But anything was better than waiting here for her inevitable destruction.
If she succumbed to what lurked unspoken in her heart, Kylemore would leave her devastated and alone when everything between them was over. As it must inevitably one day be over. She faced less danger from the looming ranges than she did from one tall tormented man.
If she succeeded in getting away, she’d never see the duke again. This time when she left him, she’d make sure not even the recording angel could trace her.
She blinked away a rush of tears as she dashed across the grass to the shelter of the trees.
Three days ago, she’d have scoffed if anyone had suggested she’d regret leaving Kylemore. Her defenses had taken a woefully short time to crumble.
How had she come to this? She fought to awaken the anger and loathing that had sustained her from the beginning of her ordeal.
But all she found within herself was her cowering, lonely heart, a heart crammed with pain and longing.
Such weak emotions when she had to be strong. She took a deep breath, hitched up her bundle and began to walk fast down the valley in the direction of the coast.
When Kylemore awoke, the sun blazed from a clear sky. He was alone in the wreck of the bed.
Idly, he wondered where Verity was. After she’d left him last night, the new peace between them had sent him into a catatonic sleep.
The raw emotion they’d shared should have left him feeling vulnerable.
But instead he felt…safe.
He’d been too distraught to hide his shameful nighttime terrors; she’d trusted him with her sad history. The bond that united them was now indestructible.
Her habits of self-concealment were familiar. He shared them. He knew what it had cost her to reveal so much. And to someone she considered an enemy.
Someone she no longer considered an enemy.
Surely she couldn’t offer such sweet comfort to a man she hated. Surely she wouldn’t divulge her tragic past to someone she despised.
Now he wanted to know everything about her. Last night’s difficult confession had only whetted his curiosity to find out more.
And he wanted to make love to her.
Of course, he always wanted to make love to her. But this time, perhaps, she’d offer him the privilege of her consent.
The shadows that dogged his life had retreated. Verity had banished them.
He sat up, determined to find her. She must like him a little, trust him a little, to act as she had.
What a pathetic reflection on the great Duke of Kylemore that he placed such importance on this small concession.
Hope had been excised from his life since earliest childhood. But as he dressed in that quiet room, hope was the only cause he could find for the sudden lightness in his soul.
Kylemore entered the small chamber he’d chosen as his own, but she wasn’t there, nor had the narrow bed been used.
Perhaps reliving her unhappy story meant sleep had eluded her and she’d sat out the dawn downstairs. He was desperate to see her, to test if their strange intimacy survived the daylight. He was desperate to see her because away from her, he felt incomplete.
But the gloomy parlor was empty as well. Foreboding began to beat a doom-laden chant in his heart.
Where was she? She couldn’t have left him. Not after last night. Devil take it, she’d trusted him, cared for him, confided in him.
But before that, he’d forced her into his bed.
Of course, she’d eventually succumbed to desire, as she always did. A desire of the body, not the mind. Her mind had resisted him right to the end.
Then she’d held him through his terrors. Which meant they had at last moved beyond compulsion and misery, hadn’t they?
His answer to that question grew more hesitant as he searched the grounds. Heartsick and uneasy, he returned to the house. In the kitchen, Morag and Kirsty harangued Hamish in shrill Gaelic. Apparently, food and clothing were missing.
In an instant, Kylemore’s fragile hopes crumbled to ash.
“Has anyone seen madame this morning?” He cut through the argument, although he already knew what response he’d receive.
With a frown, Hamish looked past his voluble nieces. “The lassie isnae with Your Grace? She hasnae been down yet.”
Kylemore’s fears coalesced into bleak certainty.
She’d gone. She’d lulled him into relaxing his vigilance, then seized her opportunity to escape. Bloody fool he was, he’d forgotten that she was never less than clever, whether she was Verity or Soraya.
“Get Angus and Andy,” he said sharply, cursing her, cursing himself. “We’ll organize a search.”
If she’d gone as soon as she’d left him—and he had no reason to assume otherwise—she had several hours start. He had to find her before she left the glen. The dangers this harsh environment presented were hellishly real.
A quick trip to the stables assured him she hadn’t taken a horse. Given her fear of the animals, that was no surprise.
For the first time since he’d realized she’d abandoned him again, he felt faint optimism. If she was on foot, riders would have less difficulty overtaking her.
“Angus and Andy, you take the road over the range.” He didn’t modify the harshness of his tone. “Hamish and I will follow the loch.”
Only two routes led out of the glen—the mountain road and the path along the lochside to the coast. Verity already knew how difficult travel was over land. The loch presented an easier prospect until she reached the narrow passage between the mountains, where she’d need a boat. With any luck, he’d trap her there.
“Kate, Morag and Kirsty, check if she’s anywhere near the house. Perhaps she’s merely taking the air.” He already knew she’d run away. It was what he’d have done.
Curse him for a blockhead. Ever since he’d kidnapped her, he’d made sure she was watched. But last night had made him stupid. Now she could pay with her life for his stupidity.
Christ, he couldn’t bear to think she might die. Better he’d left her in Whitby than that. His gut clenched with guilt and despair.
He and Hamish rode westward. The day was fine and still, but such warmth often portended storms later.
For God’s sake, had she dismissed his warnings? Even men born here lost their lives in these mountains when the weather turned sour—as it did with alarming regularity.
Hamish caught up to him as he reined in near a stand of rowans. Kylemore saw his own fears reflected in the older man’s eyes.
“If the lassie came this way, she’ll be safe until she reaches the cliffs, laddie,” Hamish said reassuringly.
“Unless she slips into the water,” Kylemore said, narrowing his eyes against the dazzling sunlight as he checked along the steep bank.
In spite of the loch’s apparent placidity, it was deep and full of treacherous currents. A ghillie had drowned in its waters when he was six. Kylemore remembered the men carrying the pale, sodden body back to the house and the women wailing in grief. There had been more servants then, of course, to care for his father.
“Och, she’s a canny lassie. I doubt she’ll go so close tae the water. She’ll use the trees instead.”
Something in Hamish’s tone caught Kylemore’s attention. “You don’t sound surprised she’s run off.”
The older man shrugged. “She asked me tae help her, but I couldnae break loyalty with ye. I warned her of the dangers. But she’s a willful wee thing.”
The patent admiration in Hamish’s voice when he spoke of Verity nettled Kylemore. “You’ve never approved of me bringing her here,” he snapped. “But you don’t know the full story.”
He should have guessed his display of ducal temper wouldn’t cow Hamish. “No, I dinna approve. But ye know weel ye have my obedience.” His voice hardened noticeably. “But I’ve kept a close watch on her since she came tae the glen. And she’s a braw kindhearted lassie. I canna imagine what she’s done tae deserve being kept prisoner.”
&
nbsp; Stung at the criticism, fair as it was, Kylemore retorted, “She’s no blushing virgin, man. She’s been my mistress for the past year.”
The moment the words left his mouth, he wanted to snatch them back. They made him feel small and shabby, especially after what Verity had told him last night.
Hamish’s eyes expressed equal disappointment. “Whisht, laddie. No need tae blacken her name. If she wants tae bring herself back tae virtue’s path, she’s tae be commended. If Your Grace’s lust stops her, ye bear the shame, no her.” The old Highlander kicked his pony into a trot and rode ahead as if he could no longer tolerate his employer’s presence.
Kylemore hardly blamed him. He could hardly tolerate his own company either.
He slumped in the saddle. If any shred of goodness clung to Kylemore’s black soul, it was thanks to the man who had just left him. The man who plainly now believed he’d wasted his regard on Kylemore.
Hamish had every reason to be disgusted at his protégé’s behavior. More than he knew.
But it was too late for second thoughts. Or second chances.
Verity sighed in frustration as she surveyed the smooth cliff face before her. She wiped palms clammy with nerves on Kate’s worn brown kirtle.
She’d walked for hours to reach the end of the valley. Now she was tired and sticky and stinging, courtesy of a nettle patch she’d unwittingly stumbled into. She took a deep breath of the humid air and tried to whip up her courage, but it had shrunk into a cold, hard kernel inside her.
With every step, she’d feared the duke would catch her. The morning was well advanced, and he must know by now she’d gone. Nausea rose in her throat as she imagined his anger at what he’d consider yet another betrayal.
One thing was sure—he’d pursue her on horseback. She’d briefly considered taking a pony, but horses still scared her silly, not to mention she risked waking the giants who slept above the stables.
If luck was with her, Kylemore would concentrate his search on the road over the mountains. But then, luck had been notably absent from her life lately, and her lover was clever enough to guess she’d make for the coast, a coast she now realized lay on the other side of this monolith.
Her heart sank with defeat. The rocks before her were unscalable. She’d already tried and failed to find a way up several times. Swimming across the loch was too risky, given the speed and depth of the current through the defile. And what would be the use? A second steep cliff loomed on the other side.
Now her only hope was to follow the base of the ridge south until she found somewhere to climb up. The scheme was uncertain but the best she could devise.
She took a mouthful of water from her flask, told herself to be brave—an admonition losing its power through sheer repetition—and trudged on.
When Verity heard the horses approach, it was past midday and she still hadn’t found a way out of the valley.
Immediately, she crouched low. Sheer exhaustion had dulled her constant dread. Now it welled up sharp as ever, making her head spin. Awkwardly, she edged into the thick undergrowth and fought to control her ragged breathing.
Kylemore and Hamish Macleish rode into view. The duke wore his rough country clothes. She had a sudden sharp recollection of his perfectly turned out London self. His immaculate tailoring had been famous, yet here he seemed content to dress not much better than his henchmen. Although nobody would mistake the tall, handsome man with the commanding bearing for anything other than the aristocrat he was.
He turned his head to speak to Hamish. Hungrily, she stared at the clear profile, with its high forehead, long haughty nose and strong jaw. The older man bowed briefly and rode back the way they had come.
The duke wheeled his great gray horse in the direction she’d intended to go. Before he cantered away, she had a brief glimpse of flashing eyes and a mouth set in a determined line. He looked resolute and angry.
Her stomach clenched with renewed terror, filling her mouth with a bitter taste. But beneath the terror lurked other emotions, emotions a woman such as she could never acknowledge.
This was probably—hopefully—the last time she’d see the Duke of Kylemore. While escaping him had never been so necessary, the thought made her want to keen in sorrow.
She was going mad. She had to be. During the year Kylemore had been her lover, they had enjoyed untold sexual adventures. And her deeper self had remained completely untouched. When he’d stolen her away from her home a matter of days ago, she’d hated and feared him.
So when had that lean face with its controlled, passionate mouth become so precious?
He’d snatched her from her home. Forced himself on her. Ignored everything she wanted. Wrung a response from her she’d been determined not to give.
She had cause to loathe him—as she’d unequivocally loathed him on the journey from Whitby. He was a selfish brute who deserved to hang for his crimes.
He was a lonely man tormented by harrowing memories she couldn’t begin to imagine.
And last night, he’d listened to her sordid history and told her she was magnificent.
“I will not countenance this,” she whispered aloud as she crawled stealthily from her hiding place. “I will not.”
Muscles held tense too long protested as she stood upright. She placed a trembling hand on her lower back as she stretched. All the while, her eyes strained after the direction the duke had taken.
Dear Lord, how could she feel this way? And about that ruthless devil Kylemore, of all men.
Pray heaven all this uncomfortable soul-searching ended when she was free. She’d resume the life she’d planned, and this fraught interlude would fade into just an unpleasant memory.
Revealing her past had been a huge mistake. She and Kylemore now shared an emotional link that might prove hard to break although in time, she would break it.
She must break it.
She collected her bundle of food from behind the bushes. Her empty stomach growled, but she ignored it, determined to conserve her meager rations.
For a long while, she stared blankly at the cliff, trying to reawaken her enthusiasm for a life devoted to good works and independence. But her mind filled instead with images of the duke’s courageous battle against his demons and how that courage melted into sweet need when he rested in her arms.
For God’s sake, leave me in peace, Kylemore.
She inhaled deeply to banish her lover’s persistent ghost, and her eyes sharpened on the mountainside. If she took her chances scrambling over some steep rocks, she might find a way up. The cliff offered nothing so friendly as a path, but perhaps she could use the jagged ledges.
She had to try. With the duke ahead and Hamish behind, this was her only chance to leave this cursed valley and with it, her agonizing confusion.
She began to climb, using her hands on the rough stones.
Midafternoon, the rain set in, as Kylemore had known it would. Cold, miserable Scottish rain that seeped into his bones. Chilly, soaking rain that suited his all-encompassing despair.
Somehow she’d escaped him. His damned complacency might have signed her death warrant.
No, he had to keep believing she was alive. He willed her to stay alive.
“She hasnae turned back tae the house,” Hamish said, riding up. He passed Kylemore a thick coat and a hat similar to the ones he now wore. “I circled through the forest on the way here. There’s nae sign of her. The lassie couldnae grow wings and fly away, could she?”
Kylemore tugged on the welcome dry clothing. “I’d not put anything past her.”
He looked around in helpless rage. Didn’t the girl realize the danger? The temperature was dropping. If she was still out after dark, who knew what state she’d be in by morning?
“Where the hell can she be?” he growled. “She can’t have got this far on foot.”
Hamish’s voice remained calm, as it had throughout the day’s frantic searching. “Angus and Andy are at Kilorton Pass. If the lassie takes tae the hill roa
d, they’ll catch her.”
“We’ve missed something,” Kylemore said grimly. Tannasg shifted restlessly as his master’s hands clenched hard on the reins. “She’s no soft city puss. She grew up on a farm. Perhaps she’s managed to climb out of the glen. I’ve been caught out underestimating her before.”
Hamish frowned. “These ranges are a maze for anyone who doesnae ken them. She could fall off a cliff and we wouldnae find her before next summer.”
The horrifying possibility of Verity tumbling to a lonely death had haunted Kylemore’s thoughts since he’d discovered her gone. “I can ride up onto the ridge if I continue another mile. You go through the woods again.”
Hamish nodded. “Aye. Be careful up there, laddie. It’s treacherous gaeing. I dinna want tae be out looking for ye as weel.” He wheeled his horse around and rode away.
Gasping for breath, Verity heaved herself over the ledge and collapsed facedown. For a long moment, she lay on the ground, panting. Cold rain drizzled upon her, but she didn’t have the breath to get up.
The ascent had taken hours. Her hands were scraped and dirty. But thank God, she’d reached the top. She’d lost her footing twice and slithered to the bottom, and once, the rocks themselves had disintegrated beneath her. For one sickening moment before she’d landed hard on a ledge, she’d thought her luck—and her life—had ended. But while she might be alive now, she was bruised and shaken, and she’d lost her provisions.
The rain had started by then, and her ascent had turned into slippery misery. Only the memory of how her heart had leaped at the sight of Kylemore kept her going. If she returned to him, he’d destroy her more thoroughly than mere inhospitable crags could.
He’d destroy her, then walk away without a word.
Stiffly, painfully, she lifted herself to her knees. Her shredded palms were stinging, and every muscle ached. Still, she’d done it. At last freedom beckoned.
She lifted her head, hoping she’d reached the coast.
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