Enchanted by Your Kisses

by Pamela Britton

  "At last. You have learned how to open your mouth and not say a word."

  She whirled on him, half tempted to clout him over the head. "Would that you knew the same trick."

  "I know a trick worth two of that."

  "Then I pr'thee, lend me thine."

  His brows lifted. "A woman who knows Shakespeare. How remarkable."

  "Indeed. About as remarkable as a man with charm, a trait I fear you lack exceedingly."

  He lifted black brows. "Indeed, just as you lack a lady's morals."

  Ooo, that wasn't very nice. "A man who hardly exhibits gentlemanly behavior should not cast stones."

  "Ah, but I never asked to be born an English gentleman."

  "Have no fear, sir, no one would mistake you for one."

  "I see you are piqued by my daring to leave you behind while I fetched the horse."

  She glared her answer. Smart man.

  "Did you think I was foolish enough to take you into the village with me?"

  "I thought you gentleman enough to treat me like a lady."

  "You'll need to act like one first before that happens."

  If she had had a brick, she would have thrown it at his head. Truly.

  They stared at each other for a time, Ariel refusing to look away. During their battle of I-can-stare-the-longest she was overcome by the silliest urge to cross her eyes and stick her tongue out. She didn't. And when he looked away, she felt a small measure better. He'd glanced up at the thick canopy of leaves above them, and as always happened when someone looked up, Ariel found herself doing the same thing. Nothing but leaves. Hmph. She looked back at him in time to see him frown, then turn his back to her—conversation apparently at an end. It was then that Ariel noticed something she should have noticed before.

  There was only one horse.

  One horse. Oh, no, she thought. No, no, no. She would not ride with him. Would not.

  With quick snaps he lowered the stirrups, led the horse out from under the tree and mounted.

  "Come," he said, holding out his hand.

  "No," she said right back, crossing her arms.

  He gave her that jutting-jaw look males assumed. The horse shifted beneath him, apparently sensing his agitation. But she did not want to ride with him. Impossible man. She'd rather ride upon the devil's pitchfork. While it was afire.

  "I shall walk," she pronounced, uncrossing her arms to wag a finger.

  "Do not be ridiculous. Give me your hand."

  "No," she repeated, crossing her arms again on the off chance that he would take it into his dense head to lift her before him.

  The horse once again shifted, Nathan expertly calming the beast. He looked to have stepped from a canvas entitled Tally ho, the mighty lord rideth astride. Not a hair escaped from his queue, not a wrinkle creased his gray jacket. He'd cleaned up in town, she realized. Really, it was quite bothersome, especially since her own appearance was in such disarray.

  "My lady, I lack the patience to sit here and argue with you. You will ride with me. At once."

  "No."

  "And why not?"

  "Because."

  "Because," he mimicked, "A sterling reason."

  She crossed her arms, daring him to make her.

  He took up the silent challenge.

  She barely had time to react, so quick were his movements as he dismounted, grabbed her arms then tied them behind her back.

  "Why, you—"

  "Ah, ah, ah," he drawled by her ear. "Not another word, my lady."

  Oddly enough, the feel of his breath against her ear silenced her. The realization flummoxed her. She stiffened, her back upright, as she waited for him to put the gag in place. But instead of the material binding her mouth, it fell over her eyes. She didn't say anything, expecting him to turn her around, realize his mistake, then he would tie the material correctly. Instead she felt the black fabric pulled tight, heard the whistle of the material as it was knotted, heard him step alongside, then turn her around.

  "Now, my lady. One word out of your mouth, and I shall gag you, too."

  Only then did Ariel realize what he planned. He didn't want her to see where they were going, no doubt his way of hindering her should she attempt to escape. Bloody clever man.

  When he was done, she heard a rustle. The blanket, she realized, feeling him cover her head and shoulders, then secure it somehow in front of her neck. Obviously he meant to conceal her blindfold by covering her head. Wonderful. No doubt she looked like Sister Mary Cazignotti.

  He clasped her arm again. She stumbled as he dragged her forward.

  "What are you doing?" she moaned.

  "Putting you atop the horse." He lifted. She gasped, then swayed back and forth as she landed sideways in the saddle. She felt off kilter somehow. Was it from the touch of his hands? Or was it the result of having to sit upon the horse with nothing to brace her legs. Truly, she did not want to know.

  "Give me your foot."

  Give him her what? Then she gasped as she felt his fingers close around her ankle. The touch seemed to reach clear into her heart. But how that could be when she hated his bloody guts, she had no idea. And was it her imagination, or did he still for an instant, too? She blushed. Truly, it was a very odd feeling being blind. Did he gaze at her exposed flesh? Leer? Perhaps he stood mesmerized by the sight of her pearly white flesh?

  At that moment Ariel was overcome by a feeling of desperation such as she'd never felt since finding out Nathan truly intended to kidnap her. Perhaps it was her fear of him. Perhaps it was her fear of herself, but she dug her heels into his horse's side like they were battering rams.

  It was a sign of how flummoxed she was that she didn't think to brace herself before doing so or at the very least grab onto some mane. The horse, as expected, charged forward. She felt her legs lift, felt her seat slide, felt her body tilt back. What happened next was a foregone conclusion.

  She landed with an oomph, one that turned into a gasp when she heard the horse snort, then buck, its hooves seeming to whoosh past her ears.

  Silence descended—well, silence but for the horse galloping away.

  Nathan didn't say a word. For half a heartbeat she wondered if he'd been kicked by the horse. Perhaps he'd been knocked unconscious. The thought filled her with hope, then immediately remorse. She sat up, her shoulders aching from the force of her landing. The blindfold had shifted more. She turned her head to scan the ground for Nathan.

  Boots stood a few feet away from her. She told herself she should be disappointed, but all she felt was a heady sense of relief.

  "Are you quite satisfied?" he growled, and Ariel wanted to sink back down to the ground. If his voice had sounded awful before, it sounded positively more than awful now. She swallowed.

  "We no longer have a horse," he growled.

  She kept quiet. Truthfully, she didn't think speaking would be wise just yet.

  "You have just wasted the time it took for me to fetch the horse."

  "Well, your time was wasted in any event, sir, for the horse you hired bucked me off."

  "He bucked because you kicked him."

  "I did not."

  "You are a liar."

  "I am not," she wanted to say, but she couldn't. Lying was something she'd never done easily. Witness how quickly she'd given up on being a female spy. "I am lying. And I am sorry for it."

  Her admitting this must have taken him by surprise, for he said nothing in response. Then she saw his feet move her way, heard them crush the leaves beneath them. Truly, they were big feet. He paused next to her. Ariel wondered if he held out a hand she couldn't see. But he gave no indication that he did so, only said, "Congratulations, madam, you are now going to walk all the way to Bettenshire."

  "Surely the horse has not run that far?" Drat this blind. How she wished she could see.

  "To the next county."

  He lied. She tilted her head back, but she could see nothing but leaves and his feet from her current position. Bother.

/>   "Get up."

  No, he wasn't holding out a hand, she could tell by his tone of voice. In fact, she was almost glad for the blindfold, for she had a feeling she didn't want to see his face. The boots moved out of her field of vision. She tilted her head back. "Where are you going?"

  "To Bettenshire, without you if need be."

  "Wait."

  But he didn't. Ariel tried to push herself up, but her skirts had wrapped themselves around her legs, not to mention it was bloody hard to rise with one's hands tied behind one's back. In vain, she struggled, but it took her at least twenty long seconds to rise. When she stood, she scanned the ground for him.

  He'd left.

  But he couldn't have. He needed her.

  Apparently, however, Nathan Trevain had momentarily forgotten that fact. So had she when she'd kicked the horse forward, but that was neither here nor there.

  "Wait," she cried, turning in a slow circle. "Do not leave me."

  "Too late," he called.

  She turned in the direction of his voice, charging toward him, her lack of sight forcing her to use other senses to find him, which was probably why she didn't see the tree that came out of nowhere, why, she would wager, she bashed into it like a drunk on a binge. Her head hit first, followed closely by her breasts. For half a heartbeat there was a moment of shocked stupefaction, followed by a blast of sharp pain in her forehead. She felt herself tilting back as for the second time that day her breath whooshed out of her when she hit the ground.

  Silence descended. She lay there, her nose throbbing. "Ohh," she moaned. She heard footsteps, was in too much pain to care.

  "My, my, my," a silky voice drawled. "That was an interesting thing to observe. Was that some sort of gypsy ritual?"

  She didn't move. Frankly, she wasn't sure she could talk just yet. If she did, she might howl loud enough to wake the dead.

  "I've never heard of that ceremony before."

  And was that amusement she heard tickling his voice? She turned her head and listened.

  "It was quite. . .entertaining."

  Why, that no-good bounder. It was amusement.

  "You, sir, are an utter and complete blackguard." Humiliation filled her anew as she realized her voice sounded as high as Lady Pemberton's. Her nose was plugged from her collision with the tree. "You should be drawn and quartered for treating a lady thus." She struggled into a sitting position, wishing with all her might she could rub her stinging nose.

  "I assure you, my lady, you are not the first person to wish me ill."

  "Well, let me be the first to actually do you ill." She struggled to stand again. The bounder didn't even offer to help. When she finally managed to do it, she swayed a bit, the blood draining from her head. "What would you prefer?" she asked. "Pistol? Flogging?" If she'd had her hands loose, she would have placed them on her hips as she faced him.

  Someone tapped her on her shoulder.

  "I am behind you," said a voice, and blast it all, he sounded like he tried very hard not to laugh.

  She swung around, titling her chin up, discerning beneath the blind that he was, indeed, standing where he said. "Well, bully for you."

  And then he did laugh, a rollicking huge boom of a noise that made Ariel instantly still. Gracious, but he sounded odd. Like a human cannon that hadn't been fired for long time. She tilted her head and listened.

  "You, sir, are a rogue," she said, when it appeared he wouldn't stop.

  "So you've said before."

  "Yes, well, I'm saying it again."

  He laughed even harder. Ariel felt something within her snap. She charged. She wasn't sure she would hit him, but she gave it her best shot, hunching her shoulders low, hoping to run into him smack in the midsection.

  She did.

  With a satisfaction that would give her pleasure for years to come, she heard his breath wheeze out, then felt his body tilt backward. Unfortunately, he took her with him, clasping his arms around her torso as he fell. But by then Ariel didn't care. She was too filled with victorious pleasure.

  "Ha, sir. Now who is laughing?"

  He didn't say anything right away, which caught Ariel's attention. She tilted her head, wishing—again—that she could see.

  And then he said softly, so softly she had to strain to hear him, "I believe, my lady, that a lesson is in order."

  And suddenly her laughter faded. Too late she realized she oughtn't have done what she did. The ridiculous attraction she felt to him flared to life. She gasped, caught off guard by the myriad sensations suddenly coursing through her. They seemed to double, then triple, almost as if her senses worked harder to understand what her eyes couldn't see. She felt him shift, felt him tighten his grip with one arm, felt him move. And suddenly she could see. The blind was lifted from her face to reveal his own face only inches away.

  Her mouth formed a little O as she observed sinful silver eyes staring into her own. Her breath caught as she realized his gaze seemed transfixed by her lips.

  "You should watch yourself."

  "I should?" she breathed.

  "I would hate for you to damage that pretty head of yours."

  He raised his hand again, only this time it was to touch the knot on her head. Gently, almost kindly. Gone was Trevain the Terrible; in his place was Trevain the Thoughtful.

  And suddenly she didn't care that he'd just laughed at her. Didn't care that he'd kidnapped her. Or that he'd intended to use her and then betray her. It was the first time in a long time a man had looked at her thus and really meant it, and her heart told her Nathan Trevain really meant it.

  Thoughts of his kidnapping her, however, had her recalling who she was. She dipped her head in shame. The loss of eye contact seemed to break the spell. He set her away from him gently, his hands lingering on her waist longer than necessary. They didn't speak another word as he helped her up. To her utter horror, she found herself wishing for the contact again.

  "I shall untie you if you promise to behave."

  She jerked her head up. "You will?"

  "Aye, if you promise not to try and escape."

  He stared down at her, his hair still bound in that queue despite his brush with the ground. She nodded.

  "And I shall leave the blind off, too."

  He was being kind, she realized, a warm feeling suffusing her. And suddenly Ariel's heart softened toward him. She told herself she still hated him, but she knew it wasn't true. He truly was being kind to her, genuinely kind, and kindness was something Ariel had missed in her life.

  Desperately.

  13

  It took them two hours to reach Bettenshire. The trip was shortened by the horse they recovered less than a quarter-mile away from where it'd bolted. Nathan was never more relieved to see the estate where Ariel had been reared.

  "'Tis a castle," he observed.

  "Aye," his captive agreed.

  They came at the estate from a higher elevation, but though its stone facade had aged over the years, the mellowed ivory color looked stark against the afternoon sky. Windows stretched along the bottom and top floors, sparkling in the sunlight. Green grass, meticulously scythed into a checkerboard pattern, lay across the grounds, trees that looked to have grown for ages framing the main building.

  "'Tis beautiful, is it not?"

  There was no animosity in her gaze, no loathing, no fear, only pride. The sun, coasting high above them, cast a golden glow over her features, making her black ringlets look almost brown. Her eyes were the color of amber, sparkling with some emotion he didn't recognize. Relief? Comfort? He wasn't sure.

  "My mother once told my father that she fell in love with the estate before she did him. Knowing my father, she might not have been jesting." She smiled over at him.

  "How did they meet?" he surprised himself by asking.

  "Her family had camped on the grounds. There." She pointed to a small rise to the right of them. "My father had just inherited the earldom and was very full of himself, not that that has changed over the
years." Her smile turned wry. "When he heard there were gypsies on his land, he was determined to send them away." She looked up at him again. "Can you see my father, the future First Lord, racing up that hill, unarmed? The servants tell me she said she was surprised he didn't think to bring along his silver spoon as a weapon."

  And Nathan stood, transfixed, as he watched the delight dance a waltz through her eyes.

  "Who do you think he first saw?"

  "Your mother?" he guessed, telling himself the last thing they should be doing was sitting atop this rise, having a conversation about her family. And yet he was helpless to turn away.

  She shook her head, her eyes turning once again to the place where it'd all taken place. "No. My mother's father. He had a pistol pointed directly at my father's heart."

  Nathan found himself chuckling for the second time that day.

  "The gypsies do not care whose land it is, you see. They believe the earth belongs to everyone. My grandfather was determined to hold his ground."

  "Your grandfather?" For some reason, he'd not thought of the possibility that she could have gypsy relatives floating around.

  She frowned. "Aye. My grandfather. He passed on these five years past."

  She lapsed into silence. Nathan found himself wanting the enchanting urchin back.

  "How did your father meet your mother, then?"

  The sadness faded a bit, a small smile slipping back upon her features. "Well, when my father saw the pistol aimed at his chest, he turned to leave. That was when he saw her." Her smile grew. "She was coming up the hill, a basket of flowers over her arm. My father said when he looked at her, he felt the strangest urge to kiss her, so he did." She grew silent again, and then, as suddenly as a brisk wind, her smile faded. "He was never the same after she died." She looked over at him. "Do you believe in love at first sight?"

  The question took him by surprise, most likely because one didn't expect to be asked such things by one's captive. "I do not know," he found himself answering.