CHAPTER SEVEN

The last two days passed quietly. Jason thought perhaps he had made a mistake in not telling Velvet the truth about Avery at the start. Of course in the beginning she wouldn’t have believed him. She probably would have thought him demented and tried even harder to escape.

At any rate, she knew the truth now—at least part of it—seemed to believe him, and had accepted his promise that he would take her to Carlyle Hall. She gave him her word as well, said she would remain at the lodge at least until the day they were scheduled to leave.

With their fragile truce in place, he gave her more freedom, let her go out to enjoy the crisp March sunshine. She seemed happier out of doors, wandering beside the tumbling brook next to the lodge, listening to the chirp of an early returning blackbird, or watching a doe in the meadow.

She behaved differently now, resigned to making the best of the few days she had left, determined, it seemed, to enjoy her brief interlude in the country before returning to the structured life she faced back home.

Even Bennie had let down his guard and accepted her overtures of friendship. In the last two days, the pair had formed a tentative bond, the two of them laughing together, Velvet telling him stories, even helping the boy with his morning chores.

Jason relaxed a little himself, letting his guard lapse a bit more, perhaps, than he should have. Once as he had finished chopping wood, he glanced at the sun hanging low on the horizon and realized that Velvet had been gone from his sight for more than an hour. Clamping his jaw, he set off in search of her, worried that she might have run away after all, his mind sifting through possibilities of which route she might have taken.

He found her in the stable and breathed a sigh of relief.

“So there you are.” Approaching the stall where he spotted the top of her glossy dark head, he rested a foot on a rung of the fence and leaned his elbows on the top rail to look down at her. “I thought mayhap you had decided to leave after all.”

She sat cross-legged in a nest of fresh straw, a hint of silk stocking exposed where her skirt was ruched up, three tiny black and white puppies snuggled contentedly in her lap.

Velvet looked up at him, unruffled by the slight edge to his voice. “I accepted your word that you would see me home on the morrow. I gave you mine in return. I do not mean to break it.”

Somehow he knew that she would not. He smiled, relaxing even more, enjoying the way she looked sitting there with the puppies. “I see you have made some new friends.”

Her soft mouth curved prettily. “Are they not beautiful? This one is called Marty and this is Nigel. Bennie named them. He left this one’s naming to me.”

“And?” he asked, quirking a brow.

“I decided to call him Winky, since he is the smallest of the litter.” She pressed her nose into the ruff of soft black fur around the animal’s neck. “I should love to have a puppy. I had a lovely little blond spaniel once, but she died some years ago. Her name was Sammy—short for Samantha.” Her smile slid away. “Even after all these years, I still miss her.”

Jason said nothing. She looked so damned fetching sitting there in the straw he found it hard to concentrate. He watched the care with which she held the puppies. There was a dog he had loved as a boy. His father had given him the pup as a gift on his twelfth birthday, a hunting dog, a magnificent setter with sorrowful eyes and silky red hair. They had done everything together.

He hadn’t thought of Rusty in years. Not since he’d been hauled in chains aboard the battered old brig that had carried him away from his homeland.

“Do you like dogs, my lord?” Her voice brought him back to the present, its clear, sweet ring carrying a note of warmth.

“Yes,” he said, his voice a little gruff.

She set two of the puppies gently in the straw and rose to her feet, cradling the third pup carefully against her as she walked toward him. “Would you like to hold Winky?”

He started to say no but instead found himself reaching for the puppy, a mixed breed of unknown origins who looked suspiciously like the dog who occasionally followed at Bennie’s heels when he worked around the lodge. The pup was still tiny, small enough to fit in one of Jason’s big hands. It felt soft and warm and smelled of fresh milk and puppy, a smell like nothing else.

He found himself smiling again. “Mayhap you could take him with you. I imagine Bennie would be glad to find the little mongrel a home.”

She sadly shook her head. “I don’t think I should. I must settle this business with the duke and there is my grandfather to consider. He has become … forgetful. Caring for him takes a great deal of time. Even on his good days, I worry about him. He hates what is happening to him. I wish I could help, but there is nothing I can do.”

Jason stroked the pup, whose long-lashed eyes had drifted closed, the small body limp and relaxed under his gentle attentions. “What of your mother and father?” he asked.

“Mother died when I was nine. Father passed on three years ago this autumn.” A bitterness crept into her tone. “He wasn’t a very good father. He was rarely around, but I loved him. In his own way I suppose he loved me.”

The puppy whimpered in its sleep, and Jason soothed it with a soft stroke over its fur. “My father was the most incredible man I’ve ever known. He was wise and strong, honest and forthright. He was demanding, but he was also giving. I always knew he loved me. He was the best father a man could have.”

The memory was so painful his voice came out rough. When he glanced down at Velvet she was staring at him with a look of compassion. He handed her back the puppy, uncomfortable with what he had revealed. “The hour grows late and it begins to grow cold. We’ll be leaving early on the morrow. It is time we went back in.”

Velvet watched him as if she tried to read the thoughts he had once more locked away. He’d said more than he had intended already. He didn’t like to speak of the past. It was no one’s business but his own and it was simply too painful.

“I’ll only be a moment,” she said. Kneeling down, she carefully replaced the puppy along with its brothers in the warm circle of straw. As she left the stall, the stray that was the pups’ mother trotted in.

Velvet seemed to approve, smiling though she made no comment. Running to catch up, she hurried her footsteps to match his longer strides. He slowed a little and together they headed back toward the lodge. The breeze had come up, stirring the leaves and ruffling the branches of the elm outside the door, but the sun remained warm. Late-afternoon rays cast a reddish glow to Velvet’s auburn hair and made her brown eyes look golden. They tilted up at the corners, he noticed, or at least they did when she smiled.

He thought of her sitting in the stable, laughing as she cuddled the puppies, her soft peach lips smiling with pleasure as she held one out for him to hold. It took all his force of will not to stop on the doorstep, turn her into his arms, and crush that soft mouth under his. The image sent a surge of heat racing through him, made his blood grow thicker, begin to pool in his groin.

He grew hard inside his breeches and an ache throbbed there. Clamping his jaw, he strode into the lodge, leaving Velvet to wonder at his abrupt change of mood—and the foul disposition that stayed with him for the balance of the evening.

*   *   *

Tomorrow she would go home. Or at least be returned to Carlyle Hall. Velvet believed that Jason had told her the truth, that he would see her safely returned as he had promised. She pondered the time she had spent with him this afternoon, and the bit of himself he had unexpectedly revealed. Beneath the hard exterior, there was a gentleness in Jason that appeared at the oddest times, moments like those when he had held the puppy, the love reflected in his eyes when he had spoken of his father.

He had withdrawn from her after that, barking orders all through supper, grumbling and finally stomping out of the house. By the time he had returned, she had already retired upstairs. Perhaps that was what he had wanted.

From the silence that had finally settled belowstairs, she guessed that he was now sleeping. She undressed and pulled on the soft cotton night rail he had provided, no longer worried about his unexpected appearance in her room. Jason was a man of his word. Since their heated encounter and his unexpected apology, he had played the part of gentleman. He would not touch her again, she knew. He would not break his word.

Velvet climbed up in bed and leaned over to blow out the candle, but a noise downstairs gave her pause. She heard someone speaking and swung her legs to the side of the bed. Quietly, she crossed the room, pressing an ear against the door Jason locked each night before retiring.

Not that it mattered. On the rare occasions he dozed, he was such a light sleeper the smallest sound usually roused him to full alert.

The voice continued speaking, Jason’s voice, she realized, and wondered with whom he was conversing. Knowing it was futile, she tried to lift the latch and was surprised to discover that he had left it unbarred. Apparently he believed she would wait at least until morning to see if he meant to keep his word. Or perhaps he had simply forgotten.

Whatever the case, she eased open the door, saw Jason stretched out on the sofa, and no one else in the room. He was deeply asleep, she saw, the covers shoved down below his lean waist, his thick chest bare and covered with a sheen of perspiration.

The sight brought a flush to her cheeks. Then worry set in. Sweet Lord was he ill? She crept down the stairs, certain he would awaken as he usually did, but he merely tossed and turned and continued to mumble unintelligible words. He was dreaming, she realized, speaking to someone only he could see, in the midst of some terrible nightmare.

“Jason,” she called softly from the stairwell, but he paid her no heed. He was caught in the throes of the dream, held captive by some dark menace that sent shudders through his powerful body.

Velvet slowly descended the stairs, hoping he would awaken, trying not to think how virile he looked lying there half-naked, trying not to remember how those slick hard muscles had felt pressing against her when they had been kissing.

She arrived at his side and he still did not awaken. “Jason…?” She reached toward him, beginning to worry now that something was seriously wrong. She touched him lightly on the shoulder then gently began to shake him. “Wake up, my lord. You’re having a night—” She shrieked as he jerked wide-awake, bolting upright, his hand snaking out to grab her, his overwhelming strength hauling her hard against his naked chest.

“It-it’s Velvet!” she cried out. “Let me go!” It took a long moment for him to get his bearings, a moment to realize he was gripping her painfully hard.

“Good Christ,” he growled, releasing his hold, wiping his sweat-dampened face with the palm of his hand. “What the devil are you doing down here?”

Unconsciously she took a step away. “Y-you were tossing and turning, talking in your sleep. I thought perhaps you had fallen ill.”

He released a weary breath and leaned back against the sofa. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Absently, he rubbed the scar on the back of his hand while she rubbed the bruise on her arm.

“It’s all right. You didn’t mean to.” She saw the way he frowned. “It must have been a terrible nightmare.”

“I’ve had worse. I’m sorry I hurt you. Go back to bed.”

“Are you certain you are all right?”

“I’m fine.” His eyes shifted away from her face, ran down the length of her body, barely covered by the thin cotton nightgown, and a smoky look came into the startling blue. Jason glanced away, fixing his attention on a spot above her head. “I said go back to bed. You shouldn’t have come down here in the first place.”

It occurred to her that standing in front of the low-burning embers of the fire, he could perhaps see nearly through her white cotton night rail. She flushed and turned away, starting toward the stairs, wishing she had left him alone.

“We’ll be leaving here early,” he called after her, grumpy again as he was before. “You had better get down here well before dawn, or I shall come up and rouse you from your cozy bed myself.” He cast her a wicked half smile. “Then again, perhaps that is the better idea. I promise you that would be a far more enjoyable way to start the morning.”

Bright heat rose in her cheeks and a curling warmth slid into her stomach. Dear sweet God! Turning away from him, she crossed the room and hastily climbed the stairs. When she reached her bedchamber, she closed the door and slumped against it, feeling breathless and suddenly far too warm.

Surely he wouldn’t really come up there. Surely he would not dare! But for the balance of the evening, though she sorely needed her rest, she tossed and turned, unable to think of anything but the tall virile highwayman coming into her bedchamber as she lay sleeping, of him awakening her with more of his fiery kisses.