Rake Beyond Redemption (4 page)

Whilst Zan’s blood raged. His body responded, his need hard against her as he held her fast. Whatever lay in wait for him in the uncertainties of his future, she was his. His mouth ravaged, his tongue tasted, seduced then plunged as her lips failed to withstand his assault. She was his, now, always. No one would stop him…

When he felt her sigh softly against his mouth he raised his head, drawn back into reality. His smile was a little twisted, but his hands still gripped firm.

‘I suppose I must now listen to you condemn me for my ungallant conduct.’

But her eyes were glorious, sparkling with life. Her reply, her reaction, startled him.

‘I liked it.’ A twist of her hand to free it from his and she lifted it to touch his cheek with her fingertips. ‘I should not, I dare say, but I did. My sister would say that no good can come of it. Do you suppose I shall regret it? I doubt it. Unless you are planning to seduce me, to steal my heart and break it.’

So she would flirt with him.

‘You think I would seduce you?’ An audacious lift of a brow. ‘Do you think I am a libertine?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘A rake?’

‘I don’t know that either.’

‘If I was either, you should not be here alone in this room with me. Will you take the risk?’

‘I must.’ Marie-Claude smiled. ‘I seem to have lost my will-power along with my wits.’

Zan inhaled sharply. ‘Many hereabouts would say you’d be foolish to trust me.’

‘You’ve given me no reason not to trust you. I would have been regretful if you hadn’t kissed me. Does that make me too forward again? I’m afraid it does.’

‘It makes you a delight. It makes you all I’ve ever dreamt of in a woman—’ What was he saying? Zan closed his mouth like a trap on any more revelations before the control of his thoughts and words broke entirely. ‘Where are you staying? I presume you are visiting. Where do I take you home?’

‘There’s really no need.’

‘I wish it.’ Once again he pressed his lips to hers, all his senses overpowered by her instant response when she slid her hands around his neck, lacing her fingers in his hair to draw him closer. He groaned softly against her mouth. ‘I don’t want to let you go, but I must. Tell me where…’

‘Not far. Take me to Lydyard’s Pride.’

The Pride!

It was like the echoing clang, discordant and ill fated, of a death knell. The name was like an arctic blast to chill the heat in his blood to ice. Or perhaps it was a searing fire from the depths of hell to blast and destroy the flame of his desire.

Zan encircled Marie-Claude’s wrists and pulled her hands slowly from around his neck, trying to ignore the skittering of her pulse. Why did it feel as if a bottomless black void had appeared before his feet? And equally in his chest where his heart had been?

Whilst Marie-Claude could only marvel at the effect of her words. This man who had kissed her with passion
was now regarding her from a distance of his own making, with some species of stark horror.

What had she said?

‘Lydyard’s Pride?’ Zan heard his voice, bleak as the cliffs in a winter’s gale, dreading the reply.

‘Yes. The house on the cliff…’

‘I know where Lydyard’s Pride is. What’s your name—your full name?’

‘I’m Marie-Claude Hallaston. I was Marie-Claude de la Roche before my marriage.’

Hallaston. Marriage.

Why hadn’t he discovered this pertinent piece of information in the first place? It had never crossed his mind. His lips curled in cynical acknowledgement of this unexpected turn of the cards. So the gift from the hand of fate had all been a mischievous charade after all. Well, he had been taught a short hard lesson, had he not? It was as if he had been offered his heart’s desire only to have it snatched away in some malicious game. Zan took a step back, his brows meeting in a black bar.

‘Zan…?’

He took another step. When he could think, memory struck to fill in the gaps.

‘Ah, yes. Of course. I should have known, I suppose. You’re the widow of the noble Earl of Venmore’s brother.’

‘Yes. Captain Marcus Hallaston. He died in Spain.’

‘I know.’

‘Do you know the Hallaston family? And Harriette’s family, the Lydyards? I suppose you must since you are a neighbour.’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m staying here for a few weeks.’

‘I see.’

‘Harriette and Luke are at The Venmore, but I—’

‘I must take you home,’ Zan interrupted. ‘I’ve kept you here long enough.’

She was a Hallaston. Of all the families she could have been connected to. Striding to the door, he flung it open, raised his voice in the direction of the kitchen.

‘Sal! Bring the lady’s shoes. Now!’

When they arrived, Sal at a run, he took them with a brief word of thanks, handed them over.

‘Put your shoes on.’

Not understanding, Marie-Claude simply did as she was ordered. What point in attempting an explanation when the man who had first saved her life and then had kissed her into mindless delight had inexplicably decided that he wanted nothing more to do with her? Without a word, spine straight against the humiliation, Marie-Claude took the little boots, then sat, just as rigidly, struggling with the soaked fabric to pull them on. They were, sadly, past redemption.

‘Never mind.’ Impatiently, Zan all but snatched the boots from her, tucking them with her stockings into his capacious pockets. ‘Put your arms around my neck, Madame Mermaid.’ When she obeyed because his sly mockery seemed to rob her of any will to do otherwise, he effortlessly lifted her and carried her out of the parlour.

‘I can walk!’ Flustered, mortified by her response to his nearness, hurt by his rejection of her, Marie-Claude pushed against his chest. ‘There’s no need for this! Put me down.’

‘Not in bare feet you can’t,’ he responded, as cold as January.

Without further comment he carried her outside, where he boosted her into the saddle, then swung up
behind her, immediately gathering up the reins and turning the mare’s head in the direction of the Pride. His mouth curved in what was not a smile at this change in plan. Had he not intended to allow the mare to walk as slowly as she wished, to make her own way so that his time with the girl was stretched as far as possible? Now he kicked her into a canter, holding the Hallaston widow before him as impersonally as he might. Trying not to be aware of her warmth and closeness, the subtle perfume from her hair, the brush of her body against his. He clamped his mouth shut. There was nothing more to be said between them.

Thus a tension-filled, uncomfortable journey, until they reached the long drive to the Pride and Zan turned the mare in.

This was no good, Marie-Claude decided, trying to clear her thoughts. Did the baffling Mr Alexander Ellerdine intend to deposit her at the door without another word? Not if she had any influence on the outcome.

‘Do you know Harriette and Luke well?’ she asked against the wall of his silence, lifting her chin so she could see his face.

‘Once I did.’ His eyes were grimly fixed on the approaching house. ‘But no longer. We’re not on visiting terms.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s of no consequence.’

In other words, it’s not your concern.
Marie-Claude frowned as silence once more shrouded them. As she had suspected, when they arrived at the front sweep of steps, he swiftly dismounted, beckoned for her to slide down into his arms. Immediately he placed her on her feet on the bottom step. Returned her boots, her stockings
into her hands. And without one word of ackowledgement or farewell turned away to remount.

Marie-Claude felt a return of her temper. Was he not going to explain? She would
force
him to explain!

‘Will you not come in?’ she invited with edged sweetness. A provocative lift of her brows, already knowing the reply. If he could taunt, so could she. ‘Some refreshment, perhaps, after all your efforts on my behalf?’

He looked back over his shoulder, his reins tight in his fist. ‘No.’

‘And are you usually so ill mannered, Mr Ellerdine?’

‘Not ill mannered, Madame Mermaid. Merely mistaken.’

‘So you have decided you have not known me all your life after all.’

‘Yes. So it seems.’

A cold whip of words. It was like fighting through an impenetrable mist. ‘How capricious you have turned out to be, sir,’ she observed, an intense regret cutting through her anger. And watched, startled, as her rebuke caused colour to slash across Zan’s splendid cheekbones.

‘Is Meggie here?’ he demanded unexpectedly, facing her again.

‘Yes. Why?’

‘Tell Meggie what happened on the beach. She’ll take care of you. Doubtless she’ll tell you what you need to know about me—and take pleasure in doing so. Don’t tell her you spent time in the Silver Boat with me, unchaperoned. And for God’s sake don’t tell her that I forced my attentions on you. It would be better for you if you did not.’

‘Why should I not tell her? Besides, you didn’t force yourself on me. As I recall, I enjoyed the experience as much as you did. As I
thought
you did!’

‘Then you were as mistaken as I was.’ And what a flat rebuttal that was; it robbed Marie-Claude of all speech for a moment. ‘A word of advice, Madame Mermaid. You’re far too innocent for your own good.’ The edge in his voice was as keen as hammered steel. ‘You should beware of believing what rakes and libertines in inn parlours tell you. They prey on the innocent and you were the perfect peach, ripe to fall into my hand. You were fortunate not to be further compromised.’

How unfair! How appallingly unfair! ‘I did not
choose
to be in the inn parlour with you. You took me there, if you recall. And as for innocent! If you know anything of my past, as you seem to do, you would know that I am far from innocent and inexperienced in my knowledge of the evil that can drive some men. I didn’t think you were a man without honour.’

‘Then you lack judgement. You have no idea what sort of man I am.’

Marie-Claude’s eyes flashed fire, her brows rose. It was impossible to believe that he could be so insulting, so deliberately wounding. Something had driven him into this fast retreat, this deliberate attack. Seeing a possible advantage, she pressed on to make the most of it. ‘You didn’t answer my question. Why should I not tell Meggie?’

Zan sneered. ‘I wouldn’t want to ruin your impeccable reputation, would I? If you value your good name, you’ll keep your tongue between your pretty teeth.’

He had already turned back to his mare, gathering the reins. Marie-Claude made a last attempt to restore some normality to this situation, clutching at a final hope. ‘Zan…I don’t know why you would deny what was between us. Or lash at me with temper. Let me thank you—’

‘No! I’ll let you do nothing of the sort. Have you not been listening to me? Just forget the whole incident. It will be better for you if you do. As for my denial, put it down to indifference. You entertained me for a bare hour—nothing more.’ His mouth twisted.

As Marie-Claude’s eyes widened at this final unbridled,
unforgivable
slight, with one long stride, Zan dropped the reins and was back to swoop and pinion her. Hands firmly cupping her shoulders, he pulled her hard against him. ‘Or perhaps, in honesty, a little longer than an hour. No man could overlook or forget the sweetness of your kisses.’ His mouth devoured hers, his tongue owned, a scrape of teeth along her soft lips. Yet even as she resisted the assault, the sheer insolence of him, her senses absorbed the thrill.

Zan thrust her away.

‘Farewell, Madame Mermaid.’

Without a backwards look he swung up, let the mare quicken and stretch into a full gallop across the parkland, out of her line of sight.

Zan concentrated on putting as much distance between himself and Lydyard’s Pride in the shortest possible time. As if he could erase the memory of the woman who still stood on the steps and looked after him. He knew exactly who his mermaid was.

Marie-Claude de la Roche—he’d forgotten her name, if he ever knew it. He supposed he’d never heard it mentioned in his hearing. There was no reason why it should have been in the circumstances. He had become
persona non grata
in the Hallaston household after that night. He’d heard later of her existence, of course, from George Gadie, who knew all the Hallaston affairs.
French, married to Captain Marcus Hallaston and widowed, cast adrift in Spain with a child, taken under the unscrupulous wing of some French rogue—called Jean-Jacques Noir, was it?—who had held her to ransom to bleed Luke Hallaston, the Earl of Venmore, dry in return for her safety. Threatened to use her as a whore in one of the military towns if the tale ran true. And she had been rescued by Venmore and Harriette in that eventful run to the French coast, bringing her back along with the barrels and bales of contraband.

Oh, yes. He recalled that night, right enough. The night that had brought an unmendable rift with his cousin Harriette. The night when he had been accused and found guilty, albeit without trial, of treachery, wrecking and attempted murder.

He knew the widow had been rescued, but had never met her, nor she him. She did not even recognise his name. Obviously no one had ever spoken the name Zan Ellerdine in the Hallaston household from that day to this. He tightened his hands on the reins to bring the mare back into a more controlled canter. Alexander Ellerdine no longer existed in that august circle.

In the circumstances, he could hardly blame the noble Earl and his family, could he?

Well, he had delivered the pretty widow home and that was that. He had not compromised her sensibilities too greatly, nor damaged her spotless reputation. He set the mare to a low hedge, pushing her on into a stylish leap. And then another as he increased the distance between himself and the Pride. But the speed and exhilaration did not take his attention as he might hope. Clear blue eyes with no hint of shyness. Soft lips that parted beneath his. Smooth fingers that touched his
cheek. Desire curled in his gut, tightened into urgency in his groin.

Forget about her. Forget how for those few short minutes she turned your blood to fire. Forget how she made you think that life could have been different. Forget how she called you Zan and wound her fingers into your hair as she wound them into your heart…