiously observed Elizabeth. She sat at the far end next to a young viscount whose gaze grew more admiring as the meal wore on. Austin couldn’t decide whether to applaud Caroline or curse her fashion efforts on Elizabeth’s behalf. By the fifth course, the damn viscount couldn’t seem to stop staring at her.
And who could blame him? She looked breathtaking in a low-cut, coppery-colored gown that showcased her full breasts and creamy skin. Austin noted with ever-growing grimness how the viscount’s admiring gaze often strayed to the tantalizing skin swelling above her bodice.
And her hair. God! A single clip held the loosely gathered mass of curls on top of her head. Wispy tendrils surrounded her face and shoulders, and the rest fell down her back in a shimmering curtain of satiny ringlets. No doubt the seductive coiffure was again the work of Caroline’s abigail. He didn’t know whether to fire the woman or triple her salary.
He’d made it a point to avoid Elizabeth in the drawing room before dinner, but he’d been intensely aware of her every single movement, a fact that irked him to no end. He had to stop this… this whatever it was he was doing with her. Kissing her, touching her were blatant errors in his normally fine-tuned better judgment. And they were errors he could not afford to repeat.
After spending most of the afternoon reflecting, he’d decided his only course of action was to wait. Wait for Miles to return from London. Wait to receive information from his Bow Street Runner. Wait to get further instructions from the blackmailer. He chafed at the necessity, but there was no alternative.
After their time together at the lake, it was nearly impossible to believe that she was working in cahoots with the blackmailer or indeed knew anything about the letter he’d received. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more it became clear that she simply possessed an uncanny intuition that she placed far too much credence in. She believed her visions were real and had told him about them to help him. She wasn’t vicious or out to harm him. She was merely… misguided.
Misguided… and tempting beyond all endurance. She set his blood on fire and he could not seem to exorcise her from his thoughts. And that damned viscount sitting next to her was now openly ogling her.
With each passing course, Austin’s mood grew grimmer and he found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the inane conversations going on around him.
“I believe you’re in a brown study, your grace,” a female voice remarked in a throaty undertone. A gloved hand brushed over his and he forced his attention back to his immediate surroundings. Countess Millham, the woman seated on his left, sent him a coy smile. Since her elderly husband’s convenient death two years ago, the countess had engaged in numerous affairs, but she’d yet to lure Austin to her bed. He had the distinct impression she hoped to change that tonight.
She leaned closer, affording him an unimpeded view of her breasts that spilled over her bodice in a show of cleavage that he knew stupefied most men. Her emerald gaze roamed his face, her eyes glowing with sexual promise— the exact sort of look from the exact sort of woman he should be concentrating on.
With her eyes steady on his, she discreetly slipped her hand under the table and boldly caressed his thigh. “There must be something a woman can do to gain your attention, your grace,” she murmured in a husky whisper meant only for his ears.
He did nothing to stop her or to encourage her; he simply watched her and waited for his body to react to her touch. Her tongue peeked out and she slowly wet her upper lip, her eyes blatantly telling him what she’d rather be doing with her tongue. Her questing fingers moved higher on his leg.
But instead of lust for her, he felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. This beautiful woman, with her voluptuous body and promises of sexual delights, didn’t ignite the slightest spark of desire in him. He moved his hand under the table to forcibly halt her caress. At that same instant his mother stood, signaling the end of the meal.
Clearly misunderstanding the reason why he’d placed his hand under the table, Countess Millham smiled wickedly, as she stood along with everyone else. “Until later,” she whispered close to his ear as the women departed for the drawing room, leaving the men to their cigars.
Leaning back in his chair, he lit a cheroot and blew out a long stream of fragrant smoke. Countess Millham had provided him with a perfect and much-needed opportunity to ease the relentless ache clutching his loins. So why the hell wasn’t he happy?
Because she s not the one you want. Thoroughly annoyed with himself, he signaled a footman for a brandy and tossed back the potent drink in a single gulp.
He suspected this was going to be an excruciatingly long evening.
Elizabeth entered her bedchamber and leaned back against the closed door, grateful to escape the drawing room and the chattering women. Aunt Joanna and Caroline had both expressed concern when she’d pleaded a headache and excused herself to retire early, but she couldn’t remain with the guests any longer. There were too many people, too many disjointed images flashing through her mind. Her head felt as if a corps of drummers pounded on her brain.
And then there was him. It was painfully obvious Austin was avoiding her. He’d barely acknowledged her before dinner, and every time she’d glanced down the table at him, his attention seemed riveted on the beautiful woman with the large breasts sitting at his elbow.
She’d turned her attention to Viscount Farrington, with whom she’d discovered a common interest in drawing. To her surprise, he paid her several flowery compliments and professed a desire to sketch her. She’d tried to concentrate on him, but she was constantly distracted by the vague, unsettling images flashing in her mind and the presence of the man at the head of the table.
After changing into her night rail, she mixed a headache remedy and slid into bed. Indistinct images collided in her brain, teasing her, just out of reach. She closed her eyes, willing the thoughts to go away, but they persisted.
Austin’s face popped into her mind, his mouth curving slowly upward into a devastating smile. She tried to push him from her thoughts but failed.
What was he doing right this minute? Was he with the woman who had claimed his attention all through dinner? Was he touching her? Kissing her?
A groan passed her lips. The thought of Austin touching another woman pierced her with a pain that stole her breath, a pain made all the more agonizing because there was nothing she could do about it. Her feelings for him were hopeless.
Utterly hopeless.
In spite of himself, Austin noticed Elizabeth’s absence the moment he entered the drawing room. Even though some two dozen people milled about, her height made her extremely easy to pick out. Another scan of the room only confirmed she was not present. She must have excused herself to see to personal needs. He headed toward the decanters and managed to convince himself he was glad she was not in the room.
After she’d still failed to appear twenty minutes later, however, he grew concerned. He approached Caroline and casually asked about Elizabeth’s whe
reabouts.
“She wasn’t feeling well and retired immediately after dinner,” Caroline said, her blue eyes studying him with interest. “Why do you ask?”
“I was merely curious. Is she ill?”
“She had the headache. I’m sure she’ll be fine in the morning, although Viscount Farrington is crushed by her departure.”
Austin’s fingers tightened around his snifter. “Is he?”
“Yes. He’s quite smitten. I understand he asked Lady Penbroke’s permission to call on Elizabeth.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw and he had to squelch a sudden, overwhelming desire to inflict bodily harm on Viscount Farrington.
Lively curiosity gleamed in Caroline’s eyes. “I hope Elizabeth’s headache isn’t the result of whatever adventure you two shared this morning. You never did say what happened to you.”
“I wouldn’t dream of boring you with the details.”
“Nonsense. I love details.”
She made me laugh. I held her in my arms. I touched her. I kissed her. I want to do it again. Right now. “There’s nothing to tell, Caroline.”
“I wish Robert had been here to see you covered with mud.”
Austin was heartily grateful that his younger brother had not been present. Robert no doubt would have split his breeches from laughing and then have asked a hundred teasing questions. “When is he expected to return from his travels?”
“Within the next several days,” Caroline answered.
A footman approached and held out a silver salver with a wax-sealed note. “A message for you, your grace.”
Grateful for the interruption, Austin took the note. When he saw the distinctive imprint on the wax, he stilled.
“Is something wrong, Austin?” Caroline asked.
He forced himself to offer her a smile. “Everything is fine. Just a small matter that requires my attention. Please excuse me.”
Leaving the drawing room, he made his way to his study, closing the door behind him. His hands shook as he slipped his fingers beneath the easily recognizable seal of his Bow Street Runner. Had he found Gaspard?
Tipping back his head, he closed his eyes for a brief moment. What he was about to read might well give him the answers he’d sought for so long. With his jaw clenched to the point of pain, he opened the note and anxiously scanned the contents.
Your Grace:
I have information for you. Per our prearranged agreement, I will await you at the ruins at the north border of your property.
James Kinney
Austin read the brief missive again, his fingers gripping the vellum so hard he was surprised it didn’t crumble apart. Kinney was the finest Bow Street had to offer. He wouldn’t have traveled to Bradford Hall at night if he didn’t have something important to report.
Locking the note in his desk drawer, Austin left his study and hurried down the back staircase. Slipping from the house, he kept to the shadows and walked swiftly to the stables. When he instructed Mortlin to saddle Myst, the groom looked up at the sky and scratched his head. “Are ye certain ye want to ride, yer grace? It’s fixin’ to storm soon. Me achin’joints can always tell.”
Austin looked up and saw only the bright full moon. If a storm was even in the offing, it had to be hours away. But no matter. Nothing would keep him from meeting Kinney. “I want to ride. There’s no need to await my return. I’ll take care of Myst when I get back.”
“Yes, yer grace.”
Moments later, Austin vaulted into the saddle. He applied his heels to Myst’s sides and the gelding took off in the direction of the ruins.
Mortlin watched him go, absently rubbing his sore elbows. The stiffness in his joints had grown steadily worse over the evening and he knew that the brewing rain would be upon them soon. Probably in less than an hour. No doubt the duke was meeting a bit of fancy fluff at the ruins for a little late-night snoogle, although why he’d choose to carry on his affairs in such uncomfortable surroundings when he had the luxury of Bradford Hall at his disposal mystified Mortlin. Clearly the lady in question was the adventurous sort, and you never could predict the actions of the Quality. A chuckle escaped him as he silently wished his employer a merry romp.
Elizabeth awoke with a start, her heart pounding painfully.
Perspiration slicked her skin and the ragged hiss of her labored breathing echoed in the quiet bedchamber.
Danger. He s in danger.
She fought to untangle her sweaty limbs from the damp sheets. Urgency pumped through her and a deep sense of dread pricked her skin like a thousand stinging bees.
Austin. Hurt. Bleeding.
Panic sliced through her and she forced herself to draw deep, calming breaths. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she closed her eyes and concentrated, trying to form the vague images careening through her mind into something coherent.
A stone tower, surrounded by crumbling walls. A gunshot. A black horse rearing. Austin, falling, injured. Bleeding.
Death.
A deafening clap of thunder followed immediately by a flash of lightning jerked her from her thoughts. She had to find him. She sensed he was not too far away—but where? Yanking off her night rail with shaking hands, she dressed as quickly as possible. Grabbing her medical bag, she dashed down the back stairs and ran toward the stables.
James Kinney paced in the shadows near the crumbling ruins, awaiting the duke’s arrival, anxious to tell him the incredible, staggering information he’d discovered. Footsteps crunched on the rocks directly behind him, and he spun around.
“Your grace, I—” He froze, frowning at the man emerging from the shadows. “Who are you?”
For an answer the stranger aimed a pistol at James’s temple. “You are good at asking questions, especially about me, monsieur,” the stranger said in an unmistakable French accent. “You’ve been asking them all over London. Now you will answer one of mine. What information are you bringing to the Duke of Bradford?”
“You’re Gaspard.”
The Frenchman advanced another step. “The duke is a fool. He should have known better than to hire a Runner to find me. I ask you again, monsieur. What information do you have? You will tell me, or you will die.” He smiled and James saw madness in his eyes.
And James knew that even if he talked, his time on earth had come to an end.
Chapter 8
Thunder cracked as loudly and suddenly as a gunshot.
Breathless and close to panic, Elizabeth arrived at the stables just past midnight. Mortlin had obviously retired as he was nowhere to be found. Without hesitation, she lifted the first saddle she saw, grunting under its weight, and quickly outfitted Rosamunde. It wasn’t until she’d led the mare outside that she realized she’d used a gentleman’s saddle. Without a thought to the impropriety of her actions, she employed a move she hadn’t used since arriving in England. Hitching her skirts up to her thighs, she mounted the horse, sitting astride. Her muscles creaked in protest, but she ignored the discomfort.
Turning Rosamunde, she studied the series of paths leading into the forest. Which one would lead her to Austin? Closing her eyes, she emptied her mind, forcing herself to concentrate. Left. Take the left path.
Without hesitation, she headed down the left path, her eyes searching the darkness, her pulse pounding. Rosamunde followed the dirt trail, and Elizabeth kept concentrating, forcing the image of Austin into her mind’s eye. They were getting closer… she knew it. But would she be too late?
Another roar of thunder split the silence. A lightning bolt streaked across the black sky, briefly illuminating the gloomy surroundings.
And she saw it in the distance.
The stone tower she’d envisioned. Urging Rosamunde into a brisk gallop, she headed directly toward it. Twigs snapped at her arms, and a branch whipped against her shoulder, but the stinging pain barely registered. Raindrops began falling, gently at first, but within moments they turned into a cold, needlelike spray that pelted her unmercifully. She emerged from the fringes o
f the forest and galloped full bent across the meadow. The outline of the tower flashed before her with every slash of lightning.
When the tower loomed no more than thirty feet away, she reined Rosamunde to a halt and squinted into the darkness. Where are you, Austin? Lightning flashed. The tower rose before her. A riderless black horse grazed by a low stone wall.
A figure lay sprawled facedown on the ground.
“Austin!” Her heart leapt with both relief and fear. Thank God she’d found him… but was she too late?
She slid from the saddle and ran to him, stumbling across the slippery ground. Heedless of the mud, she dropped to her knees beside him. With her heart lodged in her throat and a prayer on her lips, she pressed her fingers to his neck.
His pulse throbbed against her fingertips.
A relieved sob bubbled inside her, but she firmly pushed it aside. Now was not the time to allow her emotions to get the better of her. She had to determine the extent of his injuries.
As gently as possible, she turned him over, shielding him as best she could with her body from the driving rain. The metallic scent of blood filled her nostrils and her stomach knotted with fear. Blinking the rain from her eyes, she peered into his face. His eyes were closed and blood oozed from a nasty gash on his temple.
She ran her hands quickly down his body, searching for additional injuries, praying he hadn’t fallen victim to the gunshot she’d heard in her vision. She soon determined that he hadn’t been shot, but her fingers discovered an egg-sized lump on the back of his head.
She gently patted his face. “Austin, can you hear me?”
He remained perfectly still and frighteningly silent.
Lightning flashed again. Glancing up, she saw an arched opening in the base of the tower. She had to get him out of this weather to treat him. Rising, she grasped him under his arms and pulled. Dear God, the man weighed a veritable ton. Thank goodness she only had to move him a short distance.
Her heart pinched when he moaned. Although she tried desperately not to hurt him, she knew the sharp rocks scraped him. Her back ached from the heavy weight, and she slipped once, landing hard on her bottom. Gritting her teeth, she dragged him the last few feet into the shelter of the tower. Then she dashed back into the rain and snatched her medical bag from Rosamunde’s saddle. Rosamunde and Myst had moved close to the tower. She didn’t tether them in case they grew frightened and wanted to bolt, in which case she suspected they would simply head back toward the stables.
Jacquie D'Alessandro Page 9