No Other Love

by Candace Camp

  “Really? You mean, men with guns?”

  Deborah nodded. “Yes.”

  “Oh, dear. I hope no one gets hurt.” Nicola had a vision of the highwayman toppling from his horse, a red stain blossoming across his shirt. She clenched her hands in her lap. “I think perhaps some of the villagers may have joined the highwayman’s gang.”

  “That is what that man Stone thinks. I heard him tell Richard so. He thinks that a bribe will bring one of them to betray The Gentleman. Richard said that they would try it if the extra guards did not work.”

  It occurred to Nicola that her sister had apparently overheard a great deal of the conversation between the two men, and she wondered if perhaps Deborah had stood with her ear glued to the door to Richard’s room.

  “I could not understand everything they said,” Deborah added naively. “But I think there is a shipment tonight, and the extra guards will be there. I hope nothing happens….”

  Nicola could not rid herself of the thought of extra guards with guns on the wagon tonight. She tried not to think about the highwayman getting shot, but she could not keep from picturing it in her mind.

  That evening, after supper, Richard was called away. Nicola and Deborah, still sitting in the drawing room, heard his raised voice in the study. She could not understand what he said, but the tone was definitely angry. In a few minutes the study door opened and Mr. Stone walked down the hall, followed by the sound of the door slamming behind him. Nicola pressed her lips together to suppress a smile. Richard was furious, and that could only mean that the highwayman had not been killed or captured.

  “Oh, dear,” Deborah murmured worriedly. “Perhaps…perhaps we should go on to bed.”

  “You’re absolutely right,” Nicola agreed with alacrity, her heart amazingly lighter.

  She went upstairs with Deborah and walked down the hall to her room. There she went through her nightly ritual of hooking the chair beneath the knob before she turned and sat down in front of her vanity to take down her hair. Absentmindedly she pulled out the pins from her thick golden hair and let it fall to her shoulders, all the while wondering what had happened tonight. Had Jack pulled off the robbery despite the extra guards? She felt certain that he had not been killed because of Richard’s reaction, but that did not mean that all of the men had escaped harm. She hated to think that someone from the village had died tonight—or that one of the guards had, either.

  She picked up her silver-backed brush and began to run it through her hair with long strokes. Her head was down, her thoughts far away, when she heard a faint rustle. Her head came up sharply, and in the mirror she saw the image of a man behind her before he closed the gap in one long stride and clapped his hand over her mouth, pulling her up out of her seat and back hard against his body.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  FOR AN INSTANT, NICOLA FROZE. Then she began to struggle. The man’s other arm went immediately around her body, pinning her arms to her sides and effectively circumventing her, but she was able to kick back with her heel and was rewarded by a soft grunt of pain.

  Then she felt the smooth touch of satin against her ear as he hissed, “Dammit, vixen! Stop it. I am not going to hurt you. I just don’t want you to scream and bring the whole bloody household in.”

  Nicola recognized the low rasp of his voice even as she opened her eyes and saw in the mirror that the man standing behind her, bending down to whisper to her, wore a mask over the upper portion of his face, a sort of black satin scarf that wrapped around his face and over the top of his head, pirate-like, and tied in the back. Only intense dark eyes and the bottom portion of his face showed, but she recognized him, just as she knew his voice.

  “Jack!” She stopped struggling. “What the devil are you doing here?”

  “Tsk, tsk…such language from a lady.” His husky voice brimmed with amusement.

  “Oh, stop,” Nicola said disgustedly. “Really, I have had enough of your foolish games. Was it you who came into my room the other night? You have a great deal of nerve coming back here.”

  “Came into your room?” he repeated. “What are you talking about? I didn’t—there was a man in your room?” His voice roughened, and his arm tightened around her.

  “You are cutting off my breath,” Nicola protested. “Yes. I awoke the night before last, and there was a man in my room—wearing a mask.”

  “The devil!” He released Nicola and spun her around to face him. “What happened? Did he harm you?”

  “No. I frightened him off.”

  “If you were able to scare him off, then you must know it was not I,” he retorted with a grin.

  Nicola grimaced. “I assumed it was not, since he lacked your arrogance.”

  “What was he doing here? Did he try—”

  “He didn’t try anything. He was looking at my vanity table.”

  “What?” Jack glanced down at the table, then back at her. “Why?”

  “How should I know? I woke up and saw him, then I shouted at him, and he ran out the door.”

  “He was wearing a mask?” he asked, then went on. “No doubt it was someone who wanted to implicate me—your esteemed brother-in-law, for instance.”

  “That was his sole purpose—to make everyone think you had broken into my room? Then why was he lurking about the vanity? What good would it do to break in here, anyway?”

  “To steal something from you. To harm you—and make it look as if I was the one who had done it.”

  “Why bother, since you apparently are quite willing to break in here yourself?”

  His mouth tightened. “Not to hurt you.”

  “How am I to know that?”

  “I should hope you are not enough of a fool to think that I—” He stopped abruptly and released a sigh. “Bloody hell! You are the most irritating woman. The fact is, I came for your help.”

  Nicola raised her brows. “You are certainly going about it in an unusual manner. Insults are not typically the way to get someone to help you.”

  “It isn’t I who needs you, actually. I wouldn’t have come to you if that were the case. It is one of my men—he was wounded tonight.”

  “Oh, no! One of the villagers?”

  “No. One of the men who came with me—my friend. He was shot in the chest, and I am afraid he’s in bad shape.”

  “He has a ball in his chest?” Nicola gasped, and the man nodded. “Then you should take him to a doctor. I cannot—I have never—I merely concoct tonics and salves and such.”

  “I would not turn him over to a doctor—that is as good as a death sentence. You can do it. You’ve seen it done.”

  “What?” Nicola asked, surprised. “Why would you think that I—”

  “They tell me that you studied with Granny Rose. They say that she was magical at healing—that she could cut and stitch better than any doctor.”

  “Yes. I have seen her do that. I assisted her a time or two….” Nicola stopped, frowning. She had helped Granny Rose once when she had dug a ball from a gameskeeper’s musket out of an unfortunate poacher’s arm, even though it had turned her stomach. And Granny had described to her how she had done the same sort of thing with a piece of a tine from a farmer’s hayfork. She had even once herself pulled out the broken-off end of a knife from the chest of a man in the East End when he showed up at her kitchen, asking for help.

  Nicola shook her head. “But that is not the same. I couldn’t dig about in a man’s chest searching for a musket ball! What if he dies?”

  “He will die for sure if I let a doctor have at him. At least you can prevent him from dying from a fever afterward. That is what the villagers say—that you can cure pus in a wound and the fever that comes with it.” He paused, then added, “Surely you won’t let him die just because he is a thief, will you?”

  “Of course not!” Nicola responded indignantly. “That’s not it at all. But I am not sure—”

  “The only sure thing is that he will die if you don’t help him.” His dark eyes were steely
as they gazed into hers. “Are you willing to let that happen?”

  “No. All right. I will come. But how—” She glanced at the door into the hall. “How will we leave? How did you get in, anyway?”

  He looked at the door, with the chair propped under the knob. “Actually, your apparatus wasn’t there when I came in. I was already inside the room. But I came by way of the window.”

  “The window!” Nicola stared. “But that is a sheer drop!”

  “There are niches and jut-outs here and there—enough that I managed. However, I don’t expect you to go down that way. I brought this.”

  He crossed to the window and drew out a coiled rope from behind the chair. “We’ll use it to get down.”

  Nicola cocked an eyebrow at the rope. “You may be agile as a squirrel, but I can tell you that I can’t go scaling walls in full skirts, even with a rope.”

  He smiled faintly. “You won’t have to. You’ll see. Just get your medicines. We need to make haste.”

  Nicola nodded and pulled out the bag she used to carry her supplies. Quickly she took out some of the bottles and herbs that she would not need and made sure that she included such things as meadowsweet and comfrey, as well as ample bandages and tweezers. When she was ready, Jack swung the strap of the bag over his shoulder and picked up the rope. He tied one end around the sturdy post of her bed, which stood next to the window, and the other around his waist, then tested both knots. He opened the window and peered out, and when he was satisfied that no one was about, he grasped the rope, sat down on the windowsill and slung one leg out. He turned to Nicola, holding out his arm.

  “All right. Now, you come and hold on around my neck as hard as you can.”

  “What?” Nicola looked at him with misgiving.

  “Come on,” he said impatiently. “I am not trying to seduce you. I am going to rappel down the wall, and I will carry you. That’s all.”

  Nicola looked at him, considering, then sighed, wrapped her cloak about her shoulders and walked over to him. Tentatively she put her arms around his neck, clasping her forearms with her hands. She was only inches from him. She could feel his warmth and smell the mingled scents of horse, leather and man.

  He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her tightly against his body, lifting her up and into him as he reached around to grasp the rope with both hands. He shoved them out of the window with his foot, and for a breathtaking moment they were dangling in the air. Nicola clung even closer to him, unsure whether her pulse was pounding from the danger or from being pressed against him all the way up and down her body. She hung on, burying her face in his chest, as he planted his feet against the wall and began to “walk” slowly down it, moving his hands along the rope as he slid down.

  Nicola held on to him, scarcely breathing, trying not to think about how high in the air they were—or how his hard body felt against hers, or how strangely exciting the satin touch of his mask was against her face, or how strong his arm was around her. It seemed as if everywhere her mind skittered was worse than before.

  With a thump, Jack dropped the last foot to the ground. He held her tightly against him for a moment before he lowered her to the earth and stepped back. He turned away from her, unknotting the rope from his waist. Leaving the rope dangling from the window, he took her hand and led her along the wall, his eyes constantly roaming the grounds. When they reached the back of the house, he stood still as a statue, looking around him. Then he gave her hand a tug and began to run lightly along the path away from the house, pulling Nicola along with him. He made his way through the garden, careful to stay close to the trees and large bushes, until they were out of sight of the house.

  They hurried along a path until at last they came upon Jack’s horse, tethered to a tree and patiently waiting. Nicola came to a halt and turned toward the highwayman.

  “What am I to ride?”

  “You will ride with me. We cannot risk going to the stables to get you a horse.”

  Nicola thought about riding on the horse with Jack, her body necessarily close to his. “It will be much faster if I have my own mount.”

  “We haven’t the time to waste. God knows if he will even be alive by the time we get back. Now, are you going to get on that horse, or shall I put you on it?”

  Nicola made a face and put her foot in his cupped hands, letting him toss her up onto the horse. Jack climbed on behind her, so that she sat between his legs, resting so intimately against him that it made her blush. Then he pulled a black scarf from his pocket and reached up to put it around her head. Nicola pulled back from him.

  “No! What are you doing?”

  “You have to wear a blindfold.”

  “What? No!”

  “Yes. I cannot let you see the route I take. You could lead the Earl straight to our house.”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Nicola protested.

  “I can’t take the chance,” he replied stonily. “If you don’t wear the blindfold, it will mean you cannot leave our hideout.”

  He looked straight into her eyes, his gaze stony, and Nicola shivered. “All right.”

  She closed her eyes as he wrapped the scarf around her head. The cloth was cool and soft, reducing her world to darkness. She felt vulnerable and a little frightened, but there was something strangely exciting about it, too. It was as if the darkness separated her from reality, relieving her of responsibility for herself or what happened. And, as if to compensate for the loss of her sight, she was suddenly very much alive to all other sensory stimuli. The silk scarf was luxuriously soft against her cheek, the touch of the breeze on her face delightful and unexpected. She was enveloped by Jack’s male scent and his warmth, his chest flush against her back, his arms around her as he held the reins, his legs firmly cupping her bottom.

  It was a heady sensation, as sensual as if he had caressed her body with his hands, and her breasts and loins grew warm and heavy, almost tender, and she realized with a sense of shame that she wished he would touch her. She hoped he could not feel the rush of heat that invaded her body.

  In the darkness, and with the double weight, they could not ride swiftly. Nicola could sense her companion’s impatience in the rock-hard tautness of his arms and in the rise and fall of his chest behind her back. His nerves sizzled within him, creating an almost tangible air of tension, which only increased the jangling of Nicola’s own nerves.

  She was intensely aware of all the sounds that came through the hush of the night—the call of an owl or the rustle of bushes as an animal skittered away from them, the jingle of the horse’s harness, the soft thud of his hooves upon the dirt path. She was also all too aware of the heat of Jack’s body, the strength and hardness of it against her own. The horse’s gait moved her against him in a way that both embarrassed and aroused her. She wondered if he was as conscious of it as she was—she did not see how he could be ignorant of it—and if it raised the same sort of sensations in him that it did in her.

  Nicola was amazed at this wanton streak that had sprung up in her of late. She had never in the past had the least trouble controlling her actions or, indeed, the feelings upon which those actions were based. How was it that now it had become so difficult? Even now, as she took herself to task for her lack of will, she was distracted by the scent of him so close to her. She shifted, trying to pull her mind back, but that had the unfortunate result of rubbing her bottom against him even more than the horse’s gait was doing. She felt an answering movement, a prodding that she realized with a wave of embarrassment was his physical response to her motion. She blushed, glad of the covering darkness that would hide her red face. Would he think she had done that on purpose? To entice him? Clearly there was no way she could explain without thrusting herself deeper and deeper into embarrassment.

  She tried to hold herself away from him, but that stiff posture was impossible to maintain for any length of time, and soon she was leaning against him again, her body fitting naturally into the curves of his. The ride seemed to go on for
ever, and all the while her blood ran hotter and hotter through her veins. Their gait grew slower, and it seemed to Nicola that the horse and its rider were picking their way. Now and then he shifted a little in the saddle behind her, and his arm would leave her momentarily. Nicola became aware of an earthy aroma of damp, plants and decay, and she suspected that they were traveling through trees deeper into the woods. Her hunch was confirmed by the occasional soft touch of a tender branch or leaves against her cheek or shoulder. The light touches, the ripe scent of the forest and the velvet darkness added to Nicola’s sensual awareness, already heightened to the boiling point by the horse’s rocking gait as she sat cradled between Jack’s legs. Once, breathlessly, she was certain she felt Jack’s hand slide down from where it clasped her waist and move onto her thigh, and another time she felt a whisper touch of something on her hair and heard the harsh rasp of his breath closer to her ear.

  There was a distinct note of relief in the highwayman’s voice when at last he said, “There it is! We’re almost to it.”

  Moments later the horse came to a halt, and Jack slid down from behind her. His hands went to her waist, pulling her down from the saddle. He set her down, and she stumbled, sightless. His arms went around her more tightly to steady her, and for a moment she was pressed against his body, his heart a steady pounding in her ear. Then his hands went to her shoulders and he turned her, guiding her around the horse and up two steps. There was the sound of a door opening, and his arm around her moved her inside. The door closed after them.

  Nicola could see edges of light around her blindfold. He fumbled with the knot and pulled the cloth from her eyes. Nicola blinked in the sudden light, though it was only a single squat candle, guttering low. She saw that she was in a tiny foyer. Jack lifted a longer taper from a small table and lit it from the candle, then fitted it into a candleholder.