The Passionate One (25 page)

“Forgive me, miss,”
she heard Gunna say. “I don’t know my place and that’s a fact.”

Pride and coldness
had replaced the woman’s former grudging interest. Rhiannon felt ashamed. It
wasn’t Gunna’s fault that she’d been brought here.

“I’m not a
McClairen,” she said. “My father was a chieftain in his own right but when
McClairen called for men to fight in forty-five, my father answered.” She
closed her eyes. “And my brothers. And my uncles.”

“Yer an orphan
then,” Gunna murmured, her manner thawing slightly. “No one left?”

“No,” Rhiannon
said. “They were all hunted down and murdered. Out there.” She pointed at the
bleak landscape outside the window. She stared at it unseeing. “Dear God, how I
hate being here.”

A light touch on
her sleeve begged Rhiannon’s attention. Gunna had moved to her side. Her hand
was rough-skinned, the nails bitten down to the quick, but the long fingers
were surprisingly elegant.

“Aye?”

“Of course,”
Rhiannon said impatiently. “Who wouldn’t? This place is filled with ghosts and
a bloodied lot they are.”

Gunna sighed, her
one eye following Rhiannon’s gaze out over the sea. “I find,” she said
carefully, “that the ghosts that follow closest are those we’ve fled.”

Rhiannon glanced at
her and frowned. “There were no ghosts where I came from.”

It wasn’t strictly
true, but those phantoms faded with the light. Not these. In one day she’d
remembered more of her life in the Highlands than she’d thought about—or
allowed herself to think about—in over ten years in Fair Badden.

The exposed corner
of Gunna’s mouth tucked into a smile. “Not all hauntings are hurtful.”

She only meant to
be kind and though Rhiannon doubted her wisdom, she appreciated her concern. “I
hope so.”

Gunna tugged on her
arm, leading her back to the bed where she’d spread out the gowns she’d carried
in. She scooped up one shimmering leaf-green damask and held it to Rhiannon’s
face.

“Ye’ll be a beauty
in this and that’s a fact. Carr will be pleased.” She watched Rhiannon
carefully. It mattered little to Rhiannon what Carr thought of her appearance.
Apparently Gunna read her lack of concern in her expression for she shook her
head. “You seem a fair bit unconcerned what yer groom thinks of yer
appearance.”

“Groom?” she echoed
dumbly, staring as the implications of that single word took hold. The woman’s
former disapproving attitude suddenly made sense, wringing a harsh laugh from
Rhiannon. “I’m not going to marry Lord Carr.”

“Truly?” Gunna asked.

“Truly,” Rhiannon
returned, regarding the old woman dryly.

“They say Mr. Ash
brought you,” Gunna said after a second’s hesitation.

His name brought a
flood of warmth sweeping up Rhiannon throat and face. “Yes.”

“Carr’s beast of
burden.” Both women spun around at the sound of Fia’s voice. She was standing
inside the door, leaning back against the panel. “Poor Ash.”

Gunna ignored her
charge’s smooth, false tone, replying to the words rather than the timbre—a
course of action that Rhiannon thought she might do well to emulate.

“Carr best have a
care,” Gunna said, returning the dress she held to the bed. “Methinks Lord Carr
will get no more service out of that particular beastie until he gives up one
of the carrots he’s been danglin’ in front of Mr. Ash’s proud nose. Here, miss,
let me take that blanket from you. We best get you dressed.”

“Ash will do
whatever he has to do,” Fia replied, coming forward as Rhiannon complied and
Gunna scuttled across the room to fetch a water pitcher and basin. “Ash would
never do anything that might harm Raine.”

“Raine? Carr’s
younger son?” Rhiannon could not help but ask. The one that was supposed to
have raped the nun?

“Ye dunna ken, do
you, Miss Russell?” Gunna said. She dipped a soft towel into the water and
rubbed it with soap and handed it to Rhiannon. “About Ash and Raine.”

“No,” Rhiannon said
tersely, her voice muffled by the towel as she scrubbed at her face.

“It’s an
interestin’ tale,” Gunna went on. She took the dirtied towel and splashed more
cold water in the basin in preparation for a cold, but much needed hip bath.
Even with just her face clean Rhiannon felt better.

“And one we don’t
have time for right now,” Fia interjected. “Carr wants her in the gallery
before the hour.”

“What?” Rhiannon
asked, her gaze flying to the mantel clock. It was barely fifteen minutes
before the hour.

Fia shrugged. “I
told him I thought that would be fine.”

Rhiannon looked
down. She still wore the same soiled chemise she’d had on for five days. She
had no time to bathe now and Fia knew it. So much for last night’s concern
about Rhiannon making a good impression.

But then, Fia was a
Merrick. Doubtless she had her own agenda. Well, let her.

Rhiannon may have
been over ten years from this land, but being reared on a Highlands battlefield
produces a pupil well versed in combat—of all kinds.

At the end of
another long corridor the footman finally opened a door. Rhiannon swept back
the green skirts of her borrowed dress and entered.

Ash Merrick stood in the center of the room, his hands clasped behind his back, his black hair
tied negligently at the nape of his neck. He regarded her watchfully. His
stance was broad and challenging.

At the sight of him
her breath caught. She hadn’t expected him and he was so damnably beautiful.
“Your father sent for me. Where is he?” She sounded angry. Better than dazzled.

“Fia said you would
have an audience with Carr. And so you shall.”

“I have nothing to
say to you.” She forced the rising note of panic from her voice. “We have
nothing to say to each other.”

“I miss you.” His
words came out low, nearly inaudible, more whispered admission than
declaration.

Her head snapped up
in astonishment. Whatever she’d expected it had never been that.

Admission
?
Lie.
He was a consummate opportunist. He simply wanted an accommodating
prisoner, not a difficult one. Hadn’t she proven already how susceptible she
was to him?

No more.

She lifted hot,
angry eyes to his light, unrevealing eyes. “How unpleasant for you.”

“Tit for tat, eh?”
His mouth tilted mockingly. “Standard practice in my family. I should tell you,
in the interest of fair play, I’ve vast experience with payback.” The smile
dissolved, replaced by an intent, hungry look. “I never meant to hurt you,
Rhiannon. Use you? Yes, I admit to that. Have you? Definitely. But I never
wanted you hurt.”

His eyes stayed
locked on hers as he strove to convince her that he told the truth. She even
half believed him. It didn’t matter. In Fair Badden, her soft heart would have
turned to warm wax with his confession. But the Highlands bred no soft hearts
or weak resolves. Only those who would fight for their survival rather than
allow themselves to be used and cast aside had survived.

“Too late.” She
watched for a telltale sign that she’d pricked his hard heart. “You should have
gone away. I could have made some sort of recompense to Phillip.”

“I told you.
Someone tortured that damn dog of yours on purpose.”

She felt the color
bleed from her face.

“The same someone
who scarred your face with a bullet and who hurled that knife at you at the
Harquists’ party,” he went on in a cold biting voice.

She glared at him.
“You misread Stella’s accident,” she insisted. “And as for the other incidents?
Nonsense. And well you know it.”

His gaze flickered
away from hers, the tiny involuntary gesture justifying her suspicions. But
instead of the vindication she might have expected, she only felt hollow,
emptied, and lost.

He
had
manufactured the whole story for whatever covert purposes of his own. Purposes
he had no intention of revealing to her.

“It’s not too
late,” she heard herself saying in a dull voice. “You can send me back to Fair
Badden.”

His expression
tightened. He sneered.

“No matter what
Watt claimed, you would have ended an outcast. We were lovers and Phillip knows
that. He’d never accept you now.”

How could he speak
of it so unemotionally? But then, she reminded herself, he’d only been involved
in the physical act. He’d given her nothing of himself that he hadn’t reclaimed
the minute he’d left her.

“You didn’t offer
me any choice, did you? Or Phillip,” she accused him. “You bludgeoned him with
the knowledge of my betrayal. You lied to me in that, too.”

His eyes clouded.
“I thought I was keeping you safe. I thought to make it impossible for—”

“Phillip to marry
me?” Rhiannon finished coldly. “Well, as you so kindly have explained, you did
that.”

“I thought to give
him an
excuse
not to marry you.”

“I still want to go
back,” she said, ignoring his fantastic rubbish. “You needn’t do anything but
get me to a coaching inn.”

He shook his head.
“There’s nothing for you at Fair Badden. It’s done.”

Her breath felt hot
in her nostrils but she made herself speak in a bell tone of coldness. “I do
not know why you forced me here or why you even bedded me in the first place.
Did the thought of a nameless orphan marrying into your English aristocracy so
offend you?”

Amazingly, he
laughed. “Now there’s as fascinating a motive for deflowering a girl as ever
I’ve heard.”

She’d sought to
shame him and instead he mocked her. Humor glinted in his dark eyes though his
mouth remained hard. A mouth that had moved with exquisite tenderness over her
skin, burnishing her nerves with pleasure.

“At least I’ve
given you some plausible explanation for your actions. I have no excuse for
willfully betraying my betrothed.”

His nostrils flared
slightly. “You don’t consider lust motive enough? I assure you”—his gaze
unraveled over her face, her mouth, her throat and bodice—“it’s a most potent
imperative.”

He didn’t move but
she suddenly felt as though he’d surrounded her. She drew back a step. Her
pulse tripped thickly in her veins. “But why bring me here then? Not for lust’s
sake. If forcing a woman could pleasure you, you would have forced me by now
and you haven’t.”

Strangely, her
words seemed to anger him. “I would not rely too much on such an assumption.”

Once more she
backed away from whatever emotion he strove so hard to suppress. His hands
shivered at his sides.

“Let us say for the
sake of argument that you are right,” he grated out, “that I would find no ease
in forcing myself on you. Now for one minute, just one, allow that I am astute
enough to realize that in taking you from Fair Badden I could only secure your
contempt.” The very rigidity of his posture bespoke his fervor, forcing her to
listen.

“Suspend your
disbelief just a bit longer.” He held out a supplicating hand—this man she
doubted had ever been a supplicant—and confusion rippled through her resolve,
shaking it.

“Say that I took
you here for no other reason than the one I gave you. That I believed your life
was in danger and that I suspected Watt of being responsible. If you can find
no other reason for my act, could not that one, as fantastic as it might seem,
be the truth?”

His voice remained
firm, insistent. His eyes pleaded with her. But the notion of Phillip intentionally
setting out to harm her, or that anyone could conceive him capable of such, was
absurd.

“Please, Rhiannon.”
She’d never heard so raw a tone before. “Please.”

But then, Ash did
not know Phillip as well as she. He
might
mistake Phillip’s nature...

Her gaze raked his
face, trying to see what his expression might betray. She moved closer, close
enough to hear the ragged draw of his breath, so intent she was barely aware of
a movement behind her.

A voice—cultivated,
bored, and imperious—spoke. “Well, Ash, now that you’ve fetched her I suppose
you’ll want the money I promised you for your trouble.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Ash saw the spark
of uncertainty in her eyes die, snuffed out with Carr’s words. She’d been
searching for a reason for his actions; Carr had supplied one. Hatred of his
father seethed in him. Carr’s words left him nothing. Nothing but the rattail
shreds of pride and Ash refused to lose those here, in front of him.

Rhiannon was lost
to him. Her cold, appreciative smile flailed him with its lack of accusation.
That was the worst of it. He’d done no less than what she’d expected. He’d
almost duped her again.

He looked away.
There was still Raine to consider. He would always have Raine.