By Love Unveiled (23 page)

“Aye, m’lord,” William answered.

“I’ll go on ahead with Mina and see to the inn.” He tossed a pouch to William. “Here’s gold if you need it.”

“Leave Mina here, milord,” Aunt Tamara said. “I can tend her as well as you.”

Garett snorted. “Aye, and spirit her off. You
convinced my man once to help her escape. I won’t give you the chance to do it again.”

Guilt stabbed Marianne. “Garett,” she said softly, “William didn’t leave with us of his own accord.”

Garett turned his fierce gaze on her. “Oh?”

“We . . . we . . .” She faltered, unable to bear how he awaited her answer, as if once again she was going to prove his suspicions right.

“We drugged him,” Aunt Tamara said without compunction. “ ’Twas the only way to get her from you. Then once he awakened we were so far away he saw no point in going back.”

“Damn you, wench, you know that isn’t true,” William protested.

“William did feel certain that you’d find us,” Marianne admitted, ignoring her aunt’s scowl.

“It helped that he kept throwing things out of the wagon to show me the way,” Garett said dryly.

“What?” Aunt Tamara whirled on William. “You wretched traitor! I ought to—”

“Now, Tamara,” William said, “ ’twas a good thing he caught up to us, wouldn’t you say?”

She only glared at him.

Garett shot William a sympathetic glance. “Come along as quickly as you can. As this night has attested, the roads aren’t safe for gypsies.”

“Don’t worry, m’lord,” William said. “We’ll leave the wagon here and take the mules. No one will bother us then.”

As Aunt Tamara argued that plan with William,
Garett lifted Mina in his arms and strode for his horse. She clung to his neck, too exhausted from the night’s events even to protest when he set her upon his saddle, then climbed up behind her. He pulled her back to rest against his hard frame as he started the horse toward the road.

“You might as well catch a little sleep now while you can,” he murmured. “Because later on you and I shall have a very long talk.”

And somehow she suspected that she wouldn’t much like what he had to say.

Melting joys about her move,

Killing pleasures, wounding blisses.

She can dress her eyes in love,

And her lips can arm with kisses.

Angels listen when she speaks;

She’s my delight, all mankind’s wonder;

But my jealous heart would break

Should we live one day asunder.

—John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester, “A Song”

M
arianne clutched her cloak to her chest as she sat staring blindly into a newly started fire. She was still drowsy. Lulled by Cerberus’s slow gait and Garett’s arms about her, she’d dozed nearly all the way back to the inn, and Garett had let her.

Then he’d led her into the inn and up to this room, where he was now discussing the terms of the night’s stay with the innkeeper. She caught snatches of conversation about “two others to follow” and “breakfast sent up early.” But all she could think of, as she came fully awake, was how close she’d come to being ravished.

As a sheltered noblewoman, she’d never before fallen
prey to such brutal treatment. True, she and Father had sometimes treated the wounds of those who had. But Father had prohibited her from assisting him in situations where women had been cruelly abused. Nor had she ever seen anyone beaten before her very eyes as the soldiers had beaten William.

She couldn’t banish the images from her mind. No wonder Aunt Tamara had always been so protective. No wonder Garett thought she needed a protector. The memory of that soldier’s hands mauling her breasts . . .

A shudder wracked her. It bore no comparison to the love play between her and Garett that day in Falkham House’s library.

She darted a glance at him. Even as weary as he must be, he stood tall and strong and startlingly handsome as he spoke to the innkeeper. He’d risked his life for her. He’d been dreadfully outnumbered, and there’d been one moment when she’d even feared the worst, but he’d prevailed.

Perhaps she ought to consider accepting his offer of protection. Her life lay before her, an endless stretch of battles with men like those soldiers. It would be so much easier just to let Garett have what he wanted in exchange for living in his care, and be done with it.

Now that she knew Garett hadn’t been involved in Father’s arrest, she could rest easy in his arms.

She sighed. Nay, she’d never be able to do that. It went against everything she’d been taught about the importance of marriage vows. Father had risked much to make his union with her mother a holy one. He’d
married a gypsy precisely because he’d loved and respected her too much to have her in any other way. That sort of mutual affection was what Marianne wanted for herself.

And she would never have it with Garett, who desired only to take her to his bed. While she could never succumb to him without succumbing body and soul, he would not see it in the same light. So if she gave in to him, eventually her pain would be far greater than if she left him behind, particularly once he discovered who she really was. Now more than ever she had to find a way to flee him or lose her soul in the process.

As Garett walked out with the innkeeper, leaving her there, she realized, rather belatedly, that the room was meant for them both. That set her pulse pounding . . . with alarm
and
anticipation. Did he mean to leave her no choice? Would he take her like that soldier?

She swallowed. No, she couldn’t believe it. But he intended something, probably seduction. And if she wasn’t careful . . .

Swiftly she rose to scan the room. Perhaps she could still escape him.

What a foolish thought. Hadn’t she just learned how difficult it was for a woman to traverse England safely without protection? Besides, Garett stood just outside the door. She could hear his low but compelling voice still speaking to the innkeeper in the tiny hall.

She paced back and forth, watching the shadow of her body that the firelight cast on the opposite wall. The dark figure almost seemed to dance, mocking her.
She could allow herself to
be
that figure, let herself sink into—

Abruptly she jerked her gaze back to the fire. She was not going to be such a creature! She would not let herself be tempted by Garett, no matter how glad she was to see him or how convincing an argument he made for her giving in to him.

The door opened, startling her. He was here. Alone.

He closed the door with careful movements, then shot the bolt behind him, the ominous click grating on her ears. Oddly enough she didn’t fear him. He would never hurt her.

She feared herself. And what he might want of her . . . what she actually might be willing to give.

When he sat down to remove his boots, she asked, “Are we sharing this room?”

A shadow crossed his face. “You give me no choice. I can’t risk your trying another foolish escape.” His voice shook as he tossed his boots aside and rose. “Next time, you might not be so lucky as you were tonight.”

An awkward silence ensued, during which he surveyed her, seeming to note every grass stain and tear in her cloak from where the soldiers had roughly handled her. A muscle throbbed in his jaw, making her shiver.

“I should have killed them,” he said in a guttural voice. “I should have killed every one of the damn bastards.”

The vehemence in his voice startled her. “There were too many. You’d have been killed instead if you’d attempted it.”

“Would it have mattered to you?” The words seemed wrenched from him. His eyes locked on hers as he stepped closer, taking off his coat and flinging it across the other chair by the hearth. “You didn’t care what your leaving might do to me. Why concern yourself about whether I live or die?”

As if realizing how much he’d revealed, he averted his face from her to stare bleakly into the fire.

Her heart leapt into her throat. What
had
her leaving done to him? “I would never want you to lose your life, my lord. Surely you know that by now. And despite what you may think, I’m grateful that you—”

“I don’t want your gratitude!” he shouted, whirling on her with such a fierce visage that she jumped. When he saw her reaction, he forced some semblance of calm into his voice. “There’s only one way you can show me your thanks.”

She stiffened.

“ ’Tis not what you think,” he added as he saw her expression, “although God knows I want that, too. What I ask of you now you owe me, for the hours I’ve spent in torment this day, wondering what danger you might be in. And then to find you in the very danger I’d imagined—”

His muttered curse flooded her with guilt. A pox on him, she had nothing to feel guilty about!

“I want your vow.” He gave a short, harsh laugh. “I don’t suppose it means much to a gypsy, but you once said you had a lady’s principles. Well, then, I want the lady in you to swear you’ll never take a chance like that
again. Swear to me you won’t leave Falkham House unless I’m with you.”

A long breath escaped her. Of course he would ask that. But how could she grant it? Escaping had to be her ultimate goal, for if she stayed—

“Swear it, Mina!” He advanced so close that she could see the grim determination in his face.

Steadily she met his gaze. “I can’t.”

His hands clenched at his sides. “You’d rather risk rape or worse from a band of dirty, wretched soldiers than live with me?”

“You know I wouldn’t.” A sob caught in her throat. Under different circumstances . . .

Ah, but the circumstances hadn’t changed. She was still a fugitive, and he was still the king’s man.

Right now, however, he didn’t look like the king’s man. He looked younger, more vulnerable. “You do understand what would have happened tonight if I hadn’t come?” he choked out.

Before she could answer, he reached up to yank at the ties of her cloak. They came loose, sending her cloak pooling about her feet. Her loosened bodice barely covered the crests of her breasts. In the firelight, the bruises on the upper swells were readily apparent.

His eyes filled with a desperate anger as he saw the dark contusions. Lightly he touched one. “This is only a sample of what they might have done to you. Yet you don’t care.”

“Of course I care! Don’t you think I wish I could travel as I pleased without having such men paw me and
treat me cruelly simply because I’m a gypsy? I care, my lord, a great deal more than you’d ever understand.”

“Then let me protect you.” His fierce gaze bored into her. “Give yourself willingly into my safekeeping. Swear to me you won’t leave. Swear it!”

“And if I do? You will try to seduce me.”

The firelight lit his face with an unholy light as he searched her features. “Would that be so very awful?”

No. That was the trouble. “I do not want to be forced to—”

“Forced!” he snapped. “I’m not some grubby soldier who’d throw you down in the field and grind you into the dirt. I’ve no need of such barbarities.” He reached up to cup her cheek. “And you have no real desire to fight me. Only your stubbornness keeps you tilting at windmills—a foolish sport.”

“You’re no windmill,” she countered. And if she gave in to him now, she would be lost. She had to get away before that happened. Slowly she backed toward the door.

He followed her. “Ah, but you’re certainly Don Quixote, since your urge to fight is misplaced. What are you fighting to keep? Nothing save a distrust for men of rank that keeps you from acknowledging a few truths.”

“Such as?” Could she make it to the door and free the bolt before he could reach her?

“You want me.”

That statement certainly got her attention. “Nay,” she murmured. “Never.”

“Your lips said otherwise the last time I tasted of them.”

How she wished she could deny it. But she couldn’t. It was true.

“What’s more, there’s no reason in hell for you not to have me.”

She sidled past the chair and saw his coat lying over it. “You’re a conceited lout if you think I’d willingly give myself to you.”

Scooping up his coat, she threw it at him, then darted for the door. She heard him swear, but she dared not look back as her hand nimbly slid the bolt open. Then she was opening the door.

But before she could even slip through, the door slammed shut with the force of a weight that also pressed her body against the flimsy structure.

“I can’t believe after what happened tonight, you’d try it again,” Garett hissed in her ear. He turned her to face him, trapping her against the door by pressing his hands on either side of her shoulders. “By God, I’ll make sure that was your last attempt.”

“Garett—”

“If you won’t give me your vow, then I must bind you to me some other way.” And with that he took her mouth in a plundering, rough kiss.

Angry, she bucked against him, driving her fists into his chest as she wrenched her lips from his. He let her pummel him, even while his strong legs parted to clamp her limbs between his. When she wouldn’t give him her mouth, he buried his face in her neck, lightly nipping the sensitive skin.

He covered her body so completely with his own that
she felt like a flower encased in ever-hardening clay, destined to be imprisoned forever.

Then his lips sank lower to the swell of her breast, and he deliberately kissed a bruise left by the soldiers. “I’d never hurt you so, sweetling,” he murmured as he raised his head.

The glittering passion in his gaze mesmerized her. “You’re hurting me now,” she choked out in one last attempt to fight his desires. And hers.

“Where?” When she stared at him blankly, he added, “Here?” He pressed his fingertips against her throat where his lips had been moments before.

She felt powerless to speak. Worse yet, she could feel her pulse beat with heightened pace under his fingers.

So could he, for his gaze grew more fiery. “Perhaps here,” he said, sliding his palm down until it barely rested over the breast he’d just kissed. It also rested over her heart.

Yes. That was where she hurt.

It was the last coherent thought he allowed her. Then his mouth slid over hers once again, with less insistence and more heat. It startled into life a slowly burgeoning desire.