The Ravishing One

by Connie Brockway

  “Fia, anyone in your—”

  “No!” Her voice rose now. She shrugged her way out of his grip. “Not anyone else did! Only me! Carr’s daughter.”

  He moved forward and she shrank back, trembling like a roe in a net, her eyes large and unseeing and blank as the sapphire gems they so resembled. “Please, take me back.”

  “To the manor? Yes,” he agreed in relief. If he could just—

  “No. Back to London.”

  “A few days—”

  “Please. Now. Today. Please. I don’t think I can stand to be here any longer.”

  “Give me two days,” he pleaded.

  She looked as though she would break apart if he touched her. She wrapped her arms around her torso, hugging herself tightly. “I am begging you, Thomas. Take me back to London. You promised when you took me from that house that you would return me unharmed.”

  Her words pierced him to the heart. “Fia …” He held out his hand. She ignored it.

  “If you do not return me at once, you will have broken your promise to me.” Her voice quavered. “And whatever we know of each other, Thomas, I know you to be a gentleman whose word is his bond.”

  He would break his word a thousand times over if he thought by keeping her with him he could take back the last quarter hour. But he could not hurt her by keeping her against her will.

  He turned. The abyss he’d felt at his feet disappeared and in his mind’s eye the landscape smoothed into one vast, unending nightscape desert, empty and silent and cold. He began walking.

  “We’ll leave come nightfall.”

  Chapter 24

  A sulphurous glow poured from the front door of the exclusive address and streamed over the wet cobbles where two men waited. A moment later a gentleman emerged and pattered down the stairs to the street.

  “Tunbridge isn’t in the club,” Johnston announced on making Thomas Donne’s side. “And I doubt he’ll come later. It’s almost three o’clock in the morning, Thomas.”

  Thomas nodded grimly and began walking. Both Johnston and Robbie hastened to match his stride. “This is madness,” Robbie said. “He’s gone to ground, I tell you. He hasn’t been seen in public since just after you and … since your arrival two weeks ago!”

  Thomas stopped. His face was dark at any rate, and now, even more so, cloaked in shadows. Only his gaze appeared alive, a mercury-bright glimmer. Instinctively, Johnston backed away.

  Thomas looked like some awful angel of doom. It seemed grim determination was all he needed to sustain his body.

  He’d put that implacable resolve to one use: placing himself between society and its burgeoning condemnation of Lady Fia MacFarlane. A condemnation that Tunbridge had begun, along with a sustained and vicious rumor campaign.

  “Tunbridge,” Thomas said tightly, “is most certainly in town. He could not very well be spreading his vitriol from afar. Someone is shielding him and I will find out who, and then I will find him.” The very softness of his voice caused his friends to shiver.

  “But Thomas,” Johnston reasoned, “even if you find Tunbridge and silent his cursed mouth forever, I fear we both know it is too late.”

  “No,” Thomas snapped. “It is not. Especially if Fi—Lady Fia could be convinced to retract her preposterous statement that she willingly went away with me.”

  Johnston’s gaze fell. “I’ve tried. She’ll not see me. In truth, she will not see anyone. She has become a recluse, further confusing the matter and titillating the gossips. Society believes her story, you see, not yours.”

  Thomas let forth a stream of violent epithets, but Johnston went doggedly on. “It’s just that, with her reputation,” he said carefully, “what she claims seems so much more probable than your story, Thomas, that you kidnapped her against her will.” His gaze darted to Robbie in appeal.

  “You must allow, Thomas,” Robbie said, “it makes no sense for a wronged woman to protect her kidnapper.”

  “I don’t give a bloody damn what makes sense! That’s what happened, and I’ll challenge any man who says differently.”

  “We know,” Robbie finally put in. “How many duels have you challenged others to since your return? Five? Six? And how many of those were you obliged to carry out? One. You are fortunate the fellow called it quits before either of you was seriously injured. For, just in case it escaped your notice, dueling is against the law!”

  When this produced no reaction from Thomas, Robbie continued in frustration, “You’re pushing your luck, Thomas. Soon someone with more skill than you will repeat what everyone is repeating anyway and you’ll die for it and it will all be for naught because it will only add to the rumors surrounding her. You’re not helping her, Thomas.”

  At this Thomas swung around, his cloak fluttering as he strode away. With a quick look of helplessness at each other, Johnston and Robbie hurried after him, catching up as he crossed the street.

  “Where are we going?” Johnston asked in bewilderment. He barely knew Thomas anymore, the man was so changed. His face was as still and hard as the bronze engravings of the martyred warrior in St. Peter’s catacombs. His voice was harsh.

  “Hyde Park. A Captain Pierpont is meeting me there tomorrow at dusk and I’ve a whim to see it at dawn.”

  A premonition caused Johnston’s spine to tingle. “Dear God, Thomas. Pierpont is a most skilled marksman.”

  “So am I.”

  Robbie shook his head. ’Twas suicide. But perhaps that is what Thomas want—No. He’d too much courage to seek his own death. “I will be your second, of course.”

  Once more Thomas stopped. This time the anger that filled his gaze lifted, and suddenly he looked spent beyond what he could pay. “I’ve never asked anything of you in this. I don’t now. Go home, Robbie. Take Johnston here with you. I don’t want—”

  A hand gripped Thomas’s shoulder and spun him around.

  “Oh, Lord, no,” Johnston murmured. Pip Leighton had backed several paces away from Thomas. He wore a sword at his side and his hand clenched the hilt as he glowered at Thomas.

  “ ’Sblood, boy!” Thomas thundered. “You’ll get yourself killed that way.”

  In answer, Pip raised his hand and lashed it across Thomas’s cheek. “That’s for what you’ve done to her, you cur!”

  The red welt on Thomas’s face brightened, yet he regarded the boy stonily. “Go home, Pip.”

  The boy’s lips curled back over his teeth, and with purposeful slowness he lifted his hand again and brought the back of it smashing into Thomas’s other cheek. His head snapped back under the impact. Still he didn’t move.

  “Go home, Pip. I won’t fight you, boy.”

  “Boy?” Pip shouted angrily, drawing his sword on a hiss of steel and holding its point a foot from Thomas’s throat. “Boy, am I? Well I’d rather be a boy than the man who seduced and destroyed her!”

  Thomas’s eyes narrowed to silver gleams. When he spoke his voice was low and throbbing. “You cannot begin to loathe me as much as I loathe myself for my part in her distress.”

  The thin veneer of hatred crumbled, exposing the hurt and confusion beneath. “ ‘Distress’ is too easy a word for what you’ve done to her!” Pip said, his voice cracking. “You should see her, and then you might feel some portion of what you’ve done!”

  “You’ve seen her?” Thomas asked, suddenly eager.

  The boy clenched his teeth on a renewed surge of hatred. “Aye! I have. And spoke to her, though I received little back. There’s no life in her, in her eyes or her voice. There’s nothing. She’s empty. You’ve destroyed her.” Thomas moved closer. The tip of Pip’s sword brushed his chest. “And now I’ll destroy you.”

  “Now then, Pip, me lad,” Johnston said, finding his voice.

  Pip prodded Thomas’s chest, his eyes riveted on Thomas’s face. “Don’t come any closer, Johnston.”

  Johnston raised both hands palm up, smiling. “Only if you allow, Pip. But I know you won’t kill an unarmed man. Think of the sca
ndal ’Twould bring on your family.”

  It was the right note to hit. The fury faded from Pip’s countenance, replaced by abashed frustration. “Of course not. Draw your sword, Donne!”

  “No.”

  “Bloody hell,” Robbie muttered, searching for some way out of this fix.

  “Damn you! Draw your sword! I love her, can’t you understand that?” The boy’s voice broke on a sob. “Damn you, damn you. You will not deny me the privilege of fighting for her honor. Even you must have that much conscience, that much decency.”

  “ ’Sblood!” Johnston said under his breath to Thomas, his gaze unwavering on the young man’s red face. “You’ll have to fight him. He’s at the end of his rope, poor lad. He could not live with the knowledge that you didn’t consider his challenge worth answering.”

  “What are you saying?” Pip demanded hotly. “I am not some schoolboy to be ‘handled,’ Johnston! I thought you were my friend!”

  “He is your friend, you young fool!” Thomas said, grabbing hold of the sharp blade-tip in one hand, pulling it aside, and launching his other fist into Pip’s jaw. A look of surprised pain sprang to Pip’s face and then he crumpled to the ground.

  “Now he’ll not have to fret over his precious dignity. See that he gets home, eh?” Thomas stepped over the lad’s inert form, leaving Johnston and Robbie standing staring after him.

  “But where are you going?” Robbie called.

  “I am going to see Fia, and this time, by God, she will see me.”

  She wasn’t sleeping. It seemed sleep was simply one more thing that she had always considered necessary but was not. She sat in the armchair she’d pulled next to the window and waited for the dawn. It would come, she told herself. The unreasonable fear that it would not and that she would forever be in this dark room alone made her fingers tremble on the page of the book she held.

  She answered the boudoir door on the first knock. Porter admitted himself.

  “I am so sorry, milady. But there is—”

  The door behind him opened and Thomas filled the shadowed frame with his tall, broad figure. His eyes met hers. “Send him away,” he said.

  Porter’s jaw tightened perceptibly. “I shall get the footmen at once, milady, and we shall—”

  “No,” Fia said. “No. It’s all right, Porter. You may go now.”

  “But—”

  “Please, Porter.”

  Unhappily, Porter bowed and exited the room. Thomas closed the door behind him. Her heartbeat fluttered in her chest and her lungs tightened painfully. He looked awful. His eyes were stark in his face. He’d not shaved. The stubble lining the hard angle of his jaw glinted with silver in the soft low light of her table lamp. His hair was unkempt, his neckcloth loose and disheveled. She’d known he’d come, that eventually he would simply sweep away whatever obstacles stood between them. He couldn’t do any less. Because of what and who he was. He felt she’d been wronged and that he was to blame, and Thomas—noble, angry Thomas—could never tolerate another’s paying for his actions.

  She thought she’d prepared herself for the sight of him, but nothing could prepare her for the hunger his appearance awoke.

  But, Lord! he was beautiful. So large and intense and strong. She yearned to go to him, to be shielded in his arms by that strength, a strength of spirit as well as body.

  But who would shield Thomas from her, from what she might one day do? Because even as she knew Thomas could do no less than come to her because of who he was, she knew who she was, too. Carr’s daughter. Someday she might not choose the higher course. Someday she might be willing to sacrifice others for her own ends.

  “Fia.” His voice nearly undid her with its yearning.

  “Yes?” She forced herself to ask calmly.

  “You look awful.”

  She smiled. Sometimes Thomas forgot his gentlemanly manners and reverted to those of a blunt merchant-ship captain. She found the discrepancy most appeal—She stopped herself. A month ago she would have countered with an ironic rejoinder but now … She didn’t have the heart for it.

  “I am fine.”

  “Truly?” He came one step farther into the room, his gaze warily scouring her face. “You are not unwell?”

  “Despite the evidence of your eyes, I am well.”

  “Good. I could not—I needed to assure myself. I am sorry for the intrusion.” He inclined his head in a bow.

  He was leaving? No! Not yet. It had been but two weeks since the Alba Star had brought them back to London. Two weeks since the hired coach had driven her away from the silent, taciturn man whom she’d caught only glimpses of during the short journey back.

  “I have had word from a friend in France. My father has left there and should be arriving in London by the week’s end.”

  “Yes?” he asked.

  “You must leave London, Thomas,” she said. “He’s only waiting to return to inform the authorities of you so that he can be here to gloat.”

  “Let him.”

  “Thomas …” She held out her hand beseechingly. But the sight seemed to offend him, for he closed his eyes.

  “I won’t leave you here alone to face the consequences of my actions,” he said.

  “Our actions. I could have stopped it at any time.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I would have found a way. You were right, you see, I wanted you. It had nothing to do with my honorable concerns and my righteous anger. I wanted you and I would have found a way to justify it to myself. I know that now. I am not as good at honesty as you, Fia.” He stood rigidly, as though held by steel bands.

  “Don’t, Thomas.” She could not bear to see him hurt like this. “Please.”

  “No. Don’t worry. I won’t badger you.” He took a deep breath and released it slowly. The lamp guttered; the light flickered over his visage. “If you would just retract your claim to have gone with me willingly, I would leave you in peace and … and go.”

  “I can’t do that, Thomas. You’d be arrested forthwith … for abduction … possibly for rape.”

  “I promise, I will not be arrested,” he said smoothly. “I vow it.”

  “But you once promised you would not shed blood on my account and you’ve proved that a lie. Yes, Pip told me. He said you sustained no deep harm.” Her tone made it a question.

  “None at all.”

  “But that is a lie, too. For I know there was blood on your shirt. So how can I accept your word on this?”

  “I don’t know,” he said numbly, and she saw that she had wounded him by calling him a liar. She hadn’t meant to do that.

  “Stop these duels, Thomas, I beseech you. It’s a profitless endeavor. It won’t stop one tongue from wagging, nor one gaze from being raised in speculation.”

  “I can’t do that, Fia. I have nothing I can give you that you will accept, but I can force you to accept the defense of your name.”

  She could stand no more. She felt her composure begin to shatter inside, a small breaking of glass that would result into a million fragments. He must not see it. It would cause him too much pain.

  “Please,” she managed. “Please go, now.”

  “But Fia …” He moved a few steps closer, and she turned her head, holding up a hand to stay him. It did not stop him. He reached up and gently swept his fingertips along the curve of her jaw. “Fia—”

  “No.” It had all been said. She could not even stand imagining what he would look like, the sound of his voice, the expression in his eyes if she ever failed in her fight against the nature Carr had bequeathed her.

  She’d come so close to embracing her bloodlines. She’d wanted to keep Carr’s blackmail material. She loved the rush of power she’d felt holding them, knowing she could destroy Carr with them. She’d even found the justification to keep them, nearly fooled herself that her motive—to return Bramble House to Kay—was worth the damage to her soul. Next time she might not be so strong.

  Next time she might fail.

  She c
losed her eyes, the heat of imminent tears burning behind her lids.

  “Go, Thomas. I beg you.”

  His caress lingered. She thought she felt his hand tremble. Then his touch was gone. She dared not look. She dared not move. She heard the door open and close. And she sank to the floor, her body racked by silent sobs.

  Thomas descended the stairs without a flicker of emotion betrayed on his harsh countenance. At the foot of the stairs Porter waited in silent censure to let him out.

  Whatever Porter saw on Thomas’s face caused the butler to stare in amazement. He’d never seen such …

  Thomas threw his cloak over his shoulders.

  For the rest of his life Porter would wonder what made him ask, but ask he did. “If Lady Fia desires to … contact you, sir, where might she send a note?”

  Thomas laughed, and the sound raised the hairs on the nape of Porter’s neck.

  “I will be taking all my future correspondence at Hyde Park, I believe,” he said with dark humor.

  “But—”

  He smiled. “Don’t worry. I was only making a little joke. And she won’t want to contact me.”

  And with that, he left.

  Chapter 25

  Late the next morning the post delivered a batch of packages that had been mailed some days before.

  The first arrived at the modest home of a successful banker, who looked up when his butler delivered it. He was relieved by the interruption; the column he’d been poring over would not tally. He would have to make additional cuts to the household expenses and he didn’t know how to tell his wife, who sat darning his shirt before an open window.

  Fall was in the air, bringing to the banker’s mind other autumns, particularly one fifteen years ago which the banker would have done anything to erase but which quarterly he was forced to relive. It had been the autumn when he’d embarked on a pointless, ego-stroking affair.

  Looking now at the figures beneath his hand, he wondered if he should have confessed the affair to his wife, but then … His wife was his closest friend, his most cherished companion, and truly the center of his world. He would not hazard her love for anything.