Haunted by the Earl's Touch

by Ann Lethbridge

  She pushed herself to rise and took stock of her surroundings again. There. A barn. She could spend the rest of the night there and travel on in the morning. In daylight. She must have travelled five miles at least. Hopefully it was far enough for dawn would soon be upon her. Then she would get her bearings and move on. It would not be long before she was questioning Sally Ladbrook.

  Filled with new purpose, she skirted the field, keeping to the hedges since they offered protection from the wind, and she was still concerned about leaving too easy a trail for the earl to follow.

  The snow stopped again. The wind dropped, proving her caution correct. She inhaled deeply. There was something about the smell of the air. Cold. Crisp. Sparkling clean as it filled her lungs. She’d never inhaled anything quite like it. She rubbed her hands together to warm them as she walked.

  Somewhere in the distance a dog barked. It sounded excited, as if it had been disturbed by an intruder. There must be a farmhouse or a village nearby. That was good news. Somewhere to aim for in the morning. Right now she just wanted to rest. To sleep. She shook her head to clear it. A few more yards and she would be able to lie down.

  Another sound cut across the deep quiet. Hoofbeats. Travelling fast. She swallowed. Perhaps a traveller on a nearby road? In her heart, she knew it was not. She huddled deep against the hedge and looked back. A dark horse with its dark rider was cutting across the neighbouring field, heading straight for her, a dog bounding along at the horse’s heels.

  It couldn’t be.

  It was. It could be no one else. Hatless, his coat flying in the wind, it was Beresford. He hadn’t seen her. He could not have. She picked up her skirts and ran for the barn, praying the door would be open. Praying he would not see her. Praying she could make it there before he cleared the hedge into this field.

  And then she was there at the barn, huddled against the wall. The door was on her side. And closed.

  She glanced over her shoulder. Beresford was coming up on the hedge. For the next moment or two he would be blind to her as he took the jump. She dashed to the door. To her great relief it opened and she slipped inside, closing the great door behind her. She scampered up the ladder to the loft, threw it down behind her and collapsed into the straw, breathing hard. Now all she had to do was remain as quiet as a mouse and pretend she wasn’t here. She shivered. Despite her run, she was still freezing.

  She took great gulping breaths of air in an attempt to fill her lungs and get her breathing back to normal as she listened to the sound of hoofbeats closing in on the barn. If she was lucky, he would keep on going, thinking she would have continued on without stopping.

  The horse slowed and stopped.

  Dash it. How had he guessed?

  The dog whined, then barked.

  The dog. He was using the dog to follow her. Inwardly she groaned. She had never considered the dog. That he would use it to hunt her like a wild animal had never occurred to her. And it should have. But she didn’t know much about dogs and hunting. She had thought of Ranger as a pet, if she had thought of him at all. Since that first night the dog had not been seen anywhere in the house except his lordship’s chamber.

  Perhaps her disappearance up the ladder would fool the animal.

  She lay still, jaw clamped, trying to stop her shivers, and listened to the barn door open, to the sound of a horse being led inside, to the excited barking of the dog.

  ‘Mary,’ Beresford called out in commanding tones, ‘I know you are in here. Give up. Don’t make me come and find you.’

  She remained still, trying hard not to breathe. Trying not to let the sobs of fear welling in her throat and the cold seizing her limbs overcome her will to remain utterly silent.

  ‘Down, Ranger,’ he said.

  The dog whined and was quiet.

  She could imagine them down there, him in his greatcoat glowering around the barn, listening, the dog at his feet. She strained to hear what he was doing over the sound of her banging heart.

  Nothing. Not nothing—she could hear breathing. A laboured sort of panting. The horse. She held herself rigid, breathing in small sips of air, wondering if he could hear the pounding of her heart, while she knew he could not.

  A click of metal against rock. An all-too-familiar sound of a tinder being struck. Light glowed through the floorboards. He must have found a lantern. She buried herself deeper in the straw, knowing in her heart it was hopeless.

  She wanted to weep with frustration.

  A thump.

  She turned her head and saw, in the light cast by his lantern from below, the top of the ladder appear in the hole she had climbed through. If she pushed it away from the edge, it would pitch him to the ground.

  She imagined his lifeless body sprawled on the paved floor beneath. It would be a fitting end. Except she could not make herself do it. She wasn’t the murderer here.

  His head appeared above the floor. He raised his lantern and she saw his dark ruffled hair, a face reddened by the wind, eyes filled with fury as he took her in. He leaped over the edge and stood before her. He set down the lantern, peeled off his gloves and stuffed them in his pocket.

  Trapped. She backed up into the shadows, the blood rushing in her ears. They were all alone. What had he said that first day? If I wanted to do away with you, I would not do it in front of witnesses. There were no witnesses now.

  She’d played right into his hands by running.

  His expression softened. His mouth turning sultry as he shook his head. ‘You didn’t think I would let you leave me, did you, sweetling?’

  Bewildered by his words, she stared at him.

  ‘You little fool,’ he whispered tenderly. ‘Why won’t you trust me?’

  She trembled at the sound of his voice. Shuddered from the cold in her bones. ‘Say it again.’

  He raised a brow. ‘Trust me?’

  ‘No.’ Her voice shook. She could not imagine why she felt so desperate. So hopeful. ‘Say “you little fool”. Say it the way you did just now.’

  A small smile curved his lips. ‘You little fool,’ he said softly.

  It sounded nothing like the voice in the mine. His voice had its own special raspy quality she would recognise anywhere. He could not have been the one who had pushed her into the mineshaft. Could he? Her heart felt so certain, even if her logical mind refused to believe.

  Which did she trust most?

  There was a light in those pale-grey eyes, gladness mingled with the shadows of concern and something softer, more heartwarming. If she hadn’t felt so cold, she might have been better able to understand what it was, but she was freezing, her body shaking, her teeth ready to chatter if she said one word.

  She was too cold to feel fear.

  ‘I—I’m s-s-sorry...’ she got out.

  ‘There will be time enough for sorry later,’ he said, moving towards her.

  Backing up, she tried a scornful laugh through her shivers. Pure bravado. ‘I mean, I’m s-sorry you found me.’

  His answering smile was so bright, steel-edged and glittering, her heart lurched. ‘Not sorry enough, my dear. I can promise you that.’

  He yanked her close, holding her tight with one arm around her shoulders, his mouth coming down hard on her lips. His tongue plundering the depths of her mouth. A punishing kiss. Searing. Possessive?

  She certainly felt possessed, mind and body. Wild. Feverish as she responded to the hot pleasure of his kiss with a moan in the back of her throat. She didn’t want to respond to him, to yield to the strength and his heat. Her mind knew it was a mistake, but he’d found her, and there was nothing she could do about it. It seemed she was helpless in the face of his seduction.

  She couldn’t fight the feelings inside her any longer. The traitorous longings. She twined her hands around his neck, felt his heat wash over her and breathed in the scent of snow among the essence of him. She loved the way he smelled. She let herself sink into the darkness of so many sensations she felt overwhelmed. Excitement. Longing. D
esire.

  His large hands roamed her shoulders, her back. It felt so good to be held. To feel the connection that strengthened with each passing moment. More especially delightful was his warmth. He pushed back her hood and cradled her face in his wonderfully warm hands. He pulled back from her, breathing hard. ‘My God, you are freezing.’ He touched her shoulders. ‘And soaking wet.’

  ‘It was snowing,’ she said.

  ‘I ought to put you over my knee and spank you,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘Do you have any idea how dangerous it can be wandering the moors in weather like this?’

  ‘It is safer than staying at the Abbey.’

  His dark brows lowered in a frown. ‘Are you saying I can’t protect you?’ He sounded furious. And frustrated.

  She stiffened. ‘Protect me from whom?’

  ‘From yourself.’

  Without another word he picked her up in his arms and made for the ladder. ‘Put me down,’ she gasped. ‘You will fall.’

  ‘Let us hope not,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘Hold on.’

  He let go of her with one hand, reached for the ladder and stepped on to it. There was not help for it, she put her hands around his neck and clung on. It was either that or fall ten or more feet to the floor.

  Ranger wagged his tail in greeting when they hit the ground. Mary gave him a glare. ‘But for your dog, you would never have found me.’

  He gave a grunt in answer and put her down next to the stallion who was contentedly munching on hay. He pulled the horse away and mounted him with fluid ease. ‘Give me your hands.’

  She hadn’t liked riding the horse the last time and she was sure she wouldn’t like it any better now. She shook her head.

  ‘It is either that or be tied on behind the saddle like luggage.’

  That sounded worse. She approached the horse gingerly.

  ‘Don’t worry, he’s calm after such a good run.’

  She winced and held up her hands to him.

  ‘Put your foot on top of mine,’ he commanded.

  She did so, with some difficulty, and then flew upwards. He somehow caught her under the arms and set her on his lap.

  ‘Ready, Miss Wilding?’ His voice wasn’t offering an option.

  She sighed. ‘I suppose so.’

  He urged the horse out into the night, setting it into a steady canter.

  * * *

  She couldn’t believe how little time it took them to reach the drive up to the Abbey. Minutes. Not the hour or two she had been walking. ‘How did we get here so fast?’

  ‘You were walking in circles,’ he said grimly.

  Something hot rose in her throat. A hard lump of disappointment at her own inadequacy. She should have been miles from the Abbey. She sniffed the tears away.

  She heard him mutter something under his breath that sounded like ‘God save me’, but she couldn’t be sure with the wind rushing in her ears and the sound of hoofbeats. What she was sure of was the band of iron around her waist holding her firmly in place and the hard wall of chest at her back.

  If she hadn’t felt quite so cold, she might have enjoyed the wild ride in the wind and the dark. He rode the horse right into the barn where a sleepy-eyed groom was waiting with a lantern.

  His eyes widened when he saw Mary, but he took the reins the earl threw at him and turned his back while Beresford helped her down.

  ‘See him well rubbed down, if you please, Sol,’ his lordship said. ‘Some warm bran and not too much water. Ranger, with me.’ He grabbed Mary around the shoulders and marched her into the house by the side door. The one by which she had left that very first day. Tonight it was unbarred and unlocked.

  He walked her past the corridor leading to her chamber in the north tower.

  She dug in her heels. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘You’ll see, soon enough.’

  But she knew where they were going. He was heading for his rooms. ‘You can’t...’

  ‘I can do whatever I please in my own home, as you will soon discover.’

  He flung open a door to a chamber and pushed her inside. A room where a large four-poster bed took up most of the room. A fire blazed merrily in the hearth where a pot hung from the crane, and gave off a faint aromatic aroma. In front of a comfortable-looking sofa was a table. The two glasses said he was expecting company.

  Startled, she turned to face him.

  He kicked the door closed with his heel, took off his coat and flung it on a chair. He gave her a tight smile and began attacking the fastenings of her cloak.

  She pushed his hand away. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Getting you out of these clothes before you are chilled to the bone.’

  ‘I can undress in my own room.’

  ‘You are not going anywhere before you and I talk.’ He finally untied the knot at her throat and pulled off her cloak. He spun her around and started on the buttons of her gown.

  ‘I can’t undress in here.’

  ‘You can and you will. Either you do it, or I will do it for you.’

  A shiver ran down her back at the dark notes in his voice, the seductive promise laced with the heat of his anger. He might be completely in control, but she could still sense his anger running hot beneath the surface.

  She folded her arms across her chest. ‘I can’t. Not with you watching.’

  He walked around her, picked up a robe from across the foot of the bed and handed it to her. ‘Put this on.’ He locked the door and pocketed the key. ‘I’ll be right next door.’

  He disappeared into what must be his dressing room.

  ‘Close the door,’ she said.

  ‘My back is turned. I am not some errant schoolboy who needs to peek, Miss Wilding. I can assure you I have seen my share of women in various stages of undress.’

  That was supposed to make her feel better?

  She let her sodden gown slip to the floor, and stripped off her stays. She put her arms in his silk robe, so smooth and slightly cool against her skin. It was embroidered with dragons. It seemed very fanciful for such a dark man.

  ‘Are you done?’ he asked.

  She picked up her gown and looked around for somewhere to hang it. He strode in without waiting for an answer. He took the garment from her hand and tossed it over a wooden chair.

  ‘Now,’ he said, with a hard smile. ‘Sit there, Miss Wilding, on that sofa beside the hearth, and tell me what the devil you think you were doing tonight. Perhaps you can give me one reason why I should not punish you for setting the house in an uproar?’

  Chapter Twelve

  He was unbelievable. One minute he was kissing her with a passion that curled her toes inside her boots. The next he was treating her as if she was a child.

  ‘I do not appreciate your tone of voice, my lord,’ she said stiffly. ‘Or your threats. Indeed, I find myself heartily irritated by them. And by you. I am not your ward. I am not anyone’s ward. And what I do is my own concern. Now, if you will excuse me, I will return to my room.’ She held out her hand for the key.

  It was somewhat difficult to be haughty in a red robe covered in green and yellow dragons, but she thought she’d pulled it off tolerably well.

  ‘Sit!’ he snarled.

  She jumped.

  He spun away, raking his fingers through the hair at his temples. Clearly he was very close to losing his temper. It was the first time she’d seen him so close to losing control of his emotions. She eyed him just as warily as she had eyed his stallion earlier that evening, but she wasn’t going to let him scare her. She was finished with being terrified.

  ‘The key, if you please, my lord.’

  Slowly he turned to face her. His eyes blazed fury. His fists opened and closed at his sides and he took a deep shuddering breath.

  ‘We cannot go on like this,’ he said with soft menace. ‘I learned young that losing my temper only makes a bad situation worse, but you drive me to the brink of madness, to the point where I have no control.’ He took another
deep breath. ‘So here it is, one last time. Please, Miss Wilding. Would you do me the very great honour of sitting down so we can talk like reasonable adults?’

  What woman could resist a plea like that from such a man? Not Mary, even if she ought to. While his words were cool, his eyes were hot. The same heat she felt in her belly.

  Slowly she sank to sit on the sofa, the heat from the fire warming one side of her body and face.

  He bent over the flames and ladled out two mugs of the steaming aromatic liquid, the scent of cinnamon, cloves and oranges intensifying.

  ‘Drink this,’ he said, handing her one of the cups. ‘It will warm you.’

  He brought his own cup and sat beside her on the sofa. She had not expected that. She sipped at the steaming brew. It was delicious. ‘What is it?’

  ‘A hot toddy. A favourite with miners after a day in the damp and the cold. It is also known as punch.’

  His words reminded her of the damp and the cold in the tin mine. She shivered.

  He reached over and brought the cup to her lips again. ‘Drink it all.’

  She took another sip and another and soon it was all gone and her head felt a little muzzy.

  He took the cup from her hand. ‘How is that?’ he asked.

  He was right, she did feel warmer, inside and out. Relaxed. Her teeth were no longer clamped together to stop their chattering and her shoulders were not tight. ‘Much better, thank you.’

  He set the mug on the floor, then he reached out and touched her jaw with the tips of his fingers, urging her with that gentle touch to turn her face towards him. She did not resist, but she kept her gaze on her hands now lightly clasped in her lap.

  ‘Look at me, Mary,’ he whispered.

  She forced her gaze up to his face. He dipped his head and took her mouth, sweetly, gently, his tightly controlled passion vibrating in the inch of air between their bodies.