Barbara Pierce - Sinful Between the Sheets

by Barbara Pierce

  Submerging completely under the water, she surfaced, her breath coming out in a sharp hiss. Kilby pushed her hair away from her face. How had she considered this icy lake comfortable? A moment of insanity! She wrapped her arms over her breasts and moved back into the shallower water. It was warmer there. As she knelt down, the water covered her breasts partially.

  Taking the ball of soap, she began scrubbing one arm and then the other. Understanding that Kilby's trip north had been made in haste, Aggie had given her the scented soap balls on her arrival. Fayne seemed content to do without cer­tain personal luxuries; however, Kilby was feeling disheveled and—she sniffed her left underarm suspiciously—mayhap even odorous. Disgusted, she vigorously applied the soap to her underarms.

  She dunked herself deeper into the water, rinsing her body. Next, she lathered the soap in her hands and worked on her long hair. Usually, she had a maid who helped her wash her waist-length tresses. Methodically, she began working the soapy lather into her hair. The wet unwieldy mass was a handful. Kilby cried out in dismay as the ball of soap slipped from her hand and struck the surface with a plop.

  "Oh, no!" She plunged her hands into the water, trying to catch the soap ball before it disappeared completely. With her fingers she gingerly probed the soft lake bottom, but the soap was gone.

  As she scowled at the spot where the soap had vanished, Kilby noticed a shadow cross over her reflection on the wa­ter's surface. Good! Fayne had returned. Perhaps he could help her finish washing her hair.

  The hands that seized her nape did not belong to her husband. Before she could cry out, her unseen attacker shoved her face into the water. Instinctively, her hands clawed blindly at the powerful grip clamped onto her neck. The hold was strong and merciless. No amount of frenzied twisting allowed her to lift her head out of the water.

  Bubbles of her precious remaining air escaped her lips in her panicked struggles. Kilby was running out of time. The abrupt attack had given her no opportunity to draw a deep breath into her lungs, and her ineffective thrashing was swiftly using up what little air she had left in her lungs.

  She was going to die.

  No! she thought hysterically, I am too young to die.

  Kilby scored her nails across her attacker's flesh, hop­ing to mark her killer so Fayne could avenge her murder.

  Fayne. The poor man was going to think he was defi­nitely cursed when he returned to the house and discovered her lifeless body floating facedown in the lake.

  Please forgive me, love.

  She felt her consciousness slipping away and her vision dimmed. Her arms were floating uselessly in the water. There was nothing left for her to do but allow the cold, dark water to claim her.

  Abruptly, the tremendous weight on her neck was gone. She was so dazed, she floated facedown in the water for a few seconds before her air-starved lungs demanded that she rise out of the water. Pushing off the muddy bottom, Kilby staggered out of her kneeling position. She coughed and choked as she dragged air into her lungs. Her hair was a black curtain of sluicing water so she parted the tangled wet mass and shoved it away from her face.

  Terrified her attacker was close by just waiting to sub­merge her again, Kilby whirled around, her body quaking from fear and the cold water.

  She was alone.

  Where had he gone? As she waded out of the water, her chemise clung to her breasts and hips, hindering her steps. Kilby could not stop shaking. Her legs collapsed as soon as her feet touched dry land. She kept searching for her unknown assailant, but there was no sign of him. The world looked normal. It was as if he had never existed.

  Kilby pressed her hands to her face and sobbed. She needed Fayne. Tossing her head back, she did the only thing she was capable of—she screamed.

  Fayne was puzzling over the tracks he had found in the woods. The imprints were identical to the set he had first discovered near the edge of the lake. The tracks circled around the main house and buildings, but there did not seem to be a purpose to the pattern. It seemed like the tres­passer had been wandering aimlessly in the woods.

  In the distance, he heard a woman's faint scream.

  Kilby.

  Fayne broke into a run, dodging trees and obstacles as agilely as a buck. He cleared the woods and headed for the lake. Had something or someone disturbed her as she bathed? With his heart pounding frantically in his chest, he saw her sitting on the embankment sobbing hysterically. Dressed only in a wet chemise, she was hugging her knees to her chest and her head was bowed.

  "Kilby!"

  Her face popped up when he shouted her name. "Oh, Fayne!"

  Leaping to her feet, she ran straight into his embrace. She nuzzled his chest fiercely, as if trying to get under his skin. He eased the rifle to the ground so he could inspect her for any possible injuries with both hands.

  Kilby sobbed against his chest. "It was so horrible."

  She was shaking uncontrollably. Her face was ghostly white and there was a faint bluish tinge to her quivering lips. Fayne held her tightly, his hands stroking her every­where. Kilby seemed unhurt. "What is it? Did something in the water frighten you?" His gaze searched the nearby shallows of the lake, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

  "Someone was h-here ... in the water ... he tr-tried to drown me," she said, her teeth chattering so hard it had to hurt.

  The knot of fear that had settled in his gut shifted and expanded. Fayne tilted her head back so he could see her face. "Kilby, are you certain? Perhaps a submerged log in the water bumped into you and was ensnared by your hair?"

  Disgusted, she pushed him away from her. Turning away, she marched over to her shoes and the towels she had left at the base of a tree. "Your Grace, I can tell the difference between a submerged log casually bumping against me and a pair of strong hands holding me facedown underwater," she said tartly.

  Kilby slipped on her shoes and snatched up the large towel. Clutching the towel to her chest, she said, "I did not imagine those hands on my nape, Fayne. Why do you not believe me?"

  Her tears were breaking his heart. "I do." He covered the distance between them. Fayne reached for the other towel and carefully dried her face. "Did you see the person who attacked you?"

  "No. I saw only a shadow on the water's surface before he shoved my head under. Initially, I thought you had re­turned from your hunt." She dropped the towel and gath­ered her wet hair up to reveal the back of her neck. "He was so strong, I thought my neck might snap from the force alone."

  Fayne's stomach roiled when he saw the ugly red marks on her tender flesh. While he had been distracted, follow­ing a false trail in the woods, he had given someone the op­portunity to attack his wife. He was so furious with himself he wanted to kick something. Briskly striding over to the rifle, he seized it and returned to Kilby.

  "What are you doing?" she demanded, when he picked her up into his arms and started for the house.

  "You have had a shock," he said brusquely. "You need dry clothes and something warm in your stomach." He should have ordered her to remain in the house. She might not have liked it, but she would have obeyed. It was his fault she had almost drowned.

  Aggie met them at the door. "Your Grace, has some­thing happened to your lady?" she asked anxiously, wring­ing her hands as she followed through the hall to the stairs.

  Fayne handed the servant the rifle. "She's had a bad scare. Make the duchess some tea. I'll get her settled into bed." Not waiting for a response, he hurried up the stairs.

  "Why would anyone attack me?" she wondered aloud, her thoughts echoing his own. "No one knows our where­abouts, right?"

  That was not exactly true. Lady Quennell and his family knew they were traveling north. Countless servants knew their destination, too. Anyone who was familiar with the family's land holdings could have easily deduced that Fayne might bring his new wife to Carlisle Park.

  He tenderly placed Kilby on the bed. Pulling up a blan­ket, he wrapped it around her shoulders until he was satis­fied that she was cov
ered. "I know you have questions, love. So do 1.1 just need some time to think about all of this."

  Looking miserable and close to tears, Kilby nodded.

  For his wife's sake, he was trying to remain calm; how­ever, the facade was burdensome. Inside, Fayne smoldered with rage. How could this atrocity have occurred on his lands? Was Kilby the victim of a deliberate or random at­tack? If she were his intended prey, then why? Kilby was too kindhearted to have gathered a single enemy in her young life. The same could not be said about him. He had his fair share of enemies. Perhaps the attack on Kilby had been a devious way to strike at him. Her attacker had spared her life in the end. Had this been intentional, or had something frightened the man off? Fayne's head was filled with so many unanswered questions he thought his head might burst.

  Kilby was still rattled. Given time, her keen mind would put order to her jumbled thoughts and she would deduce that they both knew one gentleman in particular who would be very displeased about their marriage.

  Her brother.

  Fayne was not convinced Nipping was responsible for the attack. Nor was he prepared to dismiss him entirely. On one matter, Fayne was certain.

  Lord Nipping was quite capable of hurting his rebel­lious sister.

  CHAPTER 20

  They were returning to London.

  Kilby softly sighed as she stared out the window of their coach, watching the landscape slowly change from rural countryside to the congestion of town life. After Fayne had tucked her into bed, he had returned to the lake's edge to inspect the area where she had been attacked.

  Whatever he had discovered had not pleased him. He had announced that they were leaving Carlisle Park imme­diately. While he readied the horses, Aggie helped Kilby dress and together they packed up their few belongings. Once she was settled comfortably in the coach, Fayne drove them into the village to collect their coachman. With the exception of asking her how she was feeling, her husband had spoken very few words to her since he had joined her.

  There was something troubling him. His pensive silence was beginning to fray her already tattered nerves. She had been thinking during the passing hours, too, and had reached a few conclusions on her own.

  "Fayne, I am trying to be considerate to your brooding nature. However, I can no longer bear the silence between us. Will you tell me what you found at the lake's edge?" she pleaded.

  A ghost of a genuine smile eased the grim tension around his mouth. "Kilby, love, everyone will tell you that I have a merry nature. 1 never brood." He had removed his hat. His forehead was damp from perspiration and the shorter lengths of hair around his face curled slightly in the humid air.

  She was not going to let him distract her with charm. "Stop hedging. You saw something that troubled you, did you not?"

  He hesitated, probably deliberating about how much he should reveal.

  She refused to be treated like a child. "I am not fragile. I already know you suspect my brother had a hand in my at­tack," she said, keeping her voice steady. It hurt thinking about Archer. He had proven indubitably that he could be vi­olent. She had never thought him capable of killing anyone.

  "Earlier today, I was not hunting for game," he con­fessed. "At least not the four-legged variety. I found a set of boot impressions about two hundred yards from the spot where we made love the other day."

  "Someone might have been watching us?" she asked, sickened by the notion. "Why did you not mention this before?"

  His fingers flicked aside the question dismissively. She could tell from his expression that he was angry about his oversight. "There was no reason to upset you. We cannot be certain the person who left the imprint was actually spy­ing on us. I did not want our afternoon together to be sul­lied by mere supposition."

  She tried to understand it from his perspective. After all, the man had been attempting to protect her delicate sensibilities. "Regardless, you were concerned enough to check the surrounding area."

  "It seemed prudent," he said mildly. "I assumed our trespasser was poaching on Carlisle land. Although the buildings and grounds are maintained, the property is not always inhabited. Our presence might have startled our un­invited visitor."

  He had clearly given the situation some thought. "Even so, you think it is unlikely," she prompted, urging him to tell her that he suspected Archer was the one who had tried to drown her.

  Fayne flexed the hand resting on his knee in agitation. "The tracks went into the surrounding woods. I decided to follow them to see if I could pick up a fresh trail or find a clue to what the man was doing there."

  "But your man was not in the woods, was he?" she said in a hushed tone. Kilby vividly recalled how it felt to be roughly grabbed from behind and her head thrust into the cold water. She absently rubbed her neck.

  "No," Fayne replied, his green eyes bleak. "He wasn't." He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers into the inner­most corners. "Can you forgive me for failing you?"

  "You did not fail me," she said, realizing he needed comforting. Kilby moved and sat next to him. She gently tugged his hand away from his face. "I doubt you would have permitted me to leave the house if you had suspected the trespasser might be violent."

  He chuckled bitterly at her understatement. "I would have locked you in the bedchamber," he said, so implaca­bly that it was difficult for her not to be offended. "Once you were safe, I would have scoured the woods until I tracked him down."

  Kilby did not have to be told what came next. Her hus­band could be ruthless when provoked. He was not the type of man to wait idly for justice to be delivered on the guilty. If he had tracked his wife's attacker down, he would have been the man's executioner.

  "Just say his name," she said, leaning her cheek against his rigid shoulder. "You believe my brother was the man who attacked me."

  "I believe Nipping is a possible, albeit unlikely, suspect, yes." Fayne coaxed her face up with a touch of his fingers under her chin. Latching on to her gaze with his own, he said, "Once he learned of our elopement, he could have pursued us to Gretna Green, and on to Carlisle Park."

  His line of reasoning was damning to her brother. "I un­derstand why you might think Archer is responsible. Even before I met you, my relationship with him was, uh, difficult. My brother is cruel, selfish, and yes, sometimes violent."

  He crossed his arms. "You will get no argument from me." 1

  Fayne did not grasp why her feelings for her brother were so conflicted. He had glimpsed the corrupt, violent man Archer had become. She mourned the boy she had loved and played with as a child. "I am not defending him. Nevertheless, I do not see him as a murderer. Archer's ar­rogance surpasses even yours!"

  Fayne lifted his brows questioningly, but said nothing.

  "Like you, once he learns of our marriage, he will be convinced the courts will take his side," she argued, her vi­olet eyes eloquent. "If he was your trespasser, what do you think he would do if he caught me alone?"

  He groaned, sensing where she was heading with her ar­gument. "I am sure you will enlighten me whether I want to hear it or not."

  She was determined to make him consider all aspects before he condemned her brother. "If he knew he had clev­erly distracted you, that we were separated, Archer would have gagged and dragged me off, not tried to drown me." What her brother might do to her once he had reclaimed her was not worth mentioning or contemplating.

  "You cannot save the man, Kilby. I saw the twisted lust he calls affection, the violence he bestows on those who are under his protection," he said, angered on her behalf. "If Nipping thinks he has lost you, his sick reasoning might convince him death by his hands is preferable than letting another man have you."

  Kilby shook her head, denying the validity of his words. Was she simply refusing to see the truth out of misguided family loyalty? She had no great love for her brother. All the same, she could not envision him as her executioner. "You cannot condemn my brother just because you do not like him."

  "I grant you, I despise the
man. Nothing—" He stopped in mid-sentence and amended, "Well, nothing, minus a few notable exceptions, would give me greater pleasure than to put a bullet in your brother." He sighed. "Regrettably, I confess I agree with you. While identifying Nipping as the culprit would simplify matters greatly, I do not believe your brother was your attacker."

  She was torn between exasperation and amusement. Only Fayne could leer at her bosom and calmly discuss killing her brother at the same time. Kilby was also relieved Fayne was willing to see reason about her brother. "I never saw my attacker, Fayne. The hands I tried to pry from my neck were those of a man's. He was so strong," she said, shud­dering at the memory.

  "Oh!" Kilby suddenly recalled a detail she had forgot­ten about her frantic fight. "I hurt him! While I was strug­gling to get free, I raked my fingernails across his hands maybe his wrists. I know he bears my marks. Find the man who has scratches on his hands, and you will find the man who attacked me."

  "Never fear," he said, bringing her body up against his. He kissed her on the temple. "The man who attacked you will pay dearly for his crimes."

  ************************************

  "If you are so eager to be rid of me," Kilby said stiffly, "I see no reason why you cannot leave me at Priddy's house. I have been worried about her. What if Archer returned to her house and hurt her?"

  Fayne responded with a baleful stare. "That is more than enough reason to stay away. Do not worry about Lady Quen­nell. Brawley was supposed to send someone to watch over the viscountess. If you like, you can write her a brief note in­forming her of our return. I will see that it is delivered."

  Kilby crossed her arms and huffed. "Are you certain you can afford to be bothered by such a menial task?"

  His reasonable duchess had turned into a maddening shrew the instant she learned he meant to leave her and seek out her brother. While he had already decided Archer was not cunning enough to play assassin, Fayne thought it was time he introduced himself formally to his new brother-in-law. He had a few questions for the gentleman. Kilby was carrying on as if he planned on murdering the bastard in cold blood.