CHAPTER SIX

Two days passed. Today was the day of her wedding. Velvet wondered what Avery had told the guests, how he had explained that his betrothed had not arrived, that there would be no marriage as had been planned.

She had failed to escape, failed to return in time to marry the duke. All morning, Velvet felt the weight of defeat like a millstone across her shoulders. She glanced toward the door, but it remained tightly closed. The highwayman lurked outside, careful to stay away from the house and out of the path of her fury. Only the stableboy had appeared, emptying chamber pots, delivering foodstuffs, but saying nothing, his manner making it clear his loyalty lay with the man named Jason.

The lad was upstairs working now, tidying her bedchamber and freshening her pitcher of water. She watched as he descended the stairs, his eyes carefully averted from where she sat reading.

She marked her place in the book with a finger and turned to look at the boy, whose eyes were carefully fixed on the floor in front of him.

“Your name is Bennie, isn’t it?” It was all she could think of to say. She wished she could think of a way to convince him to help her.

“Aye.”

“Are you a friend of Jason’s?”

His sandy-haired head snapped up. “Are ye speakin’ of ’is lordship?”

“Yes, I am.”

“’E pays me, that’s all. I’m to do as ’e says.” Bennie started uneasily toward the door.

“It’s very pretty out here in the forest … don’t you think?”

“It’s terrible cold in winter, but I s’ppose it’s nice enough.”

“I’ve forgotten the name of that little town along the road not far from here … what is it called…?”

He eyed her warily. “Don’t be tryin’ yer tricks. ’Is lordship warned me, said you was a wily one … that I was to pay you no ’eed.”

Velvet lifted her chin. “What else did he tell you? Did he tell you he kidnapped me? That I’m being held here against my will?”

The boy stepped toward the door, shaking his head, sandy hair falling over his eyes, hiding most of his thin, angular face. “Ain’t no business of mine why ’e brung ye ’ere. ’E ’asn’t ’urt ye none that I can see. You’re ’is woman. You should mind what ’is lordship says.”

“His woman! Is that what that lying cur told you?” But the boy merely started toward the door.

“I could pay you,” Velvet called after him. “If you would help me get away, I would give you twice the sum he is paying.”

The boy ignored her as if she hadn’t spoken, opened the door, went outside, and closed it firmly behind him.

So much for her efforts to sway him. She had guessed from the start Bennie’s loyalty could not be bought and in a way she liked him better for it.

Still, it didn’t help solve her dilemma. With a sigh of despair, she returned to the sofa, glancing at the clock above the mantel along the way. Two in the afternoon. By now she should have been married. Never mind that if she were, she would be frantic with worry over the wedding night she faced with Avery Sinclair.

Though his cool demeanor was unnerving, and none of his unappealing kisses had stirred her, she would have done her duty. It was simply part of the bargain, a price she would have willingly paid to save her family and the home she loved.

Perching restlessly on the sofa, Velvet picked up the leather-bound volume of Robinson Crusoe she had been trying to read, but the letters on the page seemed to blur. Anger and disappointment sat like a rock in her stomach. In a burst of temper, she slammed the book closed, tossed it aside, and watched it land with a thunk on the floor.

Curse him! If she didn’t marry the duke how on earth would she and her grandfather live?

They were nearly out of money. They were behind in the servants’ wages, and there wasn’t that much left in the house to sell, not and keep up the facade she would need to snare herself another rich husband.

She glanced out the window, saw the highwayman in the distance, exercising his tall black horse at the end of a lead rope. Why did he want to stop the wedding? What could her marriage to the duke possibly have to do with him?

But no answers came.

Frustrated, she flounced off the couch, stooped to pick up the heavy volume from where it had fallen, and noticed the flagstone beneath it appeared to have been knocked loose. Velvet looked closer. The stone had been purposely set in the floor that way; it had never been firmly mortared into place. She moved the book out of the way and began to dig out the stone, wondering if some sort of hidden cache might lay beneath it.

Grunting with the effort, she lifted the heavy rock free and spotted a small leather pouch that had been stashed in the dug-out impression. It jingled of coins when she hefted it, but it was the weapon lying in the hole beside it that snagged her attention.

Excitement trickled through her. With hands that were suddenly clumsy, she picked up the old blunderbuss, carefully lifting it out of its hiding place and unwrapping its protective cloth.

Her fingers smoothed over the worn, polished wood. “I wonder if you work?” The piece had been well-cared for, she saw, the barrel still blue, the brass fittings still pungent with the scent of oil. It was primed and ready to fire, she realized, studying the weapon more closely. Whoever put it there had meant to be prepared for any threat that might arise.

She hurried to the window, saw the outlaw begin to lead his horse back inside the barn. He could return to the house at any moment.

She lifted the weapon once more, assessing the weight of it in her hands. It appeared opportunity had arisen yet again—she couldn’t merely ignore it. Still, she could hardly shoot him. She smoothed the polished wooden handle. What to do…?

Velvet bit her lip as the door swung open and Jason walked in, carrying an armload of wood. There was no way to hide the gun, no way to postpone the action she must take—if she truly had the courage. Swallowing her uncertainty, she forced back the hammer, needing both hands to do it, raised the heavy blunderbuss, and aimed it at Jason’s broad chest.

“I-I don’t want to hurt you.”

He dropped the load of wood he was carrying, the logs rolling out in front of his long legs. “What the hell…?”

“All I want is to leave. ’Tis all I have ever wanted. But if you force me, I will use this. Step away from the door and let me pass.”

A muscle jumped in his cheek. “Put the gun down, Duchess, before someone gets hurt.” Hard sapphire eyes moved over her face. She found herself memorizing the exact shade of blue, stamping an impression of his features into her mind so that she would be able to remember.

“You are the one who will be hurt,” she said, thinking that in a very few moments, the man called Jason would be gone from her life for good. The feeling brought a tightness to her chest. “I repeat—step away from the door and let me pass.” Her heart thundered. The blunderbuss shook in her hands. She tightened her hold to steady it.

She wouldn’t pull the trigger, but he didn’t know that. She hoped she sounded convincing.

He moved a little closer. “I’m tired of your games, Duchess—put that cursed thing away.”

She gazed longingly at the door, which still stood open behind him. “I can’t do that.” She began to circle around him, making a path toward the opening. When she glanced at his face, she saw his jaw clamp with fury. A muscle twitched in his cheek, and a trickle of fear shimmered through her.

“Please … Jason … get out of my way.”

His big hands balled into fists. Blazing blue eyes snapped with a fire he made no effort to hide. “I’ve told you time and again that I will not harm you, that in a few more days I will release you. You refuse to listen. You have dragged me through the mud, hit me over the head, and nearly poisoned me. Now you threaten to shoot me. I’m warning you, Duchess, put that blasted gun down—this very minute—or you won’t like the price you will pay.”

She cocked a brow, intrigued in some perverse way by the challenge. “The price, my lord? You seem to have forgotten, I am the one holding the weapon.”

His mouth twisted up. “And I am the one who will haul you over my knee and thrash you within an inch of your life if you don’t do what I say.”

Her bravado wilted. Velvet chewed her lip. The look on his face was pure menace. If he caught her he would beat her. The breeze wafted in through the open door. She looked down at the deadly weapon. Would he actually risk his life to stop her?

“The gun, Duchess.”

She looked at the door with longing. It was simply just too tempting. Pointing the blunderbuss in his direction, she bolted past him toward the door. A harsh growl erupted and a hand snaked out of nowhere, knocking the barrel upward so quickly it discharged. Velvet screamed as wood and plaster rained down on their heads, as a muscled forearm wrapped around her waist and he dragged her roughly against him.

“I warned you,” he barked, hauling her toward a chair, sinking down on the edge and hauling her across his lap.

“Let me go!” But he paid no heed. His big hand went up and three hard smacks fell across her bottom, burning through the simple woolen skirt, each stinging smack carrying the full force of his temper. Then he gripped her shoulders and jerked her over on his lap to face him, breathing heavily as he met her furious glare.

Velvet opened her mouth to unleash the vile oath she was thinking, but his hard look stilled the words. Their eyes clashed, held, steely blue and furious golden brown. An angry pulse throbbed in a vein at the side of his neck. His chest moved in and out, expanding the sinews across it, reminding her how solid it had felt pressing into her that night on the floor.

Unconsciously her tongue slid out to moisten her lips and she heard the highwayman groan.

“God’s blood, woman.” He caught her chin between his fingers just before his mouth crushed down on hers.

Stunned disbelief. Outrage. Then awareness of his firm lips over hers, the hard-soft feel of them, the warmth, the fierce way they took possession. A soft gasp allowed his tongue inside and he claimed the right as if it belonged to him.

The room seemed to spin. Her stomach fell away as if she had stepped off a cliff. Jason’s hands sank into her hair and he dragged her toward him, dislodging the ribbon holding it in place, encouraging the heavy reddish mass to spill loose around her shoulders.

His mouth continued its plunder and a sweeping warmth slid through her. Her heart was hammering, pounding inside her chest. Beneath her thin blouse, her breasts began to swell, becoming sensitive and heavy.

Jason deepened the kiss, delving with his tongue and starting little fires that shimmered across her flesh, making her feel trembly and weak. Her hands lifted up to his shoulders, her fingers digging into the muscles there, clinging as if his solid strength were the only thing holding her up.

“Jason…” she whispered when his mouth left hers to move along her jaw, down her throat, and across her shoulders.

“God, Duchess…” Then he was kissing her again, the hand at her waist moving upward until he cupped a breast. She shifted toward him, breathless and moaning, and her nipple stiffened beneath his hand. An ache rose up. She pressed herself more fully into his palm, and a husky sound rose in his throat.

Velvet didn’t realize he had untied the drawstring at the front of her blouse, felt only the merest whisper of fabric as the blouse slid off her shoulder. Then the fires of Satan erupted in her stomach at the feel of his warm palm surrounding her naked breast. Good sweet God! She wasn’t prepared for this, felt helplessly out of her depths.

“Jason…” she whispered, beginning to squirm, fighting for the remnants of control that seemed to be sliding ever further from her grasp. Her body felt on fire. Her breasts throbbed, and liquid heat burned in the place between her legs.

He kissed her deeply, ravishing her lips, then lowered his head and took her nipple into his mouth. Heat scorched through her. His tongue gently laved the sensitive end, a tiny sob escaped, and she arched upward, reason receding beneath a tide of pleasure like nothing she could have imagined. She knew she should stop him yet she could not summon the strength. Her hand shifted over the muscles across his back and they tightened at her touch. She dragged her fingers through his silky dark hair, dislodging the thin black ribbon that held it back, freeing the wavy strands to shadow his powerful neck.

She was trembling all over, her head thrown back, her hair a wild dark cloud, tendrils of it spiraling around his wrist. She could feel his hardened arousal beneath her as he held her in his lap, yet even the threat implied by his turgid flesh could not penetrate the haze of fierce sensations.

Only God, it seemed, could do that, and she silently begged for His intervention. It came in the guise of Bennie Taylor—or at least that was whom she imagined had set to pounding on the door.

“What the devil…?” It took a moment for Jason to rouse himself, to end his drugging kisses and tear his mouth from her heated flesh. When at last he did, a draft of cold air rushed over the place he had abandoned and with it an icy jolt of reality, ending her passion-numbed state.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered, her eyes going wide with the horror of what they had done.

“God’s blood,” Jason swore, pulling her blouse into place with a shaky hand, his eyes dark blue and stormy, looking nearly as chagrined as she.

“It’s all right, Duchess,” he said softly at the stricken look on her face. “I won’t let him in.” He began adjusting his clothes, the thick bulge in his tight-fitting buckskin breeches a blatant reminder of what had nearly occurred.

Velvet turned away, her face flaming, her insides churning with embarrassment, and the warm, tingling sensations that had led her down the fiery path of temptation.

She said nothing to the highwayman as he walked to the door and dragged it open. Nothing as he started speaking to Bennie, who stood a few feet away. When the boy pointed toward the barn, Velvet saw a lean gray horse tied to the fence and a tall man lurking in the shadows. He took a step out of sight before she glimpsed more than a portion of his face.

“I’ll be right back,” Jason told her. With a last sweeping glance, he stepped through the door and closed it behind him, leaving her in dishevel, her thoughts in turmoil, her body still embarrassingly warm.

*   *   *

Walking into the stables, Jason spotted Lucien Montaine waiting in the coolness of the shadows. Willing his pulse to slow, he shoved his hair back out of his face, wishing he had thought to bring the ribbon that held it in place. Wishing he didn’t look like a man who had just been interrupted in the act of tumbling a maid. Cursing himself for doing just that, hating himself for the way he had behaved.

“And here I was … worried about you rusticating out here … afraid you might be getting bored.” The heavy sarcasm in Lucien’s voice wasn’t lost on Jason.

He simply shook his head. In the scheme of things, the marquess of Litchfield missed little. Obviously, he knew exactly what had been going on inside the cottage.

“Boredom is the least of my problems.” Jason raked a hand through his wavy dark hair. “Thank God you arrived when you did. I don’t even know how it happened. One minute we were fighting, the next thing I knew I was kissing her. God, she has the softest, sweetest mouth I’ve ever tasted.” He shook his head again, still not quite able to believe it. “At any rate, the fault is entirely mine, not the lady’s. I never meant for anything like that to occur. I give you my word, Lucien, it will not happen again.”

“I presume that means I arrived before you went so far as to deflower our pretty little innocent.”

Jason closed his eyes, wishing he could blot out the memory of his hands on her beautiful breasts. “The girl is still a maid.” But she wouldn’t have been, if Lucien had not come when he did.

“Then it’s good you’ve only a single day more in confinement with her. I trust you’ll be able to control your baser instincts that much longer.”

Jason sighed. “I can’t believe I behaved as I did. I knew I had changed since I left England. I didn’t know quite how much.”

A bold black brow arched up. “Surely you were not in the act of taking the girl by force.”

Jason’s eyes went wide. “Forgodsakes, no. Even I wouldn’t stoop that low.”

Lucien’s mouth curved faintly and he clapped him on the back. “Then relax, my friend. The lady is a comely little baggage, a temptation for any man. Do not castigate yourself for simply being human.”

Jason smiled at that. “Her virtue will be safe, as I have said. Still, I’m glad this business is almost done.”

“Which is what I have come to tell you. Avery has received the missive which alerts him to the final hours before foreclosure. By tomorrow at midnight, Carlyle Hall and its surrounding fourteen thousand acres will once more belong to you.”

Jason nodded with satisfaction. “What of the wedding? What have you heard?”

Lucien chuckled softly. “I daresay, it was priceless. When I arrived at Carlyle Hall early this morning, Avery was spreading on the sentiment so thickly it would have covered the red heels on his shoes. He was grief-stricken to discover his betrothed had fallen into the hands of highwaymen on her way to the wedding. He was sparing no expense to find her, but the marriage would have to be postponed.”

Jason frowned. “He still plans to marry her?”

Lucien assessed him for several long moments, then shrugged a pair of shoulders nearly as wide as Jason’s own. “If she will still have him. Then again, perhaps she will discover the truth of his circumstance. I doubt the Haver-sham heiress will be much interested in allying herself with a poverty-stricken duke.”

Jason’s shoulders relaxed as the notion sank in. He hadn’t realized how tense he had grown at the idea of Velvet marrying his brother. “Then I shall see her safely returned to Carlyle Hall day after the morrow. No need for her grandfather to worry any longer than necessary.”

Lucien nodded. “If there is a problem, I’ll send word, but I don’t expect any. As soon as the girl is home, you can join me at my estate. From there we’ll continue our efforts to clear your name.”

Jason extended a hand and the marquess shook it. “Thank you, Lucien. I’ll never forget what you’ve done.”

“We’ve only just started, my friend.” He inclined his head toward the cottage. “In the meantime, I don’t envy you the next two days.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “You have no idea.”

Lucien just laughed. Careful to keep his back turned toward the windows, he swung up on his horse. “Take care of yourself. I’ll see you soon.”

Jason watched him ride away, then sucked in a long slow breath and started back to the lodge. He expected the girl to be locked away in her room, wreathed in remorse and embarrassment, blaming him—however rightly—for the things that had occurred.

Instead she sat quietly on the sofa, her eyes fixed on the pages of her book. He eased the door closed behind him and crossed the room to the place in front of her, but she didn’t glance up from her reading.

“I know you are angry.”

The girl said nothing.

“I’m not saying you don’t have every right to be upset. I want you to know I never meant for any of that to happen. I never meant to touch you. I apologize, Lady Velvet. And I give you my word that it will not happen again.”

She lowered the book and he noticed the flush that pinkened her cheeks. “I did not think to hear an apology. Coming from a highwayman, it is quite unexpected.” She moistened her bottom lip. For the first time he realized how hard she was working to remain in control. “Your speech was very gallant, my lord, but in truth, the fault was also mine. I behaved very badly.” She shook her head, swirling the burnished dark hair that still floated cloudlike around her shoulders.

“I don’t understand it,” she said. “It was as if I were not myself. Perhaps the confinement, or…” Her cheeks went even pinker. There was another slight shake of her head. “I hope you do not believe that it is the norm for me to act in such a fashion. I assure you, my lord, it is not.”

He almost smiled. “I may be jaded, my lady. I may not always hold women in the highest regard, but I realize an innocent when I see one. I should not have taken advantage.”

She glanced away from him, staring off toward the window, still not meeting his eyes. “That man who came … The hour of the wedding is past. Did the ransom arrive?”

“No ransom note was sent. It wasn’t the reason you were taken.”

“Then the time has come for me to go home.”

He nodded. “Day after the morrow I will see you safely returned to Carlyle Hall. I believe your grandfather is still in residence. I’m sure he’ll be eager to see you.”

“Day after the morrow?”

“You have my word.”

She looked at him then, assessing him closely, not quite certain whether or not to believe him. “But I have seen your face. Are you not concerned that I will tell them who you are?”

He did smile then. “Who am I, my lady?”

“Why you are … you are…” She tossed back her fiery dark hair and he tried not to remember the silk of it wrapped around his hand. “You are a tall, brawny, blue-eyed highwayman. Your point is well-taken, sir.”

“Velvet?”

Her head came up at the intimate address. “Yes?”

“There is something you should know about your future husband.”

She eyed him warily. “And what might that be, my lord?”

“The duke is very nearly impoverished. Even Carlyle Hall does not belong to him.”

“What!” She jumped to her feet, the book tumbling out of her lap. “But that is absurd.”

“I’m sorry. You may have your solicitors verify what I’m saying, but you will discover that it is the truth.”

“I don’t believe you. That is not possible. The duke is a very wealthy man.”

“There was a time he was. I’m afraid that time is past. The man is marrying you for your money. He needed it to prop up his flagging business interests. Over the years he’s invested poorly. One failed scheme after another. He put a small fortune into a method for turning saltwater into fresh. Obviously it did not work. He invested heavily in a company which claimed it could extract silver from lead. Another time he tried to change quicksilver into a usable malleable metal. He has traded in human hair, imported jackasses from Spain, and backed an inventor who claimed to have constructed a wheel of perpetual motion.”

Her face slowly turned ashen. “Dear sweet Lord.”

“None of these endeavors produced the least return. In business, the man is an utter failure. If you marry him, you will be risking your fortune in the hands of a man who most likely will see it destroyed.”

She sank back down on the sofa, her face even paler than before. “Why are you telling me this now? If you wished to end the betrothal, why did you not say so before?”

“I never said I wished to end your betrothal. Suffice it to say, I could not take the risk of your money falling into his hands … at least not until after the morrow.”

Her hands began to tremble. She clenched them in her lap. “You’re telling the truth, aren’t you?”

“Aye, Duchess, I am.”

Velvet fell back against the sofa. She started to shake her head and a small bubble of laughter escaped. “I cannot believe it.” Thinking of Avery, thinking of the marriage she had thought would have saved her, her mirth grew and grew, filling her head, ringing clear into the rafters. “This is rich! Truly rich!”

The highwayman was frowning, watching her laughter erupt into tears, watching her scrub them away with a fist. All the while the laughter continued, a harsh sort of pain-filled bark that held a tinge of irony only she could hear.

The duke was marrying her for her money! She laughed harder, doubled over, slapped her thighs, and burst out again.

She was laughing so hard she could no longer see for the tears flooding her eyes.

“Stop it,” Jason said softly, but she only laughed harder. “Stop it, I said!” He jerked her upright, off the sofa, and the movement startled her to silence. It halted the laughter but not the tears, which continued to trickle down her cheeks.

“Ah, Duchess…” Jason pulled her into his arms and held her protectively against his chest. “He didn’t deserve you.”

She cried harder then, sliding her arms around his neck, clinging to him and letting his warm strength flow into her.

“It’s all right,” he said. “You’ll find someone else to marry, and he’ll be a far better man than Avery Sinclair.”

Velvet listened to his words, but it was the gentle tone of his voice that seeped through her despair. He felt so warm, so solid. His big hands were so impossibly gentle. The tears began to fade and the tightness in her throat began to ease. Slowly, awareness returned and she noticed the hard arms surrounding her, the steady heartbeat beneath her hand. With a last tremulous glance into his face, she eased herself away.

“I-I’m sorry, my lord.” She sniffed, bringing the last of her tears under control. “’Twasn’t merely the duke and my failed marriage plans. ’Twas a bit of everything, I suppose.”

He wiped the dampness from her cheeks with the pad of his thumb. “It’s all right. You’ll be home soon and able to put all this behind you.”

Velvet nodded, but her chest ached with the knowledge of all she had lost, and the smile she gave him felt pasted on her face.

Everything wouldn’t be all right. Unless she found another man to marry—one with money enough to clear the Haversham debts—it would never be all right again.

Velvet fought not to cry fresh tears but it wasn’t easy. She wished more than ever that she could go home.