Wicked Nights With a Lover (15 page)

With a sniff, she swiped at the corner of her eye in what she hoped was an affecting manner. “He’s a brute.”

“Who?” he demanded. A militant gleam entered in his eyes.

“The man who brought me here,” she explained, guilt stinging her heart for talking about Ash in such a way. “Forgive me if I misled you, but I needed to escape that room before he returned. Will you help me?” She squeezed his hand.

He looked uncertain, glancing over his shoulder. “Fiona would have my hide if—”

“Please.” She clutched his hand in both of hers, gazing beseechingly upon him. “There must be some way you can help me.”

He looked at his hand clutched in hers. “I suppose they wouldn’t miss me for an hour. I can get you to an old hunting cottage south of town. My da sometimes lets it out, but it’s vacant right now.” He nodded as if the idea were growing on him. “I can settle you in there and then come back for you later … take you to the nearest rail station—”

“That sounds splendid,” she breathed, thinking she might truly have done it, truly escaped Ash and the temptation he represented. “Thank you.” Again, she glanced over her shoulder, almost certain to find his imposing figure looming there. It couldn’t be so simple. “We must leave now though. He will return any moment.”

A frown pulled at her lips. A sudden tightness filled her chest as she realized she would never see Ash once she was free of this place. Foolishly, she had let herself grow attached. Why else would she have almost convinced herself to marry him?

Roger seemed only a poor replacement now. How could she return to him and enjoy his kisses, his touch? She laced her fingers tightly together.

Robbie pulled her into another stall. She watched as he saddled a mount. Tightening the cinch, he tossed a smile over his shoulder. “We’ll be gone before he ever knows you’re missing.”

Securing her valise at the back, he assisted her onto the horse, then climbed up after her. With a click of his tongue, they plunged back into the cold. She spotted the cook at the kitchen’s back door, emptying a bucket of dirty water. As they burst through the yard, she looked up with a scowl.

Robbie ignored her, turning them hard into the wind. With a dig of his heels, the horse surged forth into the dusk in a bolt of speed. She grasped the horse’s mane to keep from falling as they dashed down the lane. Away from the inn. Away from her fate.

The lodge was a comfortable abode and could not have been too long neglected for all its lack of dusts and cobwebs. Either that or Robbie’s father took great pains to keep the residence in fine order. A fireplace gave heat to the house’s two rooms. She could have stood within the hearth, it was so vast. A comfort, given the fierce winter winds outside. Still, she hoped she would not be here for long.

Robbie started a fire for her. Dusting off his hands, he rose as it grew to a crackling nest of flames. “Be certain to tend it. Don’t want you to freeze tonight.” He approached her, chafing his hands. “Perhaps if I can get away you won’t have to spend the night alone.” Stopping before her, he laid a hand awkwardly on her shoulder and squeezed.

“Robbie,” she began, hoping to dissuade him from any notions of intimacy. “Please understand that nothing untoward may pass between us.”

A shutter fell over his eyes and he ducked his head, burying his hands in his pocket and looking every bit a callow youth. “Aye, I understand. You needed a pigeon—”

“Please, it’s not like that. You’ve been so kind to me, truly. I appreciate your willingness to help me from the goodness of your—”

“And I’ll likely get caught for it. Da will take his strap to me,” he grumbled.

She tried to speak again and offer some reassurance, but he waved her off. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said, his voice tight with resignation.

“Thank you, Robbie,” she called over the slam of the door. She moved to the window in order to watch him ride away. The snow was falling thickly now, coming down in a slanted veil. Horse and rider dove back into the white-dappled trees, vanishing from sight.

Outside, the whistling wind released a howl. Marguerite tried not to shiver at the prospect of spending the night alone in a strange cottage. She was quite accustomed to spending her nights alone in one room or another. How should this time matter?

Rubbing her arms, she moved to the fire and added several more logs for good measure. Standing, she eyed the bed. It looked comfortable with its thick, colorful afghan and several plump pillows.

Removing the extra quilt folded at the foot of the bed, she wrapped it around herself and sank down onto the plush armchair before the fire. Staring into the rising flames, she twisted around until she found a comfortable position, settling in to wait … and trying not to think about Ash and his reaction when he learned she had eluded him twice now.

He wouldn’t find her this time. It would be as though she had disappeared, not a trace of her life left. Nothing but the echo of her broken promise to marry him. Nothing of her left at all.

Nothing of her left at all.

She shivered and regretted that precise thought. That’s what this was all about after all. Making certain
she
remained, that
she
continued to exist. Even if it was to secure a passionless existence for herself.

With a grimace, she bent down and unlaced her boots, kicking her feet free to bring her knees to her chest. Wrapping the blanket around her, she hugged herself close and sank even deeper into the overstuffed chair, silently congratulating herself.

If she hadn’t acted when she had, she’d be married by now. Ash Courtland’s wife. A man cut from the same cloth as her father. Someone who grew up in the stews and earned a living exploiting the weaknesses of others. Even if Ash did bring her body to life with a single touch, a single dark-eyed look, she should feel nothing but triumph, relief …

And yet for some reason, she felt only a deep, numbing cold.

Chapter 14

M
Marguerite woke with a sense of bewilderment, chilled and huddled uncomfortably, a quilt clutched to her chin. Disoriented, she shook her head, blinking the sleep from her eyes. She moved carefully, testing her stiff and aching muscles, regretting falling asleep in a chair.

For a moment, glancing around, she wondered how her rooms at Mrs. Dobbs’s had changed so greatly. Then she remembered.

The howling wind outside brought it all back. With a moan, she dragged a hand over her face, wincing at the rawness of her chapped cheeks. Dropping her head back in the chair, she sighed heartily, her gaze settling on the window.

Dusk had come and gone. It must have stopped snowing. An inky black pressed on the panes of glass and made her feel adrift, as if she floated lost in a night sea. She glanced around the hunting lodge, staring at the walls with their strange, clawing shadows. The fire burned low, casting a dim red glow that seemed demonic. What had looked quaint before now struck her as ominous.

Squeezing the quilt even tighter about her, she rose to add more wood to the fire. That done, she poked it several times until sparks danced.

A horse’s whinny broke over the keening wind. She stilled, straining her ears for any other sound. The jingle of a harness soon followed. She set the poker back in place and turned, her heart light.

Robbie had managed to get away, after all. She didn’t care for the impropriety of it, she was simply glad he would save her from a night alone in this eerily still place that sent her imagination darkly awhirl.

She moved eagerly for the door, jerking to a stop as it burst open.

She cringed within the embrace of her quilt, a single hand lifting to her mouth—as though a scream might burst forth. Of course, it didn’t. Only a breathy croak escaped as she stared at the man looming in the threshold.

Ash stood there, more furious than she’d ever seen him. The small scar beneath his eye stood out starkly, a jagged white crescent on his swarthy skin.

“Surprised?” he growled, nostrils flaring. His dark gold hair gleamed wet with snow, tousled wildly about his head.

She edged back several steps, shaking her head, gaping like a fish.

Beneath her astonishment and fear, another emotion lurked, humming just beneath her skin at the sight of the man she never thought to see again.

Ash moved into the room like an invading storm. Behind him, Robbie hovered, his eyes bright and fearful.

“Robbie …” she began.

“He can’t help you.” Ash flicked the boy an angry glance. “Not if he knows what’s good for him.”

“Apologies,” Robbie called, shaking his head. “Cook saw me leave with you. I tried—”

“You may go now, boy.” Ash did not even look at him as he said this, instead fixing his frigid gaze on her.

Robbie hovered uncertainly, looking back and forth between Ash’s imposing figure and Marguerite.

She searched the boy’s gaze, desperate to reach him, evoke the sense of protection she had stirred in him earlier. This was her last chance. She knew it with a deep conviction as she gazed at the intractable set of Ash’s jaw. She would not escape again. He would not let it happen. Nor could she rouse the will to resist him yet again.

Ash continued, clearly sensing Robbie still behind him, “Or you can stay and I can knock your teeth in.” Robbie’s face blanched. “You’re in over your head. She’s safe with me, whether she realizes it or not. She’ll not come to harm.”

Harm?
Marguerite didn’t know whether to laugh or weep. She shook her head fiercely at Robbie, trying to convey that she was anything but safe in the company of Ash Courtland. Without knowing it, the man was the bringer of death.

Robbie gave a single nod. His gaze connected with hers again, regretful, apologetic, but nonetheless defeated. Without another word, he turned and disappeared, swallowed up by the dark night. Ash shut the door, facing her grimly.

She edged back another step, putting herself behind the oversized chair where she had stolen a nap. Cold acceptance slipped over her, firming her jaw. Marrying him might be inevitable, but not the rest. Not dying. She hadn’t given up on life simply because he’d won this night.

He advanced and stopped, the chair a much needed buffer between them. He began shedding his jacket, his vest, dropping them one by one into the chair.

Her pulse spiked with the fall of each discarded item. “What are you doing?”

“What I should have done last night.”

She moistened her lips, inclined not to ask for an explanation. Swallowing her fear, she braved the question anyway. “And what is that?”

Whipping his cravat free, his lip curled back from his teeth wickedly, revealing a flash of white. “You don’t know? Come, you’re a clever girl, even if you can’t seem to make up your mind about whether or not you wish to marry me.”

“It’s complicated,” she hedged.

“You continue to get the best of me,” he said as if she hadn’t spoken. “A matter most annoying … especially when you risk your neck in the process.”

“I was never in any danger,” she quickly denied.

“No?” He thumbed behind. “And what if that boy had gotten it into his head to collect a little recompense for assisting you?”

“Robbie wouldn’t—”

“You permitted him to take you to this isolated lodge where he could have committed all manner of depravity on your person.” His faced burned an angry red now, his dark eyes frightening. “Things you have no sense of, but I do. I’ve seen women after such miseries …” His gaze raked her. “You’re small, Marguerite. You would have had no hope of fighting him off.”

She squared her shoulders in an attempt to look taller. “I don’t see the point in discussing what
could
have happened when nothing untoward did.”

“I see the point in discussing why you continually expose yourself to danger.” Ash grabbed her wrist and hauled her around the chair, angled his face so close she could study the glinting black of his eyes, see that there was almost no difference between the dark of his pupils and irises. “Have you no thought to your person? No care for your life?”

His words hit her hard, struck deeply to a raw wound. “Yes,” she hissed, thrusting out her chin.

“I do! Which is why I seek to avoid marrying you.”

He pulled back, still keeping a hold on her wrist. “You think me a danger?”

“Marriage to you will most decidedly place me at peril.” She nodded fiercely. “Yes.” It was as much as she dared to explain.

His eyes glowed an impossible black. “I agreed to release you. I hold no knife to your throat.”

She laughed then, a wild, broken sound.

His dark gaze scoured her face. “Are you daft? Is that it? Wanting me one moment, running away the next—”

“I don’t
want
you!” A lie, of course. She ached with want for him. “I’m sure you possess many admirers in St. Giles … a score of them are doubtlessly in your employ. Do not count me among those females.”

Angry color burned beneath the swarthy skin of his cheeks. “You are deluding yourself, denying what’s between us—”

She shook her head, a single dark strand of hair catching in her mouth. “There is nothing,” she hissed, swiping the hair from her lips.

“Nothing?” He dropped his hand from her wrist with a snort. “We are quite past the name-in-only marriage I proposed at the start of this journey. Shall I prove you a liar yet again and give us both what we want?”

Panic quickened her breath. She stumbled away, maneuvering herself back around the chair, her fingers clutching tightly on its curved back, eyes widening as he pulled his shirt up over his head and let it puddle to the chair with the rest of his garments, leaving him standing before her bare-chested. Her mouth dried and watered invariably.

He glanced around the cozy lodge, nodding. “Such privacy you’ve obtained for us.” He motioned to a hamper by the door. “I’ve even brought us a repast.” She had not noticed he carried it into the lodge, too fixated was she on his person. “It will tide us over until we return to the village in the morning.”

“We’ll stay the night here?” she asked with incredulity. “Together?”
Alone.