Captive Pride

by Bobbi Smith

  CAPTIVE TO HIS KISS

  “Get away from me, Kincade!”

  Noah, not used to being denied, was not about to let her put him off. She had been playing with fire, and it was time she learned that he was the one in control.

  “Oh, no, my little hellcat…You started this and you’re going to finish it!”

  “I hate you!”

  “I know.”

  Crushing her to his chest, he kissed her hungrily. He wanted a woman, she was there and despite her protests, Noah could tell by the response of her body that she was not as averse to his touch as she wanted him to believe…

  Books by Bobbi Smith

  DREAM WARRIOR

  PIRATE’S PROMISE

  TEXAS SPLENDOR

  CAPTURE MY HEART

  DESERT HEART

  THE GUNFIGHTER

  CAPTIVE PRIDE

  Published by Zebra Books

  CAPTIVE PRIDE

  BOBBI SMITH

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  This is for Sylvie Sommerfield,

  author and friend extraordinaire

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  England, 1773

  Wraithlike tendrils of fog clung tenaciously to the trees surrounding the clearing, lending an almost spectral aura to the moment, and not even the pale clarity of the rising sun could dispel the mood as the cold, deadly sounds of the clashing steel blades rent the early morning silence.

  Bodies tense with expectation, weapons held in readiness, the two men engaged in the duel faced each other, each trying to anticipate the other’s next move. In a graceful dance of death, they moved about the clearing…testing…probing…each searching in his own way for his opponent’s weakness, but each failing to find that fatal flaw.

  They were the best of the best, these two. Equals in the fine art of swordsmanship, they were peers of the realm and dashing figures of men. One, tall and dark, his body tightly muscled, his movements lithe and sure, was hawklike in visage. His gray eyes were sharp and glinting as they reflected his intense concentration, his chiseled mouth firm in his determination to win. The other was blond and as tall as his rival, but his body tended to fat rather than muscle. His aristocratic features reflected a love for excess in the puffiness there. His full lips were curved in a taunting, confident smile. His pale blue eyes, still bloodshot from his intemperance the night before, shone with an almost maniacal light as he strove to prove his superiority over his foe.

  Grim-faced, the dark-haired combatant reacted to his enemy’s mocking expression violently, pressing his attack in a powerful series of maneuvers. He would not, could not yield to defeat at this man’s hands. He would defend his honor to the death. The remembrance of his opponent’s cutting, publicly issued insult left him a man possessed. He challenged his foe again and again, the strength of his rage fueling his already considerable strength.

  His rival suddenly seemed to sense the driving desperation in his renewed attack and grew nervous as he realized that the challenge he’d taken up so casually the night before could only end in one way…with one of their deaths. No longer regarding the duel as mere sport, he responded in earnest, knowing that his very life depended upon his own talent. But his years of undisciplined living had taken their toll, and he was no longer a real match for his fit opponent.

  The dark-haired man parried his lightning thrust and feinted to his left, countering with a vicious lunge. His swiftly flashing sword pierced his adversary’s momentarily unprotected shoulder and drew blood.

  As hot crimson stained the swordsman’s white shirtfront, a collective gasp escaped those who had gathered at this early morning hour to watch. Their expressions mirrored their stunned disbelief as the realization dawned on them that this would indeed be a fight to the death; that the shedding of blood alone would not satisfy the graveness of the insult.

  Knowing that he now had the advantage, the man pressed his attack with ruthless intent, penetrating again and again his enemy’s ever-weakening defenses. He was methodical in his gory siege, his silver eyes reflecting the cold deadliness of his vengeful desire. Driven by demons even he didn’t fully understand, he inflicted wound after debilitating wound upon his foe, wanting to humiliate him as thoroughly as he himself had been humiliated the night before. His fury firing his prowess, he tortured his opponent heartlessly until the overpowering need to put an end to what had become a farce of a duel drove him to sink his blade deep into the other man’s chest.

  Silence hung in a deathlike pall over the dueling ground as the physician who’d accompanied them raced forward to examine the downed man.

  “It’s done. He’s dead,” the doctor said tonelessly as he glanced up. He had never before witnessed such a savage end to an affair of honor, and he wondered suddenly if perhaps everything that was being said about this man was, indeed, true,

  In the aftermath of his surging rage, he stood tensely above them, his bloodied weapon still in hand, his eyes still glazed with the primitive blood lust that had possessed him during the fight. It was only after the physician’s words penetrated the haze of his blind fury that he realized it was over. He had won.

  As sanity gripped him once again, he saw for the first time with rational eyes the brutal carnage he’d wreaked. A look of disgust crossed his handsome features. Throwing his weapon violently aside, he turned away.

  At the edge of the dueling field, seventeen-year-old Matthew Kincade stood pale and shaken as he clutched his older brother Noah’s coat tightly in both hands. He had never seen this side of Noah before—this pitiless, cold-blooded side—and the discovery that his brother could kill with such callous expertise left him stunned. He knew Noah to be warm and loving; yet the man who had just so viciously put an end to James Radcliffe’s life seemed a stranger to him. Matthew swallowed nervously at the memory of the final, deadly sword thrust and he forced his gaze away from Radcliffe’s still, prone form to search quickly for his sibling. He caught sight of Noah heading for their waiting carriage and, forced from his stunned immobility, hurried after him.

  Noah Kincade strode quickly toward his conveyance, the hatred and strength of purpose that had possessed him earlier purged from him now by the success of his violent encounter with Radcliffe. He wanted to get away from the ugliness this moment would always represent to him, and it was only the sound of Matt’s voice that stopped him from entering their carriage.

  “Noah?” Matthew’s call was hesitant, filled with uncertainty and perhaps even a little fear.

  Noah swung around to face him, his features stony, his eyes dark now with fathomless emotion.

  “Your coat…” he offered quietly in a way of explanation as he held the garment out to him.<
br />
  As Noah took the coat, his gaze met and locked with Matt’s, and for a brief instant they regarded each other in studied silence. Noah had always understood his brother, and he could easily read the turbulence of his feelings in his strained expression, but there was nothing he could say or do to change the outcome of all that had happened. They would have to go on from there. There could be no going back….

  He made short order of donning his frock coat, and then, without so much as a glance toward the field of death, he climbed into the coach, leaving Matthew to follow.

  Chapter One

  Staring out across the fading green of the autumnal countryside with unseeing eyes, Noah stood rigidly at the window behind his desk in his study at Kincade Hall. Though the early afternoon sun shone warmly through the glistening glass, he felt none of its warmth. Chilled to his very soul, his handsome features frozen in an inexpressive mask, he turned back to the room to face Ronald Perkins, his father’s attorney. The lawyer was seated in the leather wing chair on the opposite side of the massive, scarred oak desk, his papers spread out before him in studied disarray.

  “Then it’s gone…. There’s no chance of saving it….” His tone was bitter as his gaze seemed to come alive, flashing silvered fire at the lawyer.

  The rotund barrister was nervous and sweating, his hands unsteady as he removed his wire-rimmed glasses and dabbed at his broad brow with a wrinkled white handkerchief. “Uh…yes, m’lord. I’m afraid so. The house and grounds have already been sold to meet a portion of your father’s debts.”

  Noah’s jaw tensed in anger as he stalked forward to plant his hands firmly on the desktop, leaning forward menacingly. “Were you aware that these conditions existed before my father’s demise?”

  Lord Noah Kincade was an intimidating man in the best of times, but here, confronted with the loss of his beloved home and the majority of his family fortune, the power of his outraged personality was near to overwhelming. Ronald, a cowardly soul, knew a moment of true physical fear as he stared helplessly up at the demanding nobleman.

  “I did,” he answered honestly, knowing that it would not do to lie to Noah.

  “You knew…” Noah’s eyes went blank for a moment as he considered this news. This man had known that his father was squandering the family’s resources at the gaming tables and yet made no move to stop him. “And yet you did nothing?”

  “Sir.” Perkins cleared his throat and straightened uncomfortably in the chair. Not willing to tolerate any attacks on his professional character, he summoned all his inner fortitude to answer. “I was employed by your father. It was not my job to criticize him.”

  “Could you not have advised me so I could have prevented this from happening?” Noah asked heatedly.

  “Lord Kincade,” he began in righteous indignation, “your father paid me well for the job I did. Any time I ventured to offer advice to His Lordship concerning the state of his finances, I was firmly reminded of my expendability. Your father hired me because I was discreet. It was a quality he valued most highly in those he kept in his employ.”

  The anger suddenly seemed to drain out of Noah as his broad shoulders slumped. When he looked up at the lawyer again, his face was haggard and pale, and he appeared far older than his twenty-six years. Dragging a hand through his thick, dark hair in a gesture of weary defeat, Noah nodded slowly as he dropped into his chair.

  “Then it’s settled. It’s gone….”

  “The house and grounds, yes. That transaction was completed two days ago. I am in the process now of finalizing the sale of the town house in London,” Perkins reported with as much professional dignity as he could muster. “You and Matthew are not totally devoid of funds, as you know, for you both still retain your independent trusts from your mother’s estate.”

  Noah quickly calculated in his mind just how far their trusts would go in maintaining their current lifestyle, and he grew even more overwhelmed. His mother’s family had been comfortable, but their holdings had not come anywhere near the fortunes of the Kincades.

  “I have one other bit of information here that may prove uplifting,” he offered tenuously.

  “Oh?” One dark brow lifted slightly in angry disbelief as Noah regarded the lawyer cynically.

  The knowledge that he’d lost his home was devastating to him and he found it most difficult to imagine anything that could possibly be interpreted as uplifting in this whole sordid affair. He was financially ruined, and all of his future prospects were in a shambles. Not so long ago, Noah was heir to the vast Kincade shipping fortune and one of the most sought after of bachelors about the ton. But when the rumors of the Kincade family’s cataclysmic losses had begun, Noah’s “friends” had become acquaintances, shunning him and retracting invitations issued months before. Even Lady Andrea Broadmoor, his light-o’-love for some months, had cut him loose upon hearing the gossip, and her desertion, in particular, was one lesson he would never forget. He clenched his fists in utter frustration at his own helplessness. As things stood now, Perkins’s uplifting information was the only hope he had, and he knew he couldn’t allow himself the luxury to trust in that for any real help.

  “Yes…the ships…”

  “Kincade Shipping…” For just an instant, his spirits rose at the thought that their prosperous shipping firm might still be intact, untouched by their father’s excesses. If so, he knew he still held a modicum of control over his life.

  Perkins hastened on, “The company itself is lost.”

  Noah’s last hope was dashed and bitter emotions welled up inside of him. He held himself in rigid control, refusing to betray any weakness or despair before the attorney’s watchful gaze.

  “Go on,” he urged icily.

  “There are two ships, however, that you and Matthew do retain joint title to.” He shuffled through his papers until he found the one he was looking for. “The Lorelei was your father’s pride and joy. He made special provisions in all of his dealings that it would not be included in any settlement against him.”

  Noah nodded at the knowledge that they owned at least one fleet ship.

  “And the Sea Pride,” Perkins concluded. “She’s an older merchant ship, but still serviceable.”

  “I see,” was his only reply. In his discomfiture, he suddenly was eager for the barrister to be gone, and he asked sharply, “Is there anything else you have to tell me?”

  Again the lawyer nervously cleared his throat. “Yes…” he hesitated, “and this is the most difficult for me to relay….”

  “I don’t see how anything you could have to say to me now could possibly be any worse than what you’ve already told me,” Noah remarked sarcastically, striving to stay master of his riotous emotions.

  Perkins gave a curt nod and blurted out hastily, “It seems the new owners of Kincade Hall want to take possession right away. Their request is that you vacate the premises by the end of the week.”

  For a second Noah almost lost what little control he had on himself, but his stubborn, unrelenting Kincade pride wouldn’t let him. He would reveal to no one the misery that rocked him over the loss of his family estates, not now and not in the future.

  Noah accepted, agonizingly, the reality of his situation. With that acknowledgment came a plan of action. The power of wealth had just been painfully demonstrated to him. Before, he had always taken his vaulted position for granted, but no longer. Vowing silently to himself, he swore that he would recoup all of their father’s losses. He would redeem the Kincade name among his peers and reestablish the family so firmly that future generations would be immune to such tragedy.

  He knew it was not something that would happen overnight, but Kincade Hall would not remain in the hands of strangers for long. It had been in the family for generations. He would buy it back just as soon as he could raise the funds, and he was going to raise the funds. Nothing would deter him. Nothing.

  “Perkins, I thank you for your help in these matters.” His voice was steady, his manner icily
calm as he rose. It was a signal to the barrister that his audience with Noah was at an end.

  “Oh…fine, my lord…” He gathered his papers together and hurriedly stuffed them into his portfolio. “If I have any more news, I’ll be in touch.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  “Do you know where you’ll be staying after the end of the week?” Perkins hated to ask, but it was essential that he know His Lordship’s whereabouts should anything of an urgent business nature come up.

  Nerves stretched taut, Noah answered through gritted teeth, “Should you need us for anything, you will be able to reach us through Captain Russell of the Lorelei.”

  “Fine, fine.” Perkins could sense the tension in the air and he was eager to be on his way back to London. With a quick bow, he started out of the room. “Until later.”

  “Yes…until later…” Noah’s tone was grim and final.

  When the family retainer had gone and he was alone, Noah turned slowly back to the window. His heart felt like a stone in his breast, and he refused to admit that the prick-ling, burning sensation in his eyes was anything besides weariness.

  The last two weeks had been disastrous and he wondered if things could possibly get any worse. First there had been his father’s death in a hunting accident and the systematic dismantlement of the Kincade empire as his father’s creditors had come forth, like vultures, to feast on the remains.

  Exhausted, Noah massaged the back of his neck, trying to work out the tightness in the muscles there as he gazed out across the low, rolling hills painted now with the faded colors of the dying season. He thought, philosophically, how his life was like the land that was spread out before him…his glory days of summer over and only the bleakness of winter ahead. The goal he had set before himself to regain his lost fortunes and prestige seemed insurmountable at that moment, but he knew that the longest of journeys is accomplished by only one step at a time. Still…