Читать книгу My Favorite Marquess - Alexandra Bassett - Страница 9

Her captor’s gloved claw shackled Violet’s arm as he tugged her over the rough terrain. The smell of the sea grew sharper by the moment, and yet it felt to her as if they would never reach the water. Instead, the vast ocean seemed to send a stinging wind as its surrogate. The damp cold cut right through her cape and dress, and the salty air pierced each of the thousand little scrapes she had already accumulated since being dragged away from the carriage.

Exhaustion and fear raged in her. She could not say if she had been stumbling along for twenty minutes or two hours. It seemed like an eternity to her already. Her legs were numb, her feet hurt, and the crazy pounding of her heart would not abate.

Where was the Brute taking her? Worse, what did he intend to do with her when they got there?

Perhaps it was just as well that she had only been half listening to Hennie’s yammering about the notorious smuggler. No doubt ignorance was bliss, given her current situation. Still, she couldn’t help recalling that death had featured prominently in her cousin’s tales of terror. And in the back of her mind, she wondered what other atrocities the man was capable of.

Certainly the fact that he was nicknamed the Brute did not speak comfortingly for his character or bode well for her own prospects.

She cursed as a sharp stone—not the first—penetrated the sole of her left shoe. When she had dressed that morning, she could not have anticipated that her footwear would need to stand up to jagged rock and thistles. It felt as if she had set out on a breathless country hike in dancing slippers. A persistent throb had taken up residence in her left big toe.

If she did not remove her shoe, she would spend the rest of her life hobbling about like an old gouty man. Up until the last few minutes she had been too paralyzed with fear to protest the pace he set, but fatigue and pain were starting to surpass fright. She was so tired that a reckless part of her no longer cared what Robert the Brute thought.

When they came across a largish boulder, she dug in her sore heels, bringing them to a dead stop. The Brute swung around, nearly yanking her arm out of its socket. She winced but managed to suppress the squeal of pain that was in her throat.

“What do you think you’re about?” he growled at her, pronouncing the word you with such a thick Cornish accent that it sounded like “yow.” Really, the man was barely intelligible at times. “We’re not out here to enjoy a night stroll, Highness. There’s nae time to rest.”

She lifted her chin and glared at him. Murderous reputation be damned. She was not going to cower before this bully. “I am taking off my shoe to remove a stone.”

“You’ll stop when I say.”

“Oh, really?” she barked back at him. “That’s fascinating—because it appears to me that we are stopped, and I don’t recall asking yowr permission.”

The man’s mouth dropped open at her audacity and then quickly clamped shut. For a moment Violet feared that he would deliver a blow to her. Instead, he muttered a curse at her and then roared, “Be quick!”

Hopping on one sore foot, she sank against the boulder and wrestled her shoe off her foot, a task that would have been easier had her hands not been tied. She shook a small quarry of stones onto the ground as her captor sighed and fidgeted. Her toe felt immense relief to be free of its torment, though she of course would have to put the shoe on again. There was no way she could scrabble about this countryside with bare feet.

She reluctantly bent to secure her shoe once more.

“Quickly, damn you!”

She narrowed her eyes on the savage. “If I do not buckle my shoe, I will stumble all the more, thereby slowing you down even further in the long run.” When the tilt of his head let her know he didn’t give a jot for her reasoning, she said hotly, “If you’re in such a hurry, you should not have dragged a lady with you!”

“Would that I hadn’t!” he shot back.

Her sentiments exactly. He could have as easily taken Old Hal or Peabody, but no, he had taken her, and she was not some big lummox who could walk for miles and miles without rest.

Not to say that Peabody was a lummox. And indeed, she wouldn’t wish this misfortune on Peabody or Hal. But she was so tired, and hungry, and she felt so unlucky, a little self-pity was difficult to resist. Why did things never seem to go right for her?

“Be done, now!” the ogre yelled at her over the wind whipping around them.

That wasn’t helping things, either. The biting wind caused her eyes to squint shut at times. If she died on this night, she decided it would almost be a mercy, because she shuddered to think what result all this cold salt air would have on her complexion. Small wonder all the locals at the last carriage stop had appeared so leathery!

“Get up now, Highness,” the man said, grabbing her arm once again.

She attempted to shrug him off. “If you’re in that much of a hurry, you can always leave me here. Just point the way to Trembledown and I’ll be happy to continue on without your escort!”

“Thank you for your consideration, but I’m not as yet ready for us to part.” The man shook his head. “Haven’t you finished yet?”

“I have to do my other shoe. It’s not such an easy task when my hands are literally tied. If you would care to untie me, I could make faster work of the job.”

A smirk touched the man’s lips, and he made a show of kneeling at her feet. “Allow me, Highness!” He yanked her shoe off and shook the pebbles out of it. Then he shoved the shoe back on her foot so fast the whole exercise seemed to have been executed in one economical, uninterrupted motion.

Yet when it came to fastening the shoe, he suddenly started to linger about the task, taking an excessive amount of time to see that it was on her foot securely. After buckling it, his hand closed around her ankle. Sensation shot up her leg; Violet was breathless. Despite the coolness of the evening and the sharp wind, she felt too warm. As she looked into the face of her captor, his eyes glinted. She could not discern their color, exactly, because they were obscured by the mask and the dark. Yet the leather mask itself, which had seemed so grotesque by the light of the carriage lamps, now gave him a rather roguish appearance.

Good heavens, what an odd feeling this gave her, alone in the dark with this strange beast’s hand about her leg. How long had it been since anyone had touched her there…or had anyone ever? When was the last time she had even been alone with a man?

When he spoke, it was in a gravelly purr. “What a neat ankle you have, Highness.”

He moved his hand slowly up to her calf and was continuing toward her knee when Violet came to her senses. Disgust—with him, with herself—welled in her, and she delivered a swift kick to his chest. To her delight, the man toppled backward. She was tempted to make a mad dash for freedom, but no sooner had she stood than Robert the Brute jumped up and clamped his hand about her.

“I should tear you apart for that!”

“I would have done the same to any gentleman who manhandled me so!” she fired back.

“Aye, but I’m not a gentleman,” he said, tightening his grip on her.

Something in his tone, and the threat of his bulk looming over her, caused fear to quiver through her once again. Perhaps she had been a tad bit rash in kicking the man. She swallowed against the dry lump of fright in her throat. “Let us just forget about it, shall we? The sooner we get to where you want to be, the sooner I can make my way back home. As you promised.”

To her immense relief, the man seemed to retreat a step from her. He shook his head. “Sure you really wish to return to home, are you now? Perhaps you’re of a mind to go adventuring wi’ me. I’m always on the lookout for a sassy wench with pretty ankles.”

“You disgust me!” Violet exclaimed.

Her tormentor gave out an exaggerated sigh of regret. “So be it. You don’t know what you’re missing, Your Highness.”

“Then I shall just have to muddle along the best I can in ignorance,” she sniped, though the thunderous look he sent her made her regret answering back at all.

After another fifteen minutes of rough terrain, the ground suddenly began to dip sharply, and the air was thick with the sound of waves slapping the not-too-far-away shore. Violet glanced up from the rocky terrain at her feet for a moment and suddenly there it was—a vast plain of water with caps of white illuminated by the stars on this moonless night. It should have been beautiful, yet now its dark expanse seemed frightening.

The angle of the descent didn’t make her walk any easier—and her shoes were now filled with both pebbles and sand. A new torment. Every time she stumbled in the dark, she could sense Robert the Brute’s amusement. When she fell to her knees and let out one of her father’s favorite oaths, she actually heard him snicker. His laughter infuriated her. Was that why he’d taken her hostage, so he could humiliate her?

The sound of that laughter made bile rise in her throat. Why her? What had she ever done to deserve this? Had she not endured enough abuse in her life; did she have to stand for a dirty smuggler’s derision as well?

Back in school she had been laughed at because her father was in trade and had purchased his knighthood after becoming rich. During her Seasons in London, she had also sensed the sneers. Everyone assumed that any man interested in a woman of such undistinguished birth would simply be looking to scare up a fortune for himself. And when Violet discovered after her marriage that those whispers had proved 100 percent correct, she had sworn she would comport herself in such a way that no man would dare look down on her.

And yet here was a ruffian beast, laughing at her!

She was so consumed with her thoughts that she failed at first to notice that her tormentor had led them onto a rise of land that sloped gently down to a cove. The damp sand beneath her feet made walking more difficult. Pulling her by her elbow, the Brute steered her to a boulder.

“If you care a farthing for your life, you’ll stay quiet,” he warned, pushing her down to a seated position.

“What are we doing here?” she asked.

His lips turned up in a sneer. “Don’t follow directions very well, do you?”

“I only wanted to know.”

“We’re waiting on…friends. And they aren’t such gentle folk as I, Highness, so you’d best do as I say and keep your pretty lips buttoned.”

As she placed her tied hands to her right side in order to steady herself, she noticed that the rock she perched on was covered in some sort of slime. So much for this, her favorite carriage dress. Though maybe it was just as well, since the matching shoes were undoubtedly ruined as well.

“Perhaps it would be best if you let me go now,” she suggested after a moment. “After all, I’m only apt to get in your way.”

“Not a chance,” he sneered.

“But—”

He swooped down till he was inches from her. “I said quiet!”

The ferocity of his hot breath on her face shut her up.

As the minutes dragged by with the smuggler staring distractedly out to the sea and not speaking, Violet began to grow yet more anxious. What, and who, were they waiting for? Was there a more sinister reason why he hadn’t let her go before now?

As she scanned the beach around her, it occurred to her how alone they were. He could do anything to her, and who was to intervene on her behalf? Of course, she’d known this as they had trudged along, had in fact spent the first minutes in blind terror, but somehow when they were moving she had been focused on her discomfort and was able to not think about what might lie at the end of this trek.

The smuggler took a few steps toward the shoreline, and Violet glimpsed a light being flashed—like some sort of signal. There was a boat out there.

She began trying to piece the situation together and was dismayed by the picture she came up with. Robert the Brute must be meeting up with the rest of his gang of smugglers—his friends, as he had called them. The ones that weren’t as nice as he was.

She shuddered. Why didn’t the Brute want to be rid of her already? It would take her a long time to find her way to Trembledown. He and his smuggler friends would be miles from here by the time she could locate a constable.

Then a terrible, startling thought occurred to her—what if the Brute had no intention of letting her go? What if he was planning on taking her along to meet up with his merry band?

“I am always on the lookout for a sassy wench with pretty ankles,” he had said.

She shivered as she remembered his hand on her leg—she thought he had been joking about not wanting to let her go, but what if he wasn’t? What if he was some sort of flesh peddler? She had read accounts of women being abducted and taken to far-flung reaches of the earth, never to be heard from again!

Or perhaps—a thought that turned her blood cold—he would just allow his band of outlaws to use her for their own pleasure!

Good Lord, she grumbled to herself, I’m beginning to have thoughts as lurid and melodramatic as Hennie’s.

It was past time that she took control of this situation. She had no intention of going quietly to a fate commonly referred to as worse than death at the hands of a bunch of criminals. She scanned the area desperately. The hills they had just stumbled down would take her forever to climb back up. Catching her would be as easy as chasing a lame sheep. The sea, of course, would be certain death, since she could not swim well at all. The cliffs farther along the shoreline looked impossible to scale.

Then, lo and behold, she spotted a dark opening in the rocks…a cave!

And so near! It was not more than ten yards away and looked to have a wide entrance. Perhaps it was deep enough that she could hide herself until Robert the Brute sailed away with his cohorts.

Violet was careful to make as little noise as possible, though with the sounds from the ocean, she doubted that the Brute would hear her—if he would only keep his back turned for five minutes! The cave had seemed close, a mere dash, but her feet sank into the sand, making for slower going than she anticipated. And yet she made it—and her captor was so involved in the message blinking from out at sea that she managed to elude him.

Once she stepped foot inside the mouth of the cave, a rank odor stopped her cold. If she had thought the rock she was sitting on had been slimy, this place was positively grotesque with ooze! Still, it was either the cave…or the Brute. Violet willed herself to not think about bats, spiders, or whatever else might be lurking and slipped farther inside.

The darkness was complete. She literally couldn’t see her hands in front of her face—and she was wearing what had once been white gloves! She picked her way inside gingerly, her bound arms probing ahead of her in the blackness. As the floor seemed relatively level, she began to move more quickly. After about ten feet, the chamber broke off into two directions. Violet veered right and promptly hit a wall. She retraced her steps and went the other way until she made it back to the fork.

It seemed to her that the cave’s pathway was leading her up, as if it might eventually stop toward the top of the hill. She had read that some of the caves in Cornwall were intricate—had been made so by years of smugglers. As she came to another fork, she thought she might have stumbled upon such a one. With any luck, Robert the Brute would never find her in here…even if he did notice that she was no longer sitting obediently on his slimy rock.

She huddled in the darkness, working at the bonds that tied her hands. Who would have guessed tulle could be so strong! Finally, she edged toward the wall, which she had been trying to avoid, since it was the walls that no doubt housed spiders and other undesirable creatures. She felt along it for a moment, and when she hit a sharp rock jutting out, she began to work the knot Peabody had tied against it. Lord, he had done an expert job. If she ever saw Peabody again…

If. A heavy lump formed in her throat. She couldn’t let herself think that way. She would see him again. Soon. And when she did, she would be kind and understanding and listen uncomplainingly to his worries about soup tureens…

After she gave him a piece of her mind for tying this infernal knot so tightly!

It took her some time, but finally the material was rent and her hands were free. Free! She would never take the use of her arms for granted again. Indeed, she swore to herself that if she ever got away from Robert the Brute, she would dedicate herself to making the most of each precious moment of freedom.

She heard something behind her and tensed. The noise wasn’t footsteps, exactly, so much as the sound of someone splashing toward her. She took a step herself and suddenly realized that water had seeped into the cave and now covered the floor. The bottom of her skirt was soaked. She had been so preoccupied with freeing her hands…

Just then, she hit another wall. Blast! She would have to backtrack again.

But what if she backtracked right into her pursuer? It was so dark, she would not know if he was inches from her.

She thought she had carefully noted each turn she had taken on the way in, but now the cave began to seem like a hopeless maze. Her head felt muddled, and the rising tide, presently hitting her at midcalf, made movement all the more difficult. There was no way to get her bearings, and she worried that going back the way she had come would simply lead her back to Robert the Brute.

And she was right.

“Stop at once!” His voice echoed through the darkness at her. “We’ve got to get out of this cave before the tide comes all the way in!”

Ha! Like she was such a fool as to believe him. Although the water was getting higher, she noticed. But the cave was also leading to higher ground, so hopefully she would make it to a chamber that was above the tide mark. As she heard her pursuer’s foot splashes growing closer, she quickly chose to veer off to her left.

Fortunately, it sounded as if the Brute had continued on past this tunnel. She increased her pace. The water was to her knees here, which was cause for worry. What if she did become trapped?

As if in mocking reply to that question, she hit another wall. She would have to make her way out to the main passage and hope that she could avoid the smuggler in the dark. For all she knew, he was as turned around as she was by now, or had even passed her. She just might be able to return to the beach and make good her escape.

But as she took two steps back toward the mouth of the cave and fell into hip-deep water, she knew she would never make the beach. She had to turn in the direction taken by Robert the Brute and hope that he wouldn’t notice her in the dark.

She scooted as close as she could to the side of the passage and started to move cautiously forward.

Sebastian detected the slight swishing of water as Violet crept closer to him, though he could not judge for certain how close. So, like a cat waiting to pounce, he held his breath and stood perfectly still.

He couldn’t believe she had fled to this cave, a disgusting place, in order to escape him! His disguise as Robert the Brute must be more fearsome than he’d imagined. Which was ironic, considering that he feared he had given himself away as a gentleman countless times. At any rate, he doubted a real smuggler would have been able to resist the urge to club Violet on her pretty head. He had only achieved that feat by summoning a wellspring of forbearance he had never dreamed he had inside himself. It also helped to be able to yell at her.

And to think he had found her merely irritating in those letters!

He still wasn’t sure what had prompted him to kidnap the woman. It was only desperation that had made him stop her vehicle. He had been playing decoy this evening, leading the excise man as far away from Jem and his boat as was possible when he had suddenly lost his horse and become cut off. It had seemed providential when he’d spotted a carriage foolishly lumbering along the quiet road after dark. It was true that he didn’t want the carriage turning around and going to the authorities before he had a time to meet up with the boat from France; he hadn’t been entirely certain how he was going to manage that without taking a hostage. But it was only when he realized that the carriage he had blundered into belonged to none other than Violet Treacher, his letter-writing nemesis, that his decision had been made. What could be a better introduction to her new neighborhood than being kidnapped by a smuggler?

Maybe it would make her appreciate the benefit of selling him that wretched property of hers.

But Mrs. Treacher was proving to be troublesome in more than just her unwillingness to part with her late husband’s estate. In fact, she had fouled things up completely. Thanks to her, he was now chasing after her instead of making contact with the boat from France. Instead of trying to glean from Jem any information that had slipped across the Channel recently, he was hip deep in mucky water hoping to catch a foolish woman.

Consequently, he had never felt more of a chucklehead himself. Or more angry. So far his dealings with Violet Treacher always seemed to end with his feeling the fool. He wondered briefly whether she was somehow doing this on purpose to task him. Maybe she had guessed his true identity and was acting like an exasperating twit on purpose. Could she be that deceitful?

At last he heard the sounds of Violet’s breathing, and he knew she was close. The water was so high now it was going to be a near thing for them to make it to the safe room before they drowned, he realized. This thought steeled his determination. At the precise moment that she came abreast of him, he reached out and hauled her to him.

She let out a bloodcurdling scream—Sebastian was unsure of whether he would ever hear in his left ear again—and began flailing her arms at him. Landing some significant blows, moreover. How the hell had she managed to get her hands free?

“Let me go, you-you-you brute!”

He tried to keep her at arm’s length as he bowed his head mockingly. “Robert the Brute, at your service.”

“The only service you could render me is to drown or have your brains blown out by your fiendish cutthroat friends!”

He gritted his teeth. After all, she did have some right to be angry. “We will both drown if you don’t come with me.”

“I’d rather die than follow you a step!”

“Fine.” Taking a breath, he dipped his knees quickly and positioned his shoulder at her waist. Then he lifted up again, hoisting her like a sack of potatoes. He managed the lift easily, though soaking wet she seemed twice as heavy as she had on dry land. She let out an astonished shriek.

“Sorry, Highness, but there be no time to waste.” He waded hurriedly toward a cavern that he knew would be above the tide level. After her initial screaming, Violet was surprisingly quiet. No doubt she was plotting her next move. He wondered if he should confess his identity to her and explain the situation as rationally as he could.

But that would be placing a great deal of trust in a woman who, all things considered, he trusted not one whit. And only Jem and Cuthbert knew the identity of the Brute. His disguise was essential to him now, essential perhaps even to the security of England. He was not sure a woman like Violet would be able to grasp this.

The last few feet towards the safe chamber were steep and he was worn out by the time he crossed the threshold. He dumped his load to the ground quite unceremoniously.

As Violet’s posterior made sudden and jarring impact with the cold rock of the floor, she quickly found her voice again.

“Oaf! I think you’ve broken my back!”

“That’s not your ‘back’ I tossed you down on. If anything, you’ve busted your a—”

“I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head!”

Sebastian laughed, then made his way to a corner, where he went about striking flint to light the candle stored there. Within moments, the small flame illuminated the chamber.

Judging from Violet’s expression, the lady would have preferred to remain in darkness. The chamber was not appealing. It was about eight feet square. In the corner stood the table that contained the candlestick he’d lit, along with a small keg. Sebastian shook it and was relieved to find that it was not empty. At least they wouldn’t go thirsty.

He reached inside his coat and pulled out a flask that he proceeded to fill from the keg. Unable to resist, he took a long sip before setting it down on the table. God, that tasted good. He had needed a good slug of something after the day he’d had. He started to unfasten his shirt.

His companion had remained quiet during the first part of his activities, but as he began to unbutton his shirt she squawked, “What are you doing?”

“Undressing. I advise you to do the same.”

“What?”

“Unless you want to catch your death of a cold. There’s a blanket in the corner over there.”

She gaped at him in astonishment mixed with more than a little trepidation. “If you think I am going to remove my clothes in your presence, you must have bats in your head!”

Given what such a lady must think of the intentions of a blackguard like Robert the Brute, he could not help but be startled by, and not a little admiring of, her fire. “God knows this whole enterprise makes me doubt my own wisdom, Highness. I might be crazy, but I feel bound to share the one blanket with you, though you’ve been naught but a nuisance. But I have no intention of letting you get the blanket soaked, so if you don’t remove that sodden gown, I will personally strip it from your pretty backside.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“On the contrary, it would be my pleasure to undress you.” He aimed a leering grin at her. “Is that what you wish, perhaps?”

Her mouth opened and closed, giving her the appearance of an outraged, beached fish.

He chuckled. “I know that for certain gentlewomen this could be a fantasy come true. Alone with a dashing stranger…”

“You flatter yourself!”

“Do I?” He rubbed thoughtfully at the beard stubbling his chin. “I noticed that you were quite unable to take your eyes off me during our journey.”

“How would you know where I was looking? You were racing ahead of me so that I could hardly keep up.”

“And yet whenever I glanced back at you, you were looking at me.”

“You are not only an evil rogue, but a vain buffoon as well. Where else was I supposed to look when you glared at me through that mask?” She snorted. “And while we are on the subject, why wear a mask at all if you are so certain of your irresistible appeal to the female sex? Are you a coward?”

He crossed his arms. “You have about thirty seconds to begin removing that rag you are wearing, Highness.”

“It wasn’t a rag until you got hold of it. It was brand new, as a matter of fact, and I’ll have you know, it was all the crack!”

“Ten seconds, Your Highness.”

Violet threw one final look of disgust at him and began to undo the buttons down the front of her dress. When she was ready to remove it, she insisted that he turn toward the wall while she scrambled for the blanket. He took the opportunity to take another sip from his flask. As the brandy burned down his throat he began to feel somewhat human again.

His admiration of her tart tongue only went so far, especially since he was growing chilled standing out in the cold without his shirt. Damn. They would need each other’s warmth as well as the blanket before the night was over.

Surprisingly, she said not a word as he approached. Her back was to him and she held herself rigidly aloof as he slipped under the other half of the blanket. He noticed that she had left him as much of it as possible while still keeping herself decently covered.

But her restraint didn’t help. They were still touching, and her shapely body could not help but have an unfortunate effect on him. She was so soft! She had kept on her silk shift, but it was almost dry. Some devilish part of him wanted to order her to remove that, too…though he supposed he should be grateful for her leaving that much of a barrier between them.

She shifted uncomfortably and brushed his leg with hers. He gritted his teeth.

Somehow he hadn’t thought it was going to be this hard to lie with her on the floor of an uncomfortable cave. Of course, he was only just now, in the flickering candlelight, beginning to realize the depth of beauty possessed by this woman. She had hair like spun gold, beautiful fair skin, and the bluest eyes he had ever seen. It was as if some Italian portraitist had dreamed her out of whole cloth—until she opened her mouth. Then it struck him anew that looks and demeanor did not always make a perfect match.

Perhaps if he could keep her talking, he would be completely cured of this blasted attraction he was feeling.

“Feeling cozy, Highness?”

Her only answer was a tsk and more shattering movement. She was shivering from cold or fear, he wasn’t sure which. He pulled out his flask and took another, longer tug from it.

Then he got a bright idea. He reached over and poked her in the back. “Here, you better have some of this.”

She turned, and her nose wrinkled. “No, thank you.”

“It will warm you up.” Perhaps it would put her to sleep, too.

She sniffed. “Ladies do not imbibe strong spirits.”

“Bosh! ’Tis no different than wine.”

“You would say that!”

He let out a chortle. “I haven’t noticed many of the fairer sex avoiding the wine bottle at dinner.”

Her brow arched. “Do you attend many dinner parties, Mr. Brute?”

He had to stop himself from clapping his hand on his skull. He would have to take care. “Nay, but I know real women. The kind who aren’t afraid of doing what’s necessary to survive.”

In her irritation she sat up and faced him. “What are you saying? That just because one is a gentlewoman, one lacks the ability to take care of oneself?”

“A smart woman would drink to ward off the cold.”

As she looked at the flask, she shrugged her shoulders (causing one creamy breast to almost spill over the top of her shift, he noted with unwilling interest). “Fine, give it to me. I always did want to know what men found so irresistible in hard drink.” She took a long draught. As the brandy reached her gullet, the color completely leeched from her. Then, just as suddenly, she turned scarlet. For a moment, tears stood in her eyes, and when she spoke, her nonchalance was belied by her strangled voice. “As I always suspected, nothing special.”

He forced himself to bite back a laugh at her bravado. “Go ahead—have another sip.”

She choked as she took another mouthful, then sat still for a moment as the fiery liquid worked its magic. “It does give one a warming sensation, doesn’t it?”

He nodded.

She blinked at him and laughed a little. “I feel flushed.”

After her third sip, which was more of a glug, Sebastian reached for his flask. “I think that’s enough for you, Your Highness.”

She held it from his grasp. “Not so fast. For your information, I have decided to start living my life the way I see fit. And right now I’m still thirsty!” She took another drink and quietly hiccupped.

Uh-oh, Sebastian thought. He wasn’t sure he wanted her to get tipsy. “You don’t want to be selfish, though, do you?” he asked, trying to pry the flask out of her hand.

As a compromise, she tipped the bottle to his lips and allowed him a short sip and then went back to drinking down the contents herself.

Maybe if I can get her talking, he thought. Maybe she would forget about the flask.

“You said you would start living life as you see fit,” he said. “Has your life previously been out of your own control or such a trial?” He couldn’t imagine that this was so. And yet, beneath her pampered, icy exterior there seemed to be a hint of vulnerability.

She thought for a moment. “No, I had a very happy childhood, very free, but that all ended when I was twelve and sent off to school. My second day there I overheard the other girls laughing at me because my father was in trade. After that, I vowed to become the most perfect lady that Mrs. Pargeter’s Academy for Young Ladies ever turned out. And I was, too!” Her head wobbled a bit. “Till now.”

“It seems to me that you chose that path for yourself,” Sebastian pointed out. “You didn’t have to give in to the prejudice of a bunch of silly girls.”

“Oh, you think so?” Violet answered angrily. “Well, let me tell you that Mrs. Pargeter’s rules of propriety were nothing compared to those that governed me during my first Season in London! Once again, as the daughter of a merchant I was examined twice as closely as other girls.”

“And were you as great a success as you had been at your school?” he asked leadingly.

“No, not really,” Violet admitted, deflating slightly. “I was there under the auspices of my aunt Augusta, who is considered very good ton, but somehow, I just didn’t seem to take. The only interest I received that first spring was from fortune hunters. Aunt Augusta kept telling me to show more vivacity, but it’s hard to be ladylike and sparkling at the same time. At least it is for me.”

“So where does your lamented husband fall into this scenario?”

Belatedly, he remembered that the Brute would know nothing of her bereaved state.

Luckily Violet was in no condition to notice the lapse. She seemed off in a world of her own now. “I didn’t meet Percy until my second Season. He had missed my come out year because of a case of the mumps. Percy was always of delicate health.”

“He sounds like the answer to a young maiden’s prayer, if only he hadn’t been a mere mister!”

“Oh, I know you mean it sarcastically, but to me, at that time he was a hero! And he was the heir to his uncle, a marquess.” Violet took another sip of brandy and looked a bit tearful. “I met him at the first dance at Almack’s that second Season. He was the perfect suitor from that moment until he asked for my hand during the waltz at the closing dance where we had first met. I thought it was terribly romantic.”

“And did life with Percy live up to this romantic view?”

She shook her head sadly. “No, Percy didn’t believe in romance. He said it was shabby-genteel. He was quite concerned that I dismiss such notions in order that I might overcome my rather unfortunate family connections. He told me on our honeymoon that he had suffered doubts about offering for me but that my cool demeanor and ladylike behavior convinced him I would one day make a tolerable marchioness.”

“He sounds like a first rate jackass to me!” Sebastian growled.

“Yes, I am beginning to think you are right,” Violet agreed absently. Then she shook her head, “That is…how dare you.”

“It seems to me that you have spent your life socializing with a bunch of stuffed shirts. I can’t believe this husband you married wasn’t interested in love and passion with you.”

She bit her lip in a thoughtful pout. “But don’t you see? It’s me. I don’t seem to be a passion-invoking person. Back at school, it was constantly being drummed into our heads that we had to watch out with men, that they were always on the lookout for an opportunity to take advantage. But no man has ever tried anything the least improper with me. “Violet hiccupped and continued, with a hysterical note to her voice, “I probably couldn’t get a man to offer me a slip on the shoulder if my life depended on it!”

He shook his head. “That’s ridiculous, I’m sure all sorts of men have lustful thoughts about you.” Sebastian patted her shoulder and joked, “How could they not, with your neat ankles?”

Her lips parted, and color rose in her cheeks. “Do you really think so?”

“You can depend on it, Highness.”

She smiled almost coquettishly at him and slurred, “You don’ shound like a Brute, do you know that?” She hiccupped softly.

“You don’t sound much like a lady at the moment, either.”

She laughed and continued to stare up at him with eyes large and luminous in the glow of the single candle. Then she leaned over to him and whispered, “Kiss me, Brute.”

Maybe he was tipsy himself. Or maybe boredom got the best of him. (What else was there to do in this blasted cave?) Or maybe he was just one of those opportunistic men Mrs. Pargeter had tried to warn Violet about. Whatever the reason, he didn’t spend much time resisting her request.

No time at all, as a matter of fact. He bent down and pressed his lips against hers, fully expecting that their embrace would go no further.

But the soft warmth of those lips was very alluring, as was the taste of liquor and hint of perfume that swirled about her. Even after all she had been through today, her hair still smelled of some sweet scent, like roses. It seemed to go straight to his senses.

He wrapped his arms around her, and her mouth opened to his. He couldn’t resist deepening the kiss, she was so responsive…

She put her hands in his hair and lightly kneaded him. He never knew that the whisper-soft touch of fingertips could affect him so. He couldn’t resist running his hand up and down the satiny skin of her arm. She moved her hands languorously from his hair to his shoulders.

He tore his lips away from her mouth and then trailed kisses down her neck to her shoulder. When he reached her breast, her hands suddenly stopped their kneading motion and she clutched his shoulders and moaned.

Without thought, Sebastian laved one breast through her chemise while palming the other with his free hand. Her breasts felt perfectly shaped and he marveled at their youthful firmness. Her nipples hardened at his first touch. And she had thought she was lacking in passion!

In fact, she was so not lacking in passion that he feared if he did not stop them now it would lead to madness. Though he enjoyed playing the blackguard Robert the Brute, he was certainly not one in actuality. Quite the opposite! No one would ever accuse Sebastian Cavenaugh of being a rogue.

He whispered in her ear, “You see, it is not at all difficult for a man to wish to take advantage of you, sweet Violet.”

Her lips formed a kittenish smile. She seemed wholly unwilling to end her first foray into passion, and his position left her room to place her hands on his chest and conduct her own investigations of his person. As her fingers firmly explored his chest muscles, he felt a fierce swell of desire.

Violet felt it, too. She rubbed herself against his obvious arousal in a most enticing manner. Then, shocking him with her boldness, she leaned over and took one of his nipples in her mouth and sucked hard. An intense burning sensation shot straight to his groin.

All rational thought fled him. His only aim now was to satisfy their mutual desire for each other. He turned her onto her back and pinned her lower half with his own body. Now to make a more thorough inspection of those charming breasts, he thought to himself and pulled her chemise down to her waist. He didn’t think he’d ever seen such a perfectly formed woman—the pale skin that covered her chest was flawless. As he ran his palms across the warm flesh, he marveled at the satiny softness. He leaned down and kissed one orb, then he flicked his tongue over its surface. Violet was straining her upper body toward his mouth. She had fisted her hands in his hair and was pulling his head more firmly against her breast. Finally he gave in to her demand and opened his mouth over a tightly puckered nipple and pulled strongly.

While sucking her breast, he smoothed a hand over her abdomen and down toward the apex of her thighs. As his hand neared her warm center, Violet began rocking rhythmically against him. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could go on without exploding, but he continued to stroke her in time to her enticing movements.

Within a few minutes, she was straining against him and making low crooning noises. He knew that she was very near now, and he nipped one of her earlobes and whispered, “That’s it, Highness…”

Violet suddenly arched against him and gave a shouting moan that reverberated in the tiny chamber. Her delicate figure convulsed for a few moments before she lay completely relaxed in his arms.

He was grateful that he had been able to stave off his own desires until she had reached satisfaction—it had been a close thing. The need for release was nearly driving him mad. He adjusted his breeches, pushed her legs apart and positioned himself over her.

Violet was making deep, breathy noises, and he leaned down to kiss her one last time before joining them together. He lowered his lips to hers.

In response, Violet put her hand to his face and shoved it away.

He pulled back from her in astonishment. She took the opportunity to flip over onto her side beneath him. A loud, satisfied snore echoed through the cave.

Astounded, Sebastian rolled away from her. He couldn’t believe it—his ardor had put her to sleep!

Or more likely, the brandy had put her into a drunken stupor.

Although this might not surprise anyone back at his London club, where he was rated to be a rather cold sort, it would not do Robert the Brute’s dashing reputation with the ladies any good!

He took a last longing look at her slumbering form, then regretfully covered her with the blanket.

As Violet’s snoring continued (though more softly now, he noted with relief), Sebastian arose and went to the corner to refill his flask. He couldn’t help laughing, despite himself. He had vowed to provide Mrs. Treacher with plenty of trouble when she came to Cornwall, but it seemed that she was reciprocating more than in kind.