By Love Unveiled

by Deborah Martin

  As if to take advantage of the mystical night, Garett began to caress her ribs. She started at that, but his hand only grew bolder, slipping up until his thumb rested underneath her breast. Although the back of his thumb barely pressed the bottom, it seared her. She shifted to put distance between them, but he only settled her more tightly against him.

  Then he lowered his head to nuzzle her bare neck below her coil of hair.

  She swallowed. “What are you doing, my lord?”

  “I think you know.” He pressed a kiss behind her ear, making every inch of her body tingle. “You have such soft skin, sweetling. I can’t resist tasting it.”

  And she couldn’t resist letting him. His lips seemed to soothe the tired tendons and taut skin of her neck. Under his ministrations, she tilted her head back until it rested on his shoulder.

  Taking that as an invitation, he reined in the horse and shifted her until she lay back in his arms. Then his mouth was on hers.

  At the first touch of his kiss, she froze. But his tongue slid along the crevice of her lips, begging entry, and the jolt of heat it sent through her made her gasp. His mouth devoured hers, his kiss exerting a force too powerful for her inflamed senses to reckon with.

  Somehow he’d done it again, she thought dimly. He’d swept her inhibitions away with his infernally dark kisses. She fought to regain her power over her own body… until his tongue darted into her mouth, heralding the surge of pleasure that then stole through her.

  His lips claimed every part of her face. They felt warm, so very warm against the skin that lay exposed to the chill night air. Like Galatea, the statue whom Pygmalion’s devotion had brought to life from the cold, hard stone, she awakened under his kiss.

  “What a creature of passion you are,” he drew back to murmur wonderingly, as if he’d read her thoughts. Gently he planted a kiss against her tightly wound coil of hair. “I long to see what secrets your sweet form holds for me.”

  “No secrets…” she murmured as he nibbled her earlobe, sending a strange new heat radiating upward from her belly. “Please… please…” She trailed off, not certain what she was begging for.

  “I’d bid you return with me to Falkham House this instant if I didn’t know how tired you are. Tonight it would be sheer cruelty to take you to bed.” He slid his hand over her cinched waist, resting it just beneath her breasts and making her blood roar in her ears. “Then again…” he muttered, lowering his lips to hers.

  Take you to bed. The words echoed in her mind, striking the alarm. She thrust her fists against him, determined to show him she wouldn’t be going anywhere with him this night.

  When he tore his lips from hers, his eyes questioning, she whispered in a voice fraught with fear, “Please, my lord…”

  For a moment he tensed, his hands gripping her waist. His gaze played over her anxious face. Then with a groan, he brushed his fingers over her swollen lips. “I know. As tired as you are, I have no right to press you. We’d best end this dallying before I find myself doing what I’d regret on the morrow.”

  Reluctantly, he settled her body back as it had been before he’d started kissing her, although his arm seemed to hold her more intimately than before. Then he took up the reins and set the horse in motion again.

  As they rode on, her cheeks flamed. How thoroughly mortifying! He’d only stopped out of concern for her weary state. He’d taken her behavior for an invitation, and rightly so. Oh, how could she have come to this pass?

  She fought to clear her befuddled brain. Her tiredness had so weakened her will that she’d allowed him flagrant liberties, and now he thought her a wanton. This was what came of dreaming of fairies in the night. It made a woman forget the central baseness of all men. But this was no fairyland and Garett no fairy prince. He might even be a murderer, and she had better not forget that.

  When they reached the gypsy wagon, Garett dismounted, then caught her at the waist and lowered her to the ground. She tried to slip by him, but his hands tightened on her waist, holding her trapped between him and the horse.

  “What? No kiss for the night, my gypsy princess?” he rasped. “Are you angry that I put a temporary end to our pleasures?”

  She glared at him. “I’m angry that in my weariness I didn’t make my true emotions known to you.”

  “So I merely imagined you soft and willing in my arms. A trick of the moonlight perhaps.” His voice lowered. “Or the trick of a gypsy who’s peeved she didn’t get her way.”

  “Peeved! I’m not peeved. I’m infuriated! You play games with me, and somehow force my will out of my very head! ’Tis maddening! You make me forget that you… you…”

  Heaven help her, she’d said too much.

  The moonlight glinted off his eyes eerily, giving him the appearance of an avenging gray-eyed angel as his gaze bored into hers. His hands closed on her upper arms. “Yes? What do I make you forget about me, Mina?”

  That you’re a villain.

  No, she couldn’t say that. “That we’re too different.”

  “For what?”

  “For anything!” She stumbled on. “You regard me as an amusement, someone to toy with in the country. I want naught of that.”

  Only after his fingers relaxed on her arms did she realize how hard he’d been gripping her. “And if I tell you that isn’t what I want?”

  She arched one eyebrow. “I’d call you a liar.”

  “And perhaps you’d be right.” His glittering gaze played over her face. “Or perhaps not. I’ve never wanted a woman as much as I want you. This very instant. So much that tomorrow I’ll wonder how I ever tore myself away.”

  His words set her emotions into turmoil again. “But I don’t want you!”

  “Don’t you?” He caressed her cheek, then trailed one finger down to tip up her chin. His lips brushed hers so lightly that she found herself disappointed and wanting more. Unconsciously, she swayed against him, so that he caught her about the waist and deepened the kiss, taking her mouth with such fervor that her very bones turned to jelly.

  When he drew back, his eyes shone with triumph. “You don’t fool me, Mina. You may say you don’t want me, but your desire shimmers inside you like a lantern-encased flame I can see and dimly feel, but not yet touch.” His sudden fierce smile sent a delicious shiver down her spine. “I’m a patient man. I can wait for you to break the glass and join my fire with yours. Just don’t make me wait too long or the blaze may consume us both.”

  Abruptly he released her, leaving her with her heart pounding and her knees knocking. He’d taken the weariness right out of her and replaced it with confused yearning. What was she to say when he proved all her protests false?

  She had to escape him!

  Quickly she slipped from between him and the horse, hurrying to the wagon as if her life depended on it.

  “Good night, little coward,” he called after her, his soft chuckle mocking her.

  She hastened into the wagon without an answer. Then she stood several moments just inside the door, holding her breath in case he decided to stay and tempt her more. When at last she heard the tramping of his horse through the forest, she let out a heavy sigh.

  “Did he harm you?” came a question out of the darkness, startling her.

  “Nay,” Marianne managed to choke out.

  A long silence ensued. “But he kissed you, didn’t he?”

  Marianne blushed, thankful her aunt couldn’t see in the dark. “Why think you so?”

  “I heard his horse approach some time ago. The two of you were doing something all this time, and it wasn’t talking.”

  Marianne groped her way to her pallet in the hidden cupboard at the back of the wagon. “I’m tired, Aunt Tamara,” she murmured as she began to undress.

  “He’s handsome, poppet, I’ll grant you that. But don’t let his manly looks sway you. Remember, in his eyes you’re naught but a poor gypsy girl. He isn’t honorable like your father. He’s filled with anger, hate, and a keen urge for revenge. If o
nce he captures your affection, he will be as wormwood to your sweet wine, turning it bitter.”

  With the taste of the earl’s kiss still fresh on her lips, that warning unsettled Marianne. “Don’t you think it might happen the other way? Not that I would ever fall prey to such a man’s snares, but still, might I not turn his bitter heart sweet?”

  Her aunt’s cynical snort cut through her. “It takes a strong love to turn wormwood water into wine. I don’t think this nobleman has that in him.”

  Marianne didn’t answer as she slid onto her pallet and underneath the coverlet. But a small, persistent voice within her whispered that wine wasn’t made overnight, and gypsies couldn’t always see the future.

  Chapter Seven

  Revenge is a kind of wild justice,

  which the more man’s nature runs to,

  the more ought law to weed it out.

  —Francis Bacon, “Of Revenge”

  The next day Marianne found it difficult to concentrate on her patient. She hadn’t wished to return to Falkham House so soon, but her conscience hadn’t allowed her to abandon the wounded man ensconced in her old bedchamber.

  To her immense relief, the earl made only a brief appearance in the sickroom early in the morning. Once he determined the patient was still unconscious, he left the doctoring to her, telling her he’d return later.

  Sometime around midmorning, Marianne was bathing the wounded man when his eyes fluttered open and he murmured a few words.

  She leaned over him in excitement. “What is it? Would you like something? Water, perhaps?”

  His eyes closed again, but relief pulsed through her. At least he was partly conscious. She finished bathing him and tried to make him more comfortable. Then she left him resting to search for the earl.

  As she descended the stairs, the sound of arguing wafted up to her from the entranceway.

  “I told you before,” William was saying. “His lordship won’t see you and m’lady. You must leave.”

  Marianne descended farther, curious to see who could make William behave so abominably.

  “I don’t care what he wishes,” came the harsh reply. “We shall not leave until I see him, so you’d best tell his lordship we await his pleasure.”

  Marianne crept silently down the stairs, stopping short a few steps from the bottom at the point where she could just see into the hall.

  First she spotted a lady dressed richly in a satin morning gown with fur-trimmed overskirts. The woman looked so sad as she twisted a silk kerchief in her hand that Marianne pitied her.

  That pity only deepened when the woman’s husband came forward to snatch the kerchief, muttering something under his breath that made his wife blanch. He was dressed in elaborate and foppish finery, with a great deal of rich lace showing at the edges of his boot hose and at his cuffs.

  And when he turned, Marianne stiffened. Sir Pitney! How could he be here at Falkham? Oh, Lord, and he could identify her, too!

  She forced herself to relax and think logically. It was highly unlikely that Sir Pitney would recognize her unless he looked closely. She’d seen him only a couple of times, when she’d been a gangly and awkward fifteen-year-old. Besides, he wouldn’t expect her to be alive, for he must have heard of her supposed suicide.

  Still, she kept well out of sight as she backed up the stairs. Then she heard footsteps from beyond the hall and realized Garett had come himself to evict his uncle. Though she knew she should flee, she couldn’t tear herself away from the confrontation to come.

  To Marianne’s surprise, the woman spoke first. “A good morning to you, Garett.”

  “And to you, Aunt Bess. If I had known it was you who had arrived, I would have come to greet you sooner.”

  Marianne crept back down the stairs until she could just see around the door leading into the hall. Standing in the shadows, she watched with unabated curiosity.

  Lady Tearle stared at her nephew while he smiled at her. Then Sir Pitney moved up to clasp his wife roughly about the waist. “We’ve come to tell you the news. Your aunt is with child. We were certain you’d wish to know of it.”

  When Lady Tearle’s blush confirmed Sir Pitney’s words, Garett gave her a half smile. “I’m pleased to hear of it.” He pointedly addressed only her.

  “I’m so glad to see you after all these years,” she said softly, and pulled away from her husband. Sir Pitney let her go, but kept a watchful eye on her as she held out her hands to Garett.

  He lifted them to his lips to kiss. Clearly the gesture affected her, for when he released her, she wiped her eyes. “You’ve grown so tall,” she said with forced lightness. “I can scarcely believe it’s you. And you seem… more quiet than you were as a boy.”

  Garett’s gaze swung to Sir Pitney. “I have my years in France to thank for that.”

  Her husband glowered, but she paled and began, “I think you should know that—”

  Sir Pitney cut her off, stepping forward to clasp her arm. “Can’t you see that the earl is a very busy man, my love? We mustn’t take up too much of his time with talk of our private affairs.”

  Something in Sir Pitney’s tone made Marianne shudder. Garett clearly noted it as well, for his brow knit in a dark frown.

  “Go on back to the carriage now, Bess,” Sir Pitney said with more force. “I’ll be there shortly. Your nephew and I have matters to discuss.”

  Lady Bess nodded fearfully and turned away, but before she could leave, Garett stepped forward to block her path. “You’re looking well, Aunt Bess,” he said solicitously. “I hope you feel as well as you look. If you should find yourself in need of my help—”

  “I take care of what is my own,” Sir Pitney cut in.

  Lady Bess blinked, then fled as Garett watched, his eyes narrowing.

  As soon as she was gone, he turned on his uncle. “I’d best not hear you’ve been mistreating her. She and you may have abandoned me to the wolves in Europe, but she at least is my blood, and I won’t have one of my blood abused, no matter how poor her choice in husbands.”

  Abandoned him? And what wolves did he mean?

  “You whoreson bastard!” Sir Pitney cried. “You ride into England on His Majesty’s coattails, wrest from me the estates I worked hard to improve, and then have the audacity to command me in how to care for my wife!”

  Garett laughed scornfully. “How exactly did you improve my estates? By letting the tenants starve while you took their earnings to pay the taxes and finance your grand schemes for power? By abusing the townspeople in every neighboring village until the Falkham title became a hated one?” He strode up to tower over his uncle. “The only place spared your ‘improvements’ was this house and Lydgate. Then you had the audacity to sell my house to strangers, forcing me to fight for its return. ’Tis no wonder that Cromwell died. Counselors of your ilk would be enough to send anyone to his grave.”

  “I poured money into these lands—”

  “And took most of what you poured in back out again,” Garett said coldly. “You stole more than enough from me, so if you’re here to ask for money—”

  “I merely came to tell you of the coming babe!”

  Garett snorted.

  A sneer crossed Sir Pitney’s face. “And to remind you that if you should die without an heir, my son—and it will be a son—will inherit.”

  Garett’s face darkened then, making Marianne shudder. She’d seen that black look before. She was glad someone else was the recipient of it.

  “ ’Twould be very convenient for you if I should die without an heir, wouldn’t it, Uncle? It might even be as convenient as certain other deaths were for you.”

  Sir Pitney’s eyes narrowed. “What other deaths? What are you implying?”

  Garett paused, and the rigid set of his jaw showed that he struggled to control himself. “You know exactly what I’m implying. But it takes more than a couple of bumbling highwaymen to bring me to ground, so perhaps you should rethink your plans. You may not find them very easy to carr
y out.”

  At the mention of the highwaymen, Sir Pitney paled.

  Garett’s slow smile was mirrored on Marianne’s face, for she enjoyed seeing Sir Pitney discomfited after what he’d done.

  “Yes, Uncle,” Garett taunted him with smug satisfaction. “I knew it was you who set them after me. Just as I knew you sent a man to burn my fields. But your little ploys aren’t working. Your hired ‘highwaymen’ lie dead in the potter’s field, and I dismissed the spy you’d hired from the village.”

  “What spy?” Pitney said, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “You’re mad, nephew. All this talk of ‘highwaymen’ and ‘spies.’ You can’t prove any of it!”

  Bitterness so transformed Garett’s expression that Marianne could hardly believe him the same man who’d kissed her so tenderly the night before.

  “I can’t prove it yet, but I will soon. For you see, the man whom you sent to burn my fields, perhaps even my estate, was captured alive. Your spy tried to kill him, to keep him from talking, but was unsuccessful. So your lackey lies even now within these walls.”

  As Marianne gasped, he bent close to his uncle. “His wounds are being well tended, I assure you. Once he’s well enough to talk… well, who knows what things a man might reveal if given the right persuasion? He might even reveal enough to hang the one who hired him.”

  Marianne backed into the shadows, her stomach churning sickly. Dimly she saw Sir Pitney glower at Garett and witnessed Garett’s triumphant stare, but most of her thoughts were reserved for her own personal distress.

  The earl was all she’d feared and more! ’Twas his thirst for vengeance that had sent him to request her services, not any good deed. Come to think of it, he’d never said one word of concern for the wounded man except to express his desire that the fellow live.

  And for what? Merely so Garett could torture the truth from him? Could the earl truly be the kind of monster who saved a man’s life only to take it again?

  “You haven’t won yet, nephew!” Sir Pitney growled. “I won’t see you lay claim to all I’ve striven for!”