Flame of Fury Page 6

  "If you really were hit with a rock, it obviously affected your balance," Rianne told him, feeling slightly more secure. "No one would ever believe a story like that, even if you happened to have proof. All you're doing is wasting my -"

  "Ah, but I do have proof," he said, his gray eyes beginning to fill with that unexplained amusement. "When you fell this afternoon your cap became disarranged, and some of that hair came free. I saw it, and I'm sure the coach driver saw the same. Are you going to try to claim there are others in this area with exactly the same shade as yours? You may try claiming it, but it's not likely to do you much good."

  "And what good do you expect it to do you?" she snapped, beginning to feel cornered. "Assuming anyone would believe you in the first place, I would then be taken out and hanged. If it's occurred to you that I'd prefer being hanged to being married to someone like you, you're absolutely right. I would."

  "But would you prefer being hanged with company?" he asked, that light-gray gaze burning into her. "Once they had you they would not just toss you into a cell and call the hangman. They would ask you first about your two accomplices, in a way guaranteed to encourage answers. You would tell them, and then they would have all three of you to show off to the howling victims of your attentions. With the sort of people you've robbed, they can't afford to do anything else."

  Rianne felt the blood drain out of her face, and for the first time in her life she thought she might faint. He meant they would torture her to find out about Angus and Cam, and she was very much afraid she would tell them. Her brothers would die right beside her, and she would have to face eternity knowing their death was her fault.

  "Steady," the big brute said, and suddenly she realized he'd closed the distance between them without her knowing it. His arms were around her and holding her up, keeping her close to him despite the way she'd begun trembling. She immediately jerked away and tried to stand alone, but those impossible arms pulled her to him again.

  "I know what you're picturing, but it doesn't have to happen that way," he told her, for some ridiculous reason sounding faintly upset, as though her shock and horror were unexpected. "I'm not likely to want to see my wife hanged or tortured, so you'd have nothing to worry about. Do you hear me? Do you understand what I'm saying?"

  "I understand," she whispered as she stopped the useless struggling she'd been doing, staring at his ruffled shirtfront. "Spilling my blood alone on a private altar of sacrifice will be enough to appease the gentleman inside you. And how insensitive of me not to have realized that you've seen in me your one true love, and you can't possibly rest until you've made me yours. What choice have I but to accede to your impassioned pleas?"

  "I wasn't the one who put you into this position," he immediately protested, still sounding bothered as he set one big hand under her chin to make her look up at him. "Taking to the highways was presumably your own idea - unless someone did force you to it?"

  The way he looked down at her was almost a hopeful plea, but that didn't mean she had to respond. Why she'd done as she had was her business, and nothing that he needed to know.

  "For a woman, you have too much pride," he said after a moment, an odd expression in his eyes. "You'd rather take the blame for anything you were accused of, sooner than justify what you'd done - even if you were forced. Don't you know you're not big enough to keep yourself from being forced into things?"

  She had no idea what he was talking about until he lowered his lips to hers. Still he held her to him with the strength of the brute that he was, but the touch of his kiss was as soft as silk on her trembling lips. It felt as she'd always imagined the kiss of a hero from her books would feel, full of desire and passion, but gentle despite that. Her heartbeat quickened as she felt an intense need to join in the kiss, but then memory brought her abruptly back to harsh reality. This man was a cad rather than a hero, and she'd be a fool to believe anything else. He let the kiss continue for another moment, then raised his head again to look down at her.

  "You're not responding in any way at all, not even with hysterics," he said, and idiotically enough he sounded disappointed. "Hasn't any man kissed you before? I can't believe they haven't."

  "I have no interest at all in what you believe," she said, totally taken over by a leaden numbness. Unless she escaped he would force her to marry him, and then she would be his to do with as he pleased. And her chance at happiness would be gone forever, a worse fate than anything he could think of to inflict.

  "You're just tired and upset," he said, and then, unbelievably, he was letting her go. "Get to bed and have a good night's sleep, and we'll continue this conversation tomorrow."

  He looked down at her as though he wanted to add something, then he apparently changed his mind, for he simply turned and left. He used the balcony door just as he had to enter, and after a few moments when Rianne followed, she found he'd tied the doors closed from the outside. Through the glass, the lamplight showed that the rope was knotted tight. Even if she broke a pane to reach it, untying it would be just about impossible.

  "Check and mate," she whispered, idly wondering if the man played chess. The phrase was so unbelievably appropriate…

  Rianne felt dead inside as she went over to a lounge and sat, her head whirling with a sense of unreality. None of this could possibly be happening, she must be in the midst of a dream. Yes, that was it, she was dreaming, but it wasn't anything like the dreams she usually had. Yet that brute hadn't even tried to violate her - his kiss had left her shaken - it must have been a dream!

  A whispering voice inside her refused to let her believe this comforting lie. Of course he didn't try to violate you now. Why would he bother, when tomorrow it will be the duty you owe him?

  "I'll die first," she whispered back, feeling the resolve strengthen even in the presence of the numbness. She remembered the feeling when she first saw him, that somehow he was different from all the other men she'd known, and couldn't understand how it was possible to be that wrong. Why did she have those feelings, when he was just another brute?

  Nothing in the way of an answer came, not even when she slowly lay back to stare at the ceiling. Angus and Cam would have helped her escape, but it would all be over by the time they found out. She would have to be strong and remember she was doing it for them, but giving up the dream hurt so badly. It hurt, it hurt…

  Bryan stood in the shadows of the balcony until the girl discovered for herself that she couldn't get out, and then he used the trellis to climb back down to the darkness-covered ground. If he'd had someone there to bet with, he would have bet on her trying the balcony doors, even in the face of the possibility that he might still be there. His first look at those clothes she wore had banished all doubt: she was definitely the "skinny boy" from that afternoon.

  "More nerve and guts than any man in her house," he murmured with a grin, then felt the amusement die. He remembered the way she'd gone pale at the thought of being tortured, the shock hitting her so hard she'd nearly passed out. What he'd told her was nonsense, of course, even if she so obviously didn't know it. No woman with her looks, wealth, and social position would ever have to worry about being locked up, let alone being put to the question. Her stepfather would be forced to make restitution while the scandal was hushed up, and that would be the end of it.

  Bryan had sweated over the point he'd thought she would believe, that he would use his own people to find her accomplices no matter who or where they were. It had been clear from the first that she cared about those two, and so he'd decided to use them against her. He'd been waiting for her to laugh at the idea of personal danger, but had been shocked himself at the intensity of her reaction to the idea that her friends would hang with her.

  He'd hit her really hard with his threat, and the life had gone out of her beautiful eyes. He hadn't wanted to see that happen, hadn't really expected it. If she'd screamed and cried and thrown a tantrum it would have meant nothing, but to see her just standing there, trying not to show how devas
tated she was - If he'd had any choice at all he would have told her to forget about his threat…

  "But I have no choice," he growled low, all sense of pleasure gone. "I need her to be my wife, so she will be. If I leave her as I found her, Harding will believe he can sell her inheritance to someone else and will refuse to answer my questions. He can't be left with any way out but the one I provide, otherwise I'll be wasting my time. No, I can't turn my back on her…"

  He ran his hand through his hair as he sighed, forced to admit there was another reason. The girl had shown how little she thought of him, and that bothered him even more now than it had earlier. He'd pictured himself being firm and distant with Harding's spoiled little stepdaughter, shrugging at her hysterics and then simply going on with his plans. But Harding's stepdaughter wasn't at all what he'd pictured, and keeping his distance wasn't going to be easy. There was so much more to her than just beauty… He hadn't intended to kiss her, but something had come over him … something that felt almost like an echo of a kindred spirit…

  And now, like it or not, his plans had become more complicated. He couldn't change his mind and call the wedding off, but he also couldn't just dismiss the girl's feelings. And he couldn't tell her how brief their marriage would be. If she decided not to cooperate, his hold on her would be canceled out by her knowledge of his plans. A word from her to Harding would end everything, and after all his planning he wasn't about to let that happen.

  Thoroughly dissatisfied, Bryan went back into the house. Maybe tomorrow, his wedding day, things would go better…

  Chapter Four

  Rianne awoke with a start when she heard someone at the door to her sitting room, and didn't need any time at all to remember what had happened the night before. It was all perfectly clear in her mind, but now without the numbness. She hadn't expected to fall asleep on the lounge, but she had slept deeply if not comfortably and was now ready to fight. What good it would do - if any at all - she had no idea, but she still intended to fight.

  She got to her feet to stretch the ache out of her body from having slept all cramped up, and watched as the door to her sitting room finally opened. If it had been her maid alone she would have walked right past the girl and out, trusting to luck and boldness to get her into the woods and out of sight before anyone caught up. But in addition to two housemaids there was a large new footman she didn't know, who stood himself in the sitting room beside her bedchamber door. And sailing in in front of the maids was a woman who advanced with a sweet, understanding smile that was so very familiar.

  "Rianne, child, what a glorious day this is!" Lady Margaret Welford sang, waving one hand as the other held her full, fashionable skirts. Lady Margaret was about the age Rianne's mother would have been had she lived, and never had a harsh word to say about anyone. She was kind and charitable, open and compassionate, and visited often after Rianne's father was killed. When Rianne's mother died as well, Lady Margaret turned her attention to Rianne, sweetly determined to make her good friend's daughter a proper, well-fulfilled woman.

  "Why do you think this day is so glorious?" Rianne asked as she eyed the footman just outside the door. If only she had her sword … or even a rock…

  "What a silly question," Lady Margaret laughed in answer. "A woman's wedding day is always glorious, and that's what you'll soon be. A woman."

  Lady Margaret gave her that special "secrets" took she was so good at sending, letting Rianne know that soon the mysteries of the universe would be open to her. It was supposed to be a Woman's Thing, delicious secrets kept strictly from men, and it was all Rianne could do not to laugh. Angus and Cam knew a lot more about those "secrets" than Lady Margaret ever would, and what they knew they'd shared with their sister.

  "And now we must get you out of those dreadful clothes and into a bath," the older woman went on, her brows high as she studied Rianne. "And as soon as you're out of them, we'll throw them away. A lady is known by what she wears, dear child, a truism you must make more of an effort to remember."

  "I have a new truism for you, Lady Margaret," Rianne retorted as she folded her arms, stung by the slighting reference to her very special outfit. "A lady shows her opinion of the world by what she wears. They may be able to force me into this marriage, but not into any other clothes. They'll take me as I am, or they don't have to take me at all."

  "Dear child, you mustn't feel as though you've been betrayed," Lady Margaret said with a compassionate sigh, coming closer to put a hand on Rianne's folded arms. "It was your stepfather's duty to find an acceptable match for you, and now it's your duty to obey his wishes. Shedding an ocean of tears won't change things, dear, so why be difficult? Be happy on your wedding day, even if the happiness is only for yourself."

  "I'd rather be difficult," Rianne stated flatly, looking down at the smaller woman's sincerity. Robert Harding had undoubtedly sent Lady Margaret to her, counting on the woman to talk Rianne into proper behavior. Well, if Machlin's threat meant she wasn't going to be able to refuse the vows, she would show her pleasure with this situation in other ways.

  "Oh, you'll change your mind after a good breakfast and a nice bath," Lady Margaret said heartily after clearing her throat. "And wait until you see the gown dear Robert had made for you. One look will tell you how lovely you'll be in it, and then we'll try it on you. I supervised the sewing of it quite carefully, so you needn't be afraid that only a man was involved."

  She gave Rianne a beautiful smile and turned away to watch the maids setting out breakfast dishes on the table, having no idea what she'd just let slip. So Lady Margaret had supervised the sewing of the wedding gown, had she? That meant she'd known about Robert Harding's plans for weeks, but hadn't considered it necessary to mention them to Rianne. She was on "dear Robert's" side, which finally set her in proper perspective for Rianne.

  "All right, dear, you can come to breakfast now," Lady Margaret announced as she turned from the table with a smile. "And I'll join you for a cup of tea."

  "If you want a cup of tea, then help yourself," Rianne said with a small shrug. "As far as I'm concerned, I'm not hungry."

  Which wasn't anything like a lie, Rianne thought as she turned away to sit in a chair. Normally her appetite was excellent, but right then there was nothing left of the normal - or an appetite. If she could only be sure that she wouldn't speak under torture, but that one time so many years earlier… She'd only been a child then and had simply watched, but it had been the most horrible thing she'd ever seen. Rianne held to the chair arms with a death grip to keep from trembling at the memory, to force the picture back to the past and into the place it was usually buried.

  "Well, then, you'll have your bath first," Lady Margaret decided to decide, just short of bustling. "A nice warm soak and a brisk scrub, and then you'll have a small bite or two. If the food has gotten too cold, we'll send for another tray. Girls, go down to the kitchen for your mistress's bath water, and - "

  "No," Rianne interrupted, beginning to be really annoyed. "No bath, no food, no fussing, and no gown. Just leave me alone until the time of the execution."

  The housemaids had never been on the receiving end of Rianne's temper, but they knew enough to recognize and respect it. They curtsied at the order and made a hasty retreat, and Lady Margaret looked after them in mortification.

  "Oh, Rianne, now see what you've done," she wailed, wringing her hands. "You've chased them off, and now who will I have to help me? I'm going after them to bring them back, and you must promise not to frighten them again."

  She stood there waiting for Rianne to promise, but all she got was absolute silence. Was the woman too stupid to understand that Rianne meant what she said, or was she just too used to the sort of girl who cried and carried on, then did exactly as she was told? Rianne suspected it was the latter, and the thought increased her anger almost to the point of fury. If you were challenged by an enemy to a meeting of swords, you were to expect no quarter and therefore give none. That was the way Rianne intended handling t
his little affair of honor, and all the wheedling in the universe would not change her mind.

  But Lady Margaret was obviously too used to the other kind of girl. She sat not far from Rianne and began giving all sorts of motherly, friendly advice, blissfully unaware of how dangerously thin her victim's patience was growing. Lady Margaret was the sort of person who knew what was right, and was therefore determined to see others do it. It was beyond her to understand that right for one person did not mean right for everyone, and Rianne didn't waste any breath trying to explain. The worst things in the world often came from others' good intentions, and you had to be very strong or you found yourself giving into well-meant, disastrous kindness.

  Happily, Rianne had that sort of strength. She took her attention away from Lady Margaret to keep from insulting the woman, and spent some time thinking dark thoughts about the man who had visited her bedroom the night before. For someone who had been so concerned earlier about "likely lads," he had really enjoyed himself threatening her. He had taken off his coat and vest to climb up her balcony, and somehow, clad only in the lace-trimmed shirt, he had appeared even bigger and more threatening than he had on the road, wielding his sword with such expertise. And his kiss…

  Rianne stirred in her chair at the memory, wondering why he had stopped with just a kiss. It was true that he would have her all to himself after the ceremony, but from the stories Cam had told her, that didn't always hold a man back. He hadn't liked the way she'd refused to respond to his kiss, and then he'd let her go entirely. It was almost as though -

  Almost as though he really didn't want her at all. Wasn't there that one tragedy she'd read, where the young girl was married off to a man who was in love with another woman? He married the girl because he needed her dowry to keep his ancestral home from being lost, but he was never able to bring himself to consummate the marriage. Whenever possible he left his untouched bride alone and hurried to the arms of his real love, and one day he came home to find that the girl had wasted away and died. She'd known where he was and what he was doing, but had never said a word, preferring death to intruding where she could never possibly belong.