Unmasked (11 page)

For a moment she froze in shock and fear.

“Dear me, Mrs. Osborne,” an amused male voice said in her ear, “you do seem to have an affinity with water.”

Nick Falconer. Strangely, as soon as she knew his identity, Mari’s fear melted. It was replaced by indignant mortification and she wriggled hard to be free. Immediately his arms tightened around her until she could barely breathe.

“Hold still,” he said, “or you will have us both in the water.”

He strode to the bank and took the slope with what seemed to Mari to be insulting ease. His grip was firm and she could feel the strength in him. It was supremely disconcerting. No one had ever held her like this before. She felt her body heat up as though it was burning from the inside out, molten, excited, expectant.

“Put me down!” she said breathlessly, overwhelmed with sensations she could not begin to understand.

In response Nick went down on one knee and tumbled her into the middle of the strawberry patch, following her down into the soft, sweetly scented grass.

“As you wish,” he said, smiling.

Mari lay still for a moment, winded and bemused. The smell of hot, dry hay was all around her, mingling with the fresh, sharp scent of the strawberries and the faint lemon tang of cologne on Nick’s skin. Mari’s head spun at the assault on her senses. She felt dazed, as though she could scarcely breathe.

Nick propped himself on one elbow beside her.

“You don’t seem very grateful to me, Mrs. Osborne,” he said. His lips were only inches away from hers. His voice fell. “Twice I go to the trouble of rescuing you and get no thanks for it.” His eyes on her, he plucked a strawberry and bit into it hard. Mari felt a hot jolt through her entire body.

“Were you looking for these?” he continued. “They are delicious. Have I stumbled on one of your secrets, Mrs. Osborne?”

Mari found that she could not speak, could not move. The ground was warm beneath her and above Nick’s head she could see the bright clear blue of the sky and feel the heat of the morning sun beating down on her body. The rush of the water was in her ears and the scent of the strawberries was all around her. Suddenly she felt sultry and wicked and wild in a way that she had never experienced before, a feeling compounded of the rampant lushness all around her and the aching spiral of desire that was inside her. It was madness but it held her in thrall.

Nick brought a strawberry to her lips and she bit into it, relishing the taste of it on her tongue, feeling the juice run. She heard Nick groan and then his mouth covered hers and his tongue licked the juice up and swept inside, tasting her, kissing her as though he wanted to take all of her.

Mari gasped. The feelings in her were so potent, so unfamiliar. After the horrors of her past and all the barren years since, she was utterly dazzled. Her whole body ached for him. She felt hot, shaky and hungry. Her body felt ripe, as though it was ready to open to him.

His tongue thrust against hers again, teasing, taking. Of her own volition, Mari’s hands tangled in his hair. It was silky soft beneath her fingers, a contrast to the rough line of his jaw. He tasted of strawberries and heated desire. She opened her mouth beneath his and drank in the heady sensation of his kiss. She felt intoxicated, drunk with passion.

His mouth left hers and he began to kiss and lick his way down her throat. Mari’s heart raced as the heat within her spread and pooled low in belly. Nick pressed his lips to the place where the pulse beat in the hollow of her neck, just above the fastening of her gown.

“I want you.” His voice was ragged. “I want to strip this prim little gown from you and take you here in the grass by the river—”

Mari’s breath caught on a moan and his mouth returned to hers, roughly now, demanding, possessing, sending shards of pure need through her body. His hand came up to cup her breast through the cotton dress, and she felt the nipple harden against his fingers and squirmed with frustration at the layers of cloth that separated them. Then he moved above her, so that his weight pinned her down, and for the first time something cold and fearful touched Mari’s mind, cutting through the pleasure that filled her senses. She felt restrained, trapped. His hands had moved to undo the fastenings of her gown. She could feel his erection hard against her thigh and tried to move away, but he was kneeling on her skirts and she could not shift an inch. Panic started to rise in her and the sweet need drained from her body like water slipping away through her fingers, impossible to recapture.

And then she heard voices, loud voices close by on the packhorse bridge, and the rumble of wheels on the road, and her mind cleared of the last shreds of desire and she froze as she realized that they were in full view of anyone who passed by.

Nick had realized it, too. She felt him shift and then sit up and she opened her eyes to see him looking down at her, the hard, heated desire still in his eyes but fading now as reality intruded on them. She scrambled to sit up, part in panic and part in embarrassment, but Nick caught her arm in a warning grip and she kept still until the cart had passed and the danger of being observed had gone. Then she sat up and smoothed her skirts around her bare ankles with hands that shook, and avoided looking at him as she tried desperately to think what to say, what to do. She could not believe what had almost happened to her. There had been no fear in her, no bitter memory, until the moment that she had felt constrained and the realization of Nick’s physical dominance had filled her mind, pushing aside all pleasure.

“Next time I’ll choose somewhere more private.” Unlike her, Nick did not sound as though he had lost an ounce of self-assurance.

Next time…

Mari’s mind reeled at the thought, half yearning, half afraid. Nick had not realized, of course. How could he understand when he knew nothing of her experience and she could not tell him? He had thought only that she, like him, had been pulled from that sensual spell by the passing of the cart and the realization that they might be overlooked.

“There won’t be a next time, Major Falconer.” Her voice came out like a croak and she cleared her throat. “I made a mistake,” she said. “It won’t happen again.”

Nick took her chin in his hand and turned her face up so that she was forced to meet his gaze, and she saw the demand and the determination in his eyes and caught her breath, because his need called such a deep response from her. One that she could neither understand nor deny.

“You do mistake,” he said. “We shall be lovers, Mari, you and I. It is inevitable.”

A shiver chased down Mari’s spine. He sounded so certain and she felt so unsure, so
tempted.
Yet in the end she also felt afraid and it was that emotion that she knew would win, because of her history, because of what it had done to her.

Nick dropped a brief, hard kiss on her lips and for a moment she felt the echo of their passion through her whole body and then he was walking away and Mari felt the past fall around her like a shroud.

We shall be lovers,
Nick had said, but Mari knew that could never be. She had caught a glimpse of what passion might have been like in another place, another time, but now she had to accept that it would not, could not, be.

Tansy—Resistance

“S
O
, A
NSTRUTHER
,”
Nick said the following morning as he and Dexter Anstruther rode down to Peacock Oak village on their way to the Skipton road, “you have now had two days in which to assess our fellow guests. What do you think of them? Are there any that strike you as potential highwaywomen?”

“Only Lady Hester Berry, sir,” Anstruther said, laughing. “I believe she would be capable of anything. She is very wild. Riding astride, staying out all night…”

“The sort of woman your mother warned you against, eh?” Nick said. “I saw her flirting with you at the card party the night before last.”

“I think that Lord Teague would probably call me out if I responded to any of Lady Hester’s overtures,” Anstruther said, turning a little pink about the ears. “But I cannot envisage any of the other ladies as part of the Glory Girls. It seems an absurd idea.”

“I agree with you,” Nick murmured, “but we must be open to all possibilities. The Duchess of Cole, for example. I hear she rides exceptionally well. A lot of these country women do.”

“Not her grace!” Anstruther looked horrified, thereby confirming Nick’s suspicion that he was developing a somewhat surprising, youthful
tendre
for Laura Cole. He recovered himself quickly. “I cannot imagine it, sir. She is the perfect, elegant hostess, not a highwaywoman.”

They crossed the River Wharfe by the humpbacked bridge and the road wound upward into the village. As they breasted the rise Nick could see Marina Osborne crossing the green, a basket over one arm. She was wearing a cream-colored spencer over a dark blue gown and had on a straw bonnet with matching blue ribbon. She looked fresh and pretty, and Nick caught Dexter Anstruther looking at her with something much more than a casual regard, and felt a possessive fury grip him. It was coming to something, he thought, when he was starting to feel jealous of Anstruther, and all because he looked at a pretty woman with admiration. But he could not help himself. His unsatisfied lust for Mari Osborne rode him hard and gave him no peace. He had dreamed about her again the previous night, a tangled dream of passion and wanting in which Anna’s ghost reproached him for his lack of fidelity and he woke drenched in sweat and torn between desire and guilt.

He had not seen Mari since he had kissed her in the water meadows the previous morning. She had not attended the picnic that Laura Cole had arranged in the gardens that afternoon, nor the musicale in the evening. Nick had found himself looking for her, wanting to see her, aching to see her, if he were honest. He had told himself that he had driven the encounter with Mari by the river exactly as he had intended, that he had been in control, had set out coldly and calculatedly to seduce her. But the raw need he felt for her contradicted his claim. He knew that as the seducer he was in equal danger of being seduced.

He had kissed her in the Hen and Vulture and again beside the river, and he knew for certain now that it was the same woman. She had tasted sweet and shockingly familiar. It felt as though his body already knew her intimately.

“I say, sir,” Anstruther was saying eagerly now, “who is that lady crossing the green?”

Nick laughed. “That,” he said, “is our prime suspect, Anstruther. You are about to meet Mrs. Marina Osborne.”

“That lady in the navy blue, sir?” Anstruther said, wrinkling up his eyes. “Surely she cannot be the woman we seek. She looks far too reputable.”

“Anstruther, Anstruther.” Nick sighed. “When will you learn? Glory does not habitually gallop around on horseback wearing a black cloak and demanding people’s valuables. Part of her skill lies in her ability to appear respectable. Not,” he added quietly, “that I necessarily think Mrs. Osborne
is
Glory now that I have seen her lamentable riding ability. But that she is the woman I met at the Hen and Vulture, dressed and behaving like a whore, I am certain.”

He grinned at Anstruther’s shocked, scarlet face and swung himself down from the saddle and into Mari’s path. After their kiss Nick was curious to see just how she would react to him. She had been willing and eager in his arms the previous day even though she had retreated from him when they had been in danger of being interrupted. But she could not hide the passion in her nature. He was sure she would take him to her bed soon.

“Mrs. Osborne!” he called. “How do you do, ma’am? We were just speaking of you. May I introduce my friend Dexter Anstruther?”

“Your…your servant, ma’am,” Anstruther spluttered, sending Nick another speaking look. “A pleasure to meet you.”

Nick watched Anstruther’s blush deepen as Marina Osborne smiled very prettily at him. There was a pink color in her cheeks that morning and the straw bonnet framed her face most flatteringly. As usual, despite the warmth of the morning, she was buttoned up to the neck. Nick felt a wayward and powerful urge to unbutton her there and then.

“How do you do, Mr. Anstruther?” she said. “I have heard much about you from Lady Hester.”

Anstruther blushed again to the tips of his ears and as he seemed utterly unable to frame a suitable reply, Nick stepped forward and took Mari’s gloved hand in his. She was avoiding his gaze and looked a little shy. It made him cynically amused that she had her act to perfection.

“You seem very well recovered from your near fall in the river yesterday, ma’am,” he murmured. “I am so glad that I was able to be of service to you.”

Mari’s gaze flicked to his face before her lashes came down to veil her expression. “I am very well, I thank you,” she said, removing her hand from his grip. “Pray do not let me keep you from your business.”

Nick laughed. “You do not seem particularly pleased to see me again, ma’am.”

“I have no feelings on the matter,” Mari said, very sweetly.

“You claim to be indifferent to me?”

“I make no claim to anything at all,” Mari said. She smiled impartially at him and at Dexter Anstruther. “I beg that you will excuse me, gentlemen. I have parcels to distribute.”

Nick looked into the basket. There were piles of oranges and lemons nestling within. The previous evening he had heard Lady Faye comment waspishly on Mari Osborne’s charitable activities, another way, Lady Faye had implied, in which she pushed herself forward inappropriately.

“Expensive commodities,” he commented. “Do you hand them out to the poor and needy, ma’am?”

Mari looked a little flustered. “I suppose you could say that, Major Falconer.”

“You are generous.”

“I do what has to be done.”

Nick smiled at her. “And do you rob from the rich, as well as give to the poor in order to do what has to be done?”

Mari’s gaze came up to meet his very sharply. For a moment their eyes clashed and Nick held hers very deliberately. He felt the same sensation he always experienced on looking at her—an impact as though someone had punched him in the gut. Her eyes were so candid. How was it possible for her to be a counterfeit when she could look like an innocent schoolroom miss? She truly was a mistress of deceit.

Then, to his surprise, she smiled at him. “What a vivid imagination you have, Major Falconer,” she said. “I assure you that I am no Robin Hood. Good day to you.” She turned and nodded a polite farewell to Dexter Anstruther and put her hand firmly on the gate of one of the cottages that bordered the village green. A moment later she was knocking at the door and showing the contents of her basket to those inside. She stepped over the threshold and was lost from view.

“She has the nerve of the devil,” Nick said, under his breath, as he swung himself back up into the saddle. “Well, well.” He turned to Anstruther. “I wonder about Mrs. Osborne’s other charitable activities, Anstruther. Pray make inquiries.”

“Yes, sir,” Anstruther said. “She seems a very charming lady,” he added. “I am sorry, sir, but I cannot believe…” His voice trailed off and he looked unhappy.

“Believe it, Anstruther,” Nick said grimly. “Mrs. Osborne is no lady. She is an impostor. And I will expose her as a fraud if it is the last thing I do.”

Anstruther rubbed his forehead. “But without proof, how is such a thing to be achieved, sir?”

“I will seduce the truth from her, Anstruther,” Nick said. He saw the younger man’s uncomprehending expression and added, “Get her to reveal the truth—and a great deal more—by bedding her.”

The tips of Anstruther’s ears glowed liked beacons. “I say, sir,” he protested. “That’s simply not cricket!”

“I know,” Nick said. He laughed. “Sometimes we all have to do things that are less than chivalrous, Anstruther. The end justifies the means.”

“If you say so, sir,” Anstruther said doubtfully.

Nick encouraged the horse to a trot. The contact he had had with Marina Osborne, brief as it had been, had made him burn with wanting her. It was always the same; that impact, that blow to the heart that deprived him of breath. He wanted rid of it before it distracted him, betrayed him altogether. He had to seduce her, bed her, get the truth from her before he was utterly bewitched. With a muffled curse he kicked the horse to a gallop, leaving Anstruther in his wake.

A
S
M
ARI EMERGED
from Mrs. Bean’s cottage she saw Laura Cole driving slowly up the hill in the Cole Court gig. Laura waved energetically when she saw her and Mari crossed the road to join her.

“I am so glad I saw you,” Laura said, leaning down to give her a hand up onto the gig seat beside her. “I need to speak with you. Can I drive you back?”

“Thank you,” Mari said, smiling. She waited whilst Laura put the gig in motion with her usual no-nonsense capability.

“I was sorry that you did not join us last night,” Laura said. “I wondered if you were perhaps deliberately avoiding someone. Major Falconer, perhaps?” She smiled at Mari’s vivid blush. “I noticed that from the start he appeared to admire you exceedingly.”

“He may do so,” Mari said. “Or he may be pretending to admire me. I am not sure.” She looked down at her gloved hands, locked so tightly together in her lap, then up into Laura’s face. “Oh, Laura,” she burst out, “how am I to tell? For all my history I have so little real experience. He kissed me yesterday and I felt—” She wriggled on the seat. “I felt all hot and excited and truly
wicked
in the best possible way!” She stopped; bit her lip. “I never thought that it would happen,” she said quietly. “Not after Rashleigh. It seemed impossible.”

“And now you find that it is possible,” Laura said.

“Yes. Maybe. But then something happened…” Mari hesitated, looking at her friend. Although she and Laura were close, she was not at all sure that she could speak to the Duchess of Cole about such intimate matters as a man’s arousal. Talking to Hester would, of course, be a different matter entirely. Hester would have no qualms on such a topic, indeed she would probably be indelicate enough to mention comparative size and length and go into details that would make Mari blush with mortification. Laura, though…Well, one simply did not mention erections to a Duchess.

“I suppose you felt his erection,” Laura said helpfully. “I imagine that could make you quite nervous.”

“Laura!” Mari squeaked.

“What?” Laura shot her a look of amusement. “Are you thinking that I can know nothing of such matters? Well, it’s true I know very little about sex, but we were talking of your problems, not mine.”

“Yes, well, you are correct,” Mari said, recovering herself. “It made me fearful.” She shivered. “He seemed so strong, so forceful.”

“But he is not Rashleigh,” Laura said gently.

“No.” Mari shivered. “And maybe you are right. Maybe, one day, with a man who is gentle and patient—” She stopped. “At any rate,” she said, “that man cannot be Major Falconer. Hester has told you that it seems he has come to Peacock Oak to trap the Glories? He thinks I am his cousin’s murderer. His attentions to me can only be a means to an end—a way of discovering the truth about Rashleigh’s death.”

Laura shook her head. “That would be the behavior of a blackguard. I cannot believe it of him.”

“Believe it,” Mari said sadly, “for I am sure it is true.” She sighed. “I am attracted to Major Falconer. I am even afraid that I might be falling in love with him because he seems strong and protective and honorable. So a part of me wants to believe that he is a good man and that I may trust him with the truth about myself and about Rashleigh’s death. But we both know that is madness for
of course
I cannot trust him. I am a runaway slave and, if I confess, I will hang.”

“He might not see it that way,” Laura said slowly. “You are not culpable, Mari—”

“Yes, I am in the eyes of the law,” Mari argued. “You know it is true, Laura! Besides, whatever I say will lead inevitably to the Glory Girls and I cannot expose you and Hester and Josie and Lenny to that danger. So—” she shrugged “—I cannot do it. I cannot take that risk. I cannot trust Major Falconer.”

Laura was silent for a long time. “I understand what you are saying,” she said slowly, “and I fear you are correct. You cannot confide in him.”

Mari shook her head. Some of the brightness seemed to have gone out of the day. She knew that Laura was right. She had come to the same decision herself. And yet the need to trust Nick Falconer made her ache. It was instinctive. It was also destructive and dangerous. So next time she met him she must push him back to arm’s length and resist both her attraction to him and the deeper, more insidious desire to tell him the truth.

“It is a pity that the Glories cannot ride out at present,” Laura said, turning the gig onto a narrow track that led alongside the river, “for I was at Starbotton just now and I see that Sampson is enclosing all the common pasture at Starbotton Raikes. John Teague tells me that Sampson has told all the villagers to find grazing elsewhere or he would take their livestock, too. He is an odious man.”