A Brother's Honor (12 page)

Pushing against his chest was the most difficult thing she had ever done, but she could not remain in his arms. The craving within her demanded satisfaction. But she must not. She had to remember who he was and who she was. “You are a fool!”

“Mayhap, but even a fool craves happiness.” He cupped her chin in his hand again and brought her mouth against his for the shortest second. “Go to sleep,
chérie.
”

“Yes.” Her voice quivered on that single word, but she was glad he had seen sense.

“No,” he murmured when she moved away. “Here in my arms.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

He shook his head. “'Tis chilly. If one of us sickens, we may lose our only chance to get out of England.”

“Do you promise not to … that is …”

“I promise to hold you in my arms and nothing else.” He winced as he shifted his leg. “And, Abigail, I keep my promises as well as you do.”

“All right.”

He drew her back against him as he rested on the ground. His hard chest was the perfect pillow. “You are beginning to trust me,
chérie
. Could it be that you no longer are afraid of me?”

“I have not been afraid of you for a long time, Dominic.”

“Then what frightens you when you are in my arms?”

Abigail saw no reason to lie as she nestled her cheek against his chest so his heartbeat thundered beneath her ear. “Of being your prisoner again.”

“My prisoner?”

“Forced to do as you wish.”

He leaned his head against her hair. “Trust me on this one thing if on nothing else,
chérie
. If I had thought I could woo you to do as I wished with a few kisses, I would have done that long ago.”

“Which you could never do.”

“Which I will never be able to do.” As he sealed those words into her lips, she let sleep take her. That way she did not have to guess which one of them was still lying.

Chapter Nine

A carriage burst from the darkness along the country road. Dominic shoved Abigail out of the way. She winced when she fell onto the grass beside the thick hedgerow. The carriage was swallowed by the night before she could stand.

“Are you hurt?” he asked as she rubbed her hip.

“Just another bruise to add to my collection.”

He laughed and took her hand as they continued along the dark road. In the three days since they had left the hut, his ankle had strengthened, and he now used a heavy branch as a cane instead of leaning on her.

“Mayhap, Abigail,” he mused, “you should have stolen a carriage for us instead of that delicious meat pie you purloined from a windowsill.”

“I suspect a carriage would be missed a bit more quickly, and we would have been arrested in no time.”

“And why would we want to travel so swiftly along the road in such comfort when we can enjoy this walk?”

Abigail laughed. She had not guessed that Dominic St. Clair would have such a honed sense of humor or that she would come to appreciate it. Whenever she was exhausted or irritable, he found a way to make her smile. She glanced at him as she recalled her favorite way. That was when his lips brushed hers while he drew her into his arms.

With a shout, he leaped out onto the road before she could answer his silly question. What was he about? She gave chase.

She skidded to a halt when she saw the carriage that had nearly run them down stopped in the middle of the road. A single man stood by the door, silhouetted by the lanterns hanging off each side of the carriage.

Dominic did not slow. She wanted to shout after him to take care, for she could not miss the way the dim light glinted off the barrel of a pistol in the man's hand. Dominic was not armed. He could be killed.

“Now!” the man by the carriage snarled. “Give the baubles to me now, m'lady, or you shall be wearing them in your coffin. If—”

Dominic jumped from the shadows and wrapped his arm around the highwayman's throat. Abigail took another step forward, then froze when she saw something glitter in Dominic's hand. The knife!

“
Donnez-moi le pistolet
,” Dominic shouted.

Abigail stared in horror. Why was he speaking French? She understood when the highwayman froze, shocked.

With a growl, Dominic repeated in English, “Give me the gun.” He chuckled as the highwayman threw down his pistol. “A very wise move,
mon ami.
” Shoving the thief toward his horse, he added, “Begone before I do the king's work and put an end to your useless life.”

The thief swung up onto his horse and raced into the darkness. Motioning for Abigail to join him, Dominic picked up the highwayman's gun and hid it somewhere among his tattered clothes. He took her hand as voices burst from the carriage.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Other than having my wits scared away, yes,” Abigail said.

“Good.” He turned to the carriage and peered inside. “And you?”

Abigail could not help staring at the elegant vehicle and its two occupants, who were dressed to match. The woman, whose hair was as dark as Dominic's, appeared to be younger by a few years than Abigail. A boy sitting next to her had a similar aristocratic nose set in the middle of his narrow face. His face was pale, emphasizing the splash of freckles that were more numerous than Abigail's. Their clothes were fashionable, even to her uneducated eyes, and were elaborately decorated with lace and glittering gold buttons.

“We are unhurt,” the young woman said, fluttering a lacy handkerchief in front of her face. “Thanks to your valiant efforts, sir.”

“It was my honor to be able to assist …”

“Lady Clarissa Sudley,” she said in a whisper.

“My pleasure, Lady Sudley.” He bowed toward her with as much grace as if he stood in Napoleon's court instead of in rags by the side of this narrow country road.

“Are you—?” Lady Sudley gulped. “Are you French?”

“Not all the French are from France, my lady. There are many in Quebec,” he said with a smile that was so genuine that Abigail would not have guessed he was creating a story for the lady to swallow. “In Canada, my lady,” he continued when Lady Sudley's brow ruffled, “I am Dominic St. Clair, and this is Abigail.”

“Abigail is not a French name,” the little boy said.

“No.” Dominic gave him another broad smile. “But remember that most of the people in Canada are not French. Many came from England or the colonies before the War of American Independence.”

“Forgive us for being so questioning,” Lady Sudley said.

“You have reason to be flustered, my lady.”

“But we are safe, for you saved us, Mr. St. Clair.”

Abigail could not keep from flinching at what Lady Sudley called him. When Dominic looked at her, Abigail knew he had sensed her reaction, even though the darkness had not been battered back far by the pair of carriage lanterns. Nothing must hint to Lady Sudley that Dominic was accustomed to another title, because addressing him as
Captain
would bring forth dangerous questions.

“I am pleased I could be here to be at your service, my lady,” he said with another gracious bow.

“You must allow me to reward you.” She smiled. “I have just the dandy. You must allow Sudley Hall to host you and your lovely wife tonight.”

Dominic's hand squeezing Abigail's arm silenced her gasp.
Wife?
She realized that Dominic had allowed Lady Sudley to believe that by not using her last name. No wonder Lady Sudley had this mistaken assumption. To disabuse her of her misconceptions now might topple the stack of lies Dominic had devised. That could be fatal for both of them.

“That is very generous, my lady,” Abigail somehow said. Dominic's hand gave her arm another quick squeeze. She drew away. Being false with this kind lady sickened her.

“Edgar?” called the lady.

Abigail glanced into the carriage. Was that the child's name? No, she realized when a man jumped down from the top of the carriage. The name must belong to the coachman.

“Yes, my lady?” he asked, tipping his tall hat to her. His voice trembled with residual fear, and Abigail was sure that if the night had been a bit more quiet, she would have heard his quivering knees knocking together.

“Will you have Mr. and Mrs. St. Clair's things put in the boot?” Lady Sudley smiled, clearly delighted to offer this benevolence.

“His help is not necessary,” Dominic replied. “We have no bags with us.”

“Nothing?” asked the boy.

“Hush, Newton,” chided the lady. Her smile grew strained. “You will have to excuse my little brother. He seldom thinks before he speaks. Do come and sit while we are on our way to Sudley Hall.”

Abigail's answer vanished when Dominic wobbled as he was about to step back to assist her into the carriage. She grabbed his arms. He still would have fallen if the coachman had not helped keep him on his feet.

“My ankle,” Dominic said with a moan. “I fear playing the hero has a high price.”

As Lady Sudley gave orders and her brother squealed with excitement, Abigail helped Edgar guide Dominic into the carriage. The coachman was stronger than he appeared, and with his help, Dominic managed to hop up on one foot and sit on the green leather seat facing Lady Sudley. Newton edged toward his sister as Dominic set his right foot on the seat beside the boy.

“Thank you,” Abigail whispered when the coachman offered his hand. She sat next to Dominic.

Lady Sudley's eyes were wide with dismay as she stared at them. Abigail could not fault her. Even though Dominic spoke like a gentleman, both he and Abigail looked like the lowest of vagabonds. Lady Sudley gripped the little boy's hand tightly and blanched when the coachman closed the door.

When Dominic did not make a comment to assuage the lady's qualms, Abigail turned and gasped. His face was nearly as colorless as Lady Sudley's. When the carriage lurched into motion, a soft groan bubbled past his lips.

“Is he ill?” Lady Sudley asked, her handkerchief now pressed to her face.

“No. He was injured when the ship we were sailing on was sunk.” Abigail was glad to be able to speak the truth.

“Sunk?” Newton nearly jumped off his seat with his enthusiasm. “By the French?”

She shuddered, hating what she had to say, but fearing that if she lied, she would make a mistake and betray them later. “The Americans sank the ship.”

When Lady Sudley and her brother asked for more details, Abigail tried to give them answers without revealing the truth. She must not allow them to find out that her father had been the captain of the ship or that Dominic had captured it.

Lady Sudley pulled a small vial from the beaded bag on her lap, the very bag Abigail suspected the highwayman had been interested in stealing. She gave Abigail the bottle.

Opening it, Abigail smiled as the sweet scent of flowers rose from it. The perfumed water would be perfect to dab on Dominic's temples to ease his pain. Thanking the lady, Abigail was curious why Lady Sudley carried this with her, but did not ask. She was glad that Newton kept the carriage from becoming silent as he prattled on and on about how exciting it must have been when the ship sank.

Bending toward Dominic, Abigail placed the dampened handkerchief against his forehead. “How are you faring?” she murmured beneath Newton's enthusiastic chatter.

“Not as bad as you think, but not as good as I wish when you are touching me like this.” His voice was not much louder than a breath, but his provocative smile spoke volumes.

“You should remember we are not alone,” she replied as quietly.

“Odd that I have been wishing we would chance upon such help, but now that we have, I am sorry to lose our time alone.” Before she could retort, he smiled. “You spin an intriguing tale,
chérie
. It causes me to wonder how many falsehoods you have plied me with.”

“Me?” She quickly lowered her voice when she saw Lady Sudley's amazement. “I have not been the one to spin all sorts of stories to obtain what I want.”

“When have I lied to you?” He closed his eyes and smiled as she put the cool handkerchief over his forehead. “That is heavenly,
chérie
.”

She wanted to fire back an answer, but she had none. Dominic St. Clair might be arrogant and overbearing and too handsome for
her
good, but she could not recall a single time when he had not been starkly honest with her.

More honest than Father was with me
.

Abigail bit her lip and sat back against the carriage's lush seat. She could not deny that truth, but she did not want to think of it. Father must have an explanation for why he had done what he had. But what? What reason could he have had for leaving her with French pirates?

Dominic answered a question from Lady Sudley, but Abigail was lost in her uneasy thoughts and paid neither the question nor the answer any mind. Whether Lady Sudley spoke to her or not, she could not recall when the carriage came to a stop in front of a doorway that was swathed in light.

When Abigail reached for the door, Dominic's hand on her wrist halted her. The merest motion of his head warned her to remain where she was. She understood when the door was opened with a flourish.

A lad in dark green livery bowed. His smile wavered when he straightened and saw the extra passengers in the carriage.

Lady Sudley said, “Henry, run and let Richards know we have guests.”

“Richards is the butler,” Dominic whispered.

“I know that!” Abigail scowled at him. To be honest, she had
guessed
that, but she would not tell him that.

With the coachman's help, Dominic got out of the carriage. Dominic had to lean on the door, but he handed out Lady Sudley and then Abigail. Putting one arm over her shoulder, he draped the other on Edgar's as the coachman helped them to the pair of steps leading to the carved front door.

The door opened, and Abigail was sure they had been ushered into a castle out of a book of fairy tales. She had not been able to see Sudley Hall as they approached, because it had been swathed in darkness. The foyer was bright with lamplight, and she could not keep from staring.