Читать книгу No Other Love - Candace Camp, Candace Camp - Страница 11

NICOLA KEPT HER VOICE EVEN AS SHE replied, “I haven’t been afraid of the dark since I was a child.”

“Nevertheless, I think I should escort you home. We would not want any harm to befall you while you were out playing Lady Bountiful, now would we?”

“Since you are the only person around here who would harm me, I see little point in your escort.”

“I? Wish you harm? You wound me.” His teeth flashed white in the dimness.

“What else would you call stopping my carriage and robbing me at gunpoint?” Nicola responded tartly.

“But I offered no harm to your person. Surely you realize that.”

Nicola shot him a hard look. “You forced yourself upon me.”

“Forced myself!” He began to laugh. “My dear lady, stealing one little kiss is hardly ‘forcing myself upon you.’ Besides, I believe you paid me back well enough for that.” He rubbed his cheek ruefully. “You pack quite a wallop.”

“What nonsense. I didn’t hurt you.”

“Oh, but you did. Imagine my wounded pride after you gave me such a setdown—and in front of all my men, too.”

“Is that why you are here? To exact revenge on me? To salve your pride?”

“You are an exceedingly suspicious woman. I thought I had established that I was not here to harm you but to make sure that you get home safely.”

“Oh, yes. Silly of me to think otherwise.”

Nicola glanced sideways at him. He looked the personification of wickedness and danger, masked and dressed all in black, yet the way her pulse quickened was not entirely due to fear—there was a strange sort of excitement coursing through her, as well, a tingling, eager feeling that unnerved Nicola even as she relished it. She felt quite sure that this was not the kind of reaction she should have to a man like this. His height and the breadth of his shoulders, even the husky rumble of his voice, should inspire fear, not this unfamiliar heat deep in her loins.

As if he could sense the direction of her thoughts, the highwayman turned toward her and smiled—a slow, almost taunting smile.

“Who are you?” Nicola asked abruptly, seeking a subject, any subject, that would break the thrum of sensual tension his smile set off.

“Do you really expect me to tell you that?”

“It seems absurd to call you nothing. It would be better to have a name to put to your face—or, I should say, your lack thereof.”

A brief dip of his head and a wry smile acknowledged her thrust. “God help us, a clever woman.”

“No doubt you prefer a foolish one.”

“Oh, no, my lady, not a foolish one. Indeed, you are to my liking, wit, temper and all. I am a man who likes to live on the edge, you see.” He paused, then added, “One could say the same for you.”

“Nonsense. I am sure the edge would be much too uncomfortable for me.”

“Ah, yes, you are such a conventional—one might even say timid—sort. Running about the countryside alone on horseback after dark.”

“Being in a carriage with a driver and groom did not exactly help me last night, did it? I would say I am as well off on my own. And no one around here would harm me, anyway—present company excepted, of course.”

“I believe that most women would have elected to stay indoors today—and especially this evening—if they had had such a harrowing experience as being stopped by a highwayman last night.”

“I presumed a highwayman would not bother with a solitary horseback rider, particularly one who is not on the main road…if anything hereabouts could be considered a main road. You know, it strikes me as a little odd that an accomplished thief such as yourself would be roaming about the wilds of Dartmoor. One would think that the London area would be a much more profitable place—Blackheath Moor, for instance.”

“Ah, but the days of Dick Turpin are dead now. Blackheath Moor is no longer a healthy place for those of my profession.”

“Still…Dartmoor? How many carriages do you stop a week?”

“You are concerned for my welfare. I am touched. However, you need not worry. We manage to get by.”

Nicola grimaced. “You persist in misunderstanding me. I have no concern for your welfare. I merely wonder why you would choose such an out-of-the-way place as this for your thievery.”

“Less opportunity, perhaps, but also less chance of getting caught. And the mines provide a steady stream of cash and goods being transported.”

“One might almost think that you have a personal vendetta against the Earl of Exmoor.”

“I? How could anyone carry a grudge against such a pleasant man as the Earl of Exmoor? So kind to his workers, so understanding with his tenants.”

“I realize that he is an easy target. It is difficult to feel sympathy for the usurer when he is robbed, too. Still, it is theft, pure and simple. And when you are caught, you will hang just as readily as if you had stolen from a saint. Nor, I think, will you be quite such a hero to the local inhabitants when some of their own men are hanged with you.”

“Ah, but that makes the assumption that we shall be caught. I do not intend for that to happen.”

“I am sure few criminals do,” Nicola retorted. “But they are nabbed, anyway. You will be, too.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“How can you be so full of yourself as to think anything else? You delight in tweaking Richard’s nose. You think he will not come after you? He is a very powerful and wealthy man.”

“Let him come after me,” her companion said, his voice rich with satisfaction. “I would delight in meeting him.”

“You think he will come after you personally? Don’t be absurd. Men like Richard hire other men to do their dirty work. It is they who will hunt you and your men down like dogs. But he has hired them. He doesn’t mind the cost. You have insulted him, practically dared him to stop you. It is infuriating enough to him that you have been stealing his money. Last night, when you stopped his own carriage, it was like rubbing his nose in it. He won’t rest until you are swinging from a gibbet. He has already hired a Bow Street Runner.”

“Has he indeed?” His voice was thoughtful.

“Yes. I met him this morning. His name is Stone, and he looks to be a man to live up to his name.”

“Well. That makes the game more interesting. Still, I think I can hold my own against a Bow Street Runner.”

“Don’t you understand? Richard will not stop. Maybe you can handle this Runner—elude him, kill him, whatever you plan to do. But it will not end with Stone. If he fails, Richard will hire more. He will put out rewards for your capture. Someone, sometime, will betray you for the money, no matter how highly the people around here regard you. He will put guards on his wagons.”

“He already has.” The highwayman’s teeth flashed whitely in the dark. “Yet still I have come away with the strongboxes.”

“Then he will hire more—and ones who are not terribly concerned about killing a man over a strongbox. Why won’t you see? Richard Montford is not a man to cross! He is willing to do anything to protect his possessions.”

“I am sure he is. No doubt you are one of his prize possessions.”

“I?” Nicola swiveled sharply to glare at him. “How dare you! I am no man’s possession.”

“No? I dare swear your husband would look at it differently.”

“He would not,” Nicola retorted sharply. “If he did, he would not be my husband, I can assure you.”

“I would not have thought the sort of man you would marry would be so…advanced in his views.”

“The sort of man I would marry? How would you know anything about the sort of man I would marry? You don’t know me at all.”

“I know you are the sister of the Countess of Exmoor,” he replied. “The cousin of Lord Buckminster. A woman firmly entrenched in the aristocracy. A woman of name and beauty…therefore one who doubtless made an excellent marriage. I had thought you were the Countess of Exmoor.”

“I? Married to Richard? Hardly. That is my sister.”

“So my men told me. But I would assume that you made an equally advantageous marriage—even better. Perhaps a duke? Have I erred in calling you ‘my lady’? Should it have been ‘your grace’?”

“Neither.” Nicola bit off the word. I am Miss Falcourt.”

The highwayman glanced at her sharply. “You are not married?”

“No, I am not. It is hardly so astonishing. There are women who do not marry.”

“Rare for a woman of your beauty and background. That is the purpose of a lady’s life, is it not? To marry for alliance? To gain the best position she can, given her natural assets?”

“You make marriage sound like a business proposition.”

“Is it not?” he answered, his voice cold and sharp as a knife. “A noblewoman is the same as any prostitute, selling her wares to the highest bidder. The only difference is that the buyer pays with a wedding ring instead of coins of the realm.”

Nicola’s hands clenched her reins tightly, and she felt again the compelling urge to slap this man, but she struggled to control herself. “You, sir, are a fool. It is your prerogative, of course, but I do not have to stay and listen to you. Good day.”

She started to dig her heels into her horse, but the man lashed out with one hand and grabbed her upper arm tightly, holding her in place. “I’m no fool, Miss Falcourt. I was once, but no longer. I found out what motivates a woman to choose a husband, and it is not love or even desire. I know whereof I speak.”

“You know nothing. You only think you know. Obviously some woman disappointed you, but only a fool would paint all women with the same brush.”

“Not all women. Noblewomen. I know many a common woman whose heart is large and warm. But a lady’s heart is a cold, hard stone.”

“Then a lady’s heart must be something like your mind,” Nicola shot back.

Much to her surprise, the man laughed. “A fair shot, my—I mean, Miss Falcourt.” He released her arm, and their mounts started forward again.

“You are utterly infuriating.”

“Indeed, I have been told that.”

“I must say, I wonder why you should choose to ride along with me, despising noblewomen as you do.”

“Once a man understands what they are about, he can partake of—” his eyes slid appreciatively down her body, leaving little doubt as to the underlying meaning of his words “—the pleasure of her company without being so foolhardy as to lose his heart. Or his head.”

“That is typical of a man—noble or low. ‘Tis not the same for a woman.”

He let out a bark of laughter again, but this time it had little amusement in it. “Women would have us think so.”

“Oh, and I suppose that you know better than I how a woman feels or thinks?”

“I am more honest about it.”

“Your arrogance is astonishing.”

“It isn’t arrogance to speak the truth. Women like to pretend that they feel no desire unless their heart is engaged, that they marry for love, not wealth or position. The truth is that they marry for well-calculated reasons, and their passion can burn quite hot without the spark of love.”

“Then I must be an odd woman indeed, for it is not that way with me.”

“You lie through your pearly white teeth,” her companion responded without heat.

“How dare you imply that—”

“I imply nothing. I say it outright. You are not speaking the truth, and you know it. Do you feel love for me?”

Nicola quirked an eyebrow at him. “Hardly.”

“Yet last night you responded to my kiss with passion.”

“What nonsense.” Nicola could hear the lack of conviction in her own voice.

“You and I both know that it is not.” He reached out and grasped her bridle, pulling her horse to a halt with his. He leaned toward her, his face unnervingly blank, half-covered as it was with a mask, in contrast to the hot spark in his eyes. “I kissed you, and you kissed me back, even though you did not love me—indeed, were not even acquainted with me. You did not even know my name, yet your lips quivered and melted beneath mine.”

“A man’s capacity for self-deception is boundless.” Nicola’s stomach fluttered, though she strove to keep her tone cool and unconcerned. “I slapped you, if you will remember, yet you term that response passionate? Passionately angry, perhaps.”

His hand curled around her wrist as he held her still, staring straight into her eyes. “How much of that anger was at me—and how much at yourself?”

Nicola could not conceal the shiver that shook her at his touch. “You presume too much.”

“I presume no more than you feel.” He leaned even closer to her, his face only inches from hers. Nicola wanted to look away, to pull her arm from his grasp, yet she could not. She could only gaze back at him, exerting all her will to keep her eyes steady and cool.

“No.”

“Kiss me, then, and tell me you feel no passion. No desire. Show me how only love moves your body.”

“I do not wish to kiss you,” Nicola protested, knowing as she did so that she was lying. A strange heat flooded her insides even as her hands turned freezing, and all she could think about was his mouth, exposed beneath his half-mask, the bottom lip full and eminently kissable, hinting at passionate delights. She remembered how his mouth had felt against hers, and deep down she knew that she wanted to feel it again.

He smiled in a knowing way, and in the next instant, his mouth met hers. It was just as it had been the night before: his lips were warm and velvety, searing her with heat and a strange, shivery delight. She could not conceal the long shudder of pleasure that ran through her, and he made a sound of satisfaction deep in his throat at her response. His arm went around her tightly, lifting her from her saddle onto his horse in front of him. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing her into his chest, as his mouth continued to conquer hers. Nicola leaned against him quiescently, a trifle stunned by her own response.

She had told herself that last night had been a fluke, that she had kissed him with a fervor that had been somehow born of that time and place and would never happen again. But she had been fooling herself, she knew now. This kiss touched her like fire, too, a strange fire that both consumed and fed her, that made her burn not only where his lips touched her but deep inside herself, as well. It was both wonderful and frightening, magical in its effect. Nicola felt a stranger to herself, yet she could not bring herself to want to return to the woman she knew.

Her arms went up and encircled his neck, and his kiss deepened, all lightness and mockery vanished in the flaming heat of passion. His lips dug into hers, opening her mouth to him, and his hand came up to anchor itself in her hair, holding her captive to his marauding lips and tongue. But she had no desire to escape him, only to taste more and more of the delight his mouth offered. She pressed her lips against his, her tongue meeting his in a delicate, sensual dance. She felt the shudder of his response as he let out a long, yearning sigh, and it stoked the fires of her passion even more.