Читать книгу Embrace The Dawn - Jackie Summers - Страница 9

“Bloody hell. It’s a tad.”

A scream caught in Anne’s throat. “I—I have no coin,” she managed in a tiny voice.

His deep baritone laughter broke the tension. “What have we here?” He lifted her by the waist and pulled her from the brambles like a hare caught in a lair. She gripped both hands on her breeches, her blanket left behind, snagged on a limb. “Men, see what I’ve found in the briar patch.”

The men’s bellowed laughter infuriated her almost as much as this big peacock who enjoyed making sport of his victims. When he put her down on the road, she stumbled back, painfully aware of the comical sight she presented. She yanked up her breeches, then her stockings pooled down around her ankles.

The Black Fox held up a gloved hand to silence the laughter. “You must give something to the cause, lad.”

“I told you I have no coin,” she spat.

He tossed back the flap of his cape over his shoulder and studied her. “Then, I’ll have to take something.” He strutted about in obvious enjoyment while his men shouted encouragements. “I think I’ll take this handsome hat of yours—”

“No!” Anne’s hands flew from her breeches to her cap a second too late. He yanked off the hat and she heard a low gasp escape from under his silken mask when her long red gold hair tumbled around her. She shoved her hair from her face and glared up at him. “You son of Satan!” Anne yelled. Careful not to trip on the baggy stockings at her feet, she marched toward him, her fists gripping her breeches for dear life. “You want something else from me, eh?” Anne trudged to within a foot of him. “Take this!” She kicked the Black Fox squarely in the leg with the heel of her boot, just above where his wide cuff pulled down, to aim a square shot on his exposed shin.

“You vixen!” The Black Fox yelled in pain. His men hooted in merriment. He glared over his shoulder at his men, then down at her. She couldn’t read his expression under the full black mask, but she heard his heavy breathing, like a charged bull, while his gloved fists knotted at his hips.

She faced him squarely, her chin clenched, her fists balled in perfect replica at her side. But she found it impossible to hide the triumphant smile that started to spread across her lips.

“Tom, tell the men to give the Roundhead soldiers back their britches so they can escort this hellcat back to where she lives. It must be past her bedtime.”

“No, wait!” Jane called out. She urged her horse beside him, then leaned to whisper in his ear. No doubt Jane was informing him that Anne knew the real identity of Will Jackson, and she couldn’t be trusted to be returned to her uncle. When Jane finished, the Black Fox jerked his head back to study her. When she heard his deep sigh, she knew she had guessed correctly.

Dr. Herrick and the king formed a small circle around them. “Well, what shall we do with you?” the rogue asked, the glittering eyes behind the mask fixed on her.

“I’m going with the Herricks,” Anne whispered, careful to keep her voice within the small group. “Mrs. Herrick promised to help me find my father.”

“You can’t. If more soldiers stop them, how will you explain why you’re traveling with the Herricks? Besides, I doubt if you have a traveling pass.”

“I have an idea,” the king offered. “She’ll come with the Black Fox and me.”

Anne’s gaze flicked toward him in surprise. So the Black Fox had known the unlikely servant was Charles Stuart, after all.

“Nay. She’ll slow us down,” the Black Fox said. “Besides, by dawn, every Roundhead will be searching for her.”

“Then there’s no choice.” Jane’s face was serious. “She’ll ride with Doc and me. We can’t have the king endangered.”

“If the soldiers find her, she’ll endanger us all,” Wilkens warned, scowling. “We can’t trust her to keep our secret.”

“We can’t argue here on the road all night,” the Black Fox said. “For tonight, the king will ride with Jane and Doc.” He waved to a stockily built masked man. “Tom, guide them to the inn. Keep a close eye on them until morning, then I’ll catch up with you and escort the king to the next safe house.”

“What about me?” Anne stammered, her mouth dry as powder.

“You’re coming with me.” His voice held such a chill Anne was glad she couldn’t see his evil face.

“Then it’s settled,” the king replied. He leaned toward Anne, his voice silky. “It’s been my pleasure, sweeting.” He blew her a kiss. “If you ever decide to come to France...” In the moonlight, his eyes were as black as stolen coal.

Anne pulled back a wisp of hair from her face and stared at the man who claimed to be Charles Stuart. Out of a confused sense of loyalty, she bobbed him a quick curtsy, just in case, she told herself. He responded with a crooked grin.

“Make haste,” the Black Fox ordered the others. “I’ll send word along the usual route,” he added.

Jane waved to her, then gave that same dazzling smile she had bestowed upon Sergeant Stone. A sinking feeling washed over Anne as Jane, Dr. Herrick, the king and Wilkens galloped away with the masked outlaw named Tom in the direction of Bristol.

The Black Fox clamped his arm about her waist and carried her to his horse.

“I can walk.” She squirmed beneath his grip. “Put me down!”

He mounted the huge animal with one easy stride and pulled Anne up onto his lap. She writhed beneath his grip, but the more she wriggled the tighter she felt his arm constrict around her. She tried to kick and beat her fists against his chest, but he caught her wrists in such a way as to leave her helpless.

“Throw me a blindfold,” he ordered the last man. “I’ll not risk a poor Royalist’s loyalty for this she-cat’s loose tongue.” Aware that there was nothing she could do, Anne quit fighting.

The tall robber reached up and handed the Black Fox a silk scarf. The Black Fox grabbed it. “Cover your eyes with this,” he ordered. Anne pursed out her lips and took the blindfold. With an indignant huff, she did as she was told.

“That’s more like it.” She felt his warm hands pull her closer. “Be still, or I’ll stuff a gag in your mouth.”

“I’ll meet up the others tomorrow,” he said to the robber. His commanding voice pierced the darkness. “Scatter the Roundheads’ horses, then hide the soldiers’ breeches in the woods.” Blindfolded, Anne could hear the amusement in his voice.

The other man muttered a reply, then she heard the clink of spurs, and felt the horse’s thrust throw her against the outlaw’s chest as the animal beneath them broke into a gallop.

Behind her ear, she heard his heart pound, filling her with a strange sensation. The wind whipped her hair as the thundering hooves beneath them beat to an even rhythm. Wind tore at her face and she shivered. He must have felt her tremble, because he pulled his cape around her. When he did, she felt the heat from inside his cloak envelope her. Her heartbeat quickened. The smell of the soft wool reminded her of apples, and it triggered a familiar memory—one she couldn’t quite put her mind to.

The wind whirled in Anne’s hair while they flew through the rough fields. It was nothing like the jostling ride behind Wilkens when they rode blindly away from Wycliffe Manor. She could feel the power and strength of the man who held her, and the mighty animal beneath them.

She swallowed hard, fighting to keep her wits amid her fear. What if this outlaw murdered her, leaving her body in the deep forest, never to be found? Her insides twisted at the thought. Well, she’d fight him to her death, using the courage she knew she had. Hadn’t the lieutenant named Nat meant that very thing when he spoke of the courage to follow her heart?

Well, she had the courage, and somehow she’d find her father. But first, she’d have to escape the fiend who held her.

* * *

For the next hour, Nat rode like the wind over the moonlit fallow land he knew from childhood, goading the stallion to the limit. Only a little farther through the overgrown woods ahead and the shape of the old, abandoned cottage would rise into view. Frustration raged in Nat’s blood. He should be riding alongside the king, not minding this winsome bag of tricks who had fallen asleep in his arms. Bloody hell! Who was he trying to fool? It was his own fault! Why had he gone soft at the sight of that fresh-faced beauty acting so bravely in the face of the dreaded Black Fox? Why had he allowed her feisty charm to tug at him, just as it had earlier in the rose arbor? What was there about her that made him want to enfold her and comfort her? But he couldn’t ignore the baser need—his growing desire to taste the sweetness of her innocence. It’d been a long time since he’d known lust burning in his loins for such a woman. Was she as full of fire in bed as out, he wondered?

Anne stirred in his arms, and he glanced down at the sleeping temptress against his chest. Only her head and one hand peeked out from his heavy cape. The blindfold had slipped from her face and rested softly below her chin. How he longed to touch her cheek, feel the softness of the silken hollows of her throat. He smiled to himself. How angelic she appeared in sleep. So peaceful, so serene, so—

Without warning, Anne reached up and yanked at his mask.

“You little—” Nat reined up and grabbed her wrist, snapping it back with his free hand. “Try that again, vixen, and I’ll leave you here with the wolves!” When he straightened his mask, he noticed that two of the three ribbon fasteners had come loose. “Bloody hell!”

“What are you going to do with me?” she demanded.

Nat heard the brave note in her voice. She must be frightened to death, he thought, admiring her pluck. “You’ll be taken care of. That is, if you don’t try to rip off my mask again,” he warned.

She huddled back against his chest, the black cape tightly wrapped beneath her chin. “Are you going to kill me?”

He grinned beneath his mask. “Although you tempt me, wench, I told you, no harm will come to you.” He glanced down at her, but the high canopy of oak branches shaded the moonlight from her face.

He spurred Shadow onward. “We’re almost to the farm cottage where we’ll stay. Tomorrow, I’ll sort out what to do with you.”

He felt Anne stiffen in his arms, and although she said nothing, he knew that mind of hers wouldn’t stop until she thought of a way to escape him and locate her father.

Nat urged the horse along the bank of a stream almost hidden by overgrown ferns. He chose the circuitous route purposely rather than ride through the overgrown weeds. Surely Anne would try to search out their trail the following morning. She’d find no tracks to follow along the riverbank, he mused.

Within minutes, the dark outline of the familiar thatched cottage of his childhood rose from the shadows. He swung down from his horse, pulling Anne with him to the ground.

Anne blinked and rubbed her eyes. The tiny cottage stood silhouetted against the moonlit sky, its thatched roof hung so low it almost touched the top of the latticed windows. “It looks ready to fall down,” Anne muttered warily.

The Black Fox ignored the comment as he led the horse past her to the hitch. “Don’t think about running away, wench,” he warned while tying the reins to the post. “We’re in the middle of a deep forest. If you run away, there will be nothing left after the wolves finish with you.” His mouth quirked behind his mask at the gasp she couldn’t quite hide.

He swung his cape over his shoulder and lifted the saddlebags with one hand. “Follow me.” He strode toward the cottage door. “You start the fire,” he ordered, “while I get water and tend to the horse.”

“I won’t spend the night with you, alone in that—” she turned a timorous glance toward the cottage “—that hovel. I’d sooner sleep under a tree than—”

“Suit yourself.” His boot steps crunched along the stone path toward the cottage. He stepped over the stoop in one long stride, slamming the door behind him.

Anne bit her lip and strained her eyes against the dark canopy of trees that surrounded the cottage. The wind wailed low through their branches. Servants’ tales sprang to her mind of horned, grinning beasties who dwelt in the forest, watching, waiting. The horse neighed and she inched closer to the animal.

Something hooted nearby and she jumped. The horse whinnied and pawed the ground. Something was out there! Horses sensed such things. She shuddered, pulling the jerkin about her.

Damn the Black Fox! He was as evil as her uncle had said. He held no loyalty to Royalists or he wouldn’t be mistreating the daughter of one of the king’s finest. More than likely, once the king was safely out of England, she’d be ransomed back to her uncle. Providing there was enough left of her for him to find!

What was she to do? She saw a candle flicker in the cottage window. Shivering, she watched his shadow dart in front of the warm light. Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since morning. Her body ached from weariness. How she longed to lie down, but the thick grass hung heavy with dew. The rogue had taken the horse blanket, leaving her no covering.

A faint smell of wood smoke drifted on the wind. He had lit the fire, no doubt. She pursed her bottom lip and stared at the warm, comforting glow in the window. On second thought, she’d rather be inside, but she’d die first than let him know it.

The stallion tossed its massive head and she noticed the animal was still saddled. If he thought she might be foolish enough to escape, he’d be forced to bring her inside. With a furtive glance at the cottage, Anne crept up to the animal and raised her right foot to almost reach the stirrup. When her fingers grabbed for the pommel, the stallion whinnied a bloodcurdling warning and reared up, throwing her back to the ground with a jolt.

Before she caught her breath, the Black Fox bolted out of the cottage and stood looming over her, his cape billowing in the wind. “Never give up, do you, wench?”

She bit her tongue to keep from replying that if he thought she was such a goose to try to escape, he shouldn’t have left his horse saddled. But what did she care what he thought? Her plan had worked, and he’d have to bring her inside. “Your beast is as savage as you,” she spat instead. “He nearly killed me.”

“Don’t give me any ideas, you little hellcat.” He grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her to her feet.

Before Anne could fire a retort, he picked her up by the waist and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of oats. Anne twisted in his iron grip. “You can’t just carry me off—”

He gave her backside a hard whack. “The hell I can’t.”

“Y-you low-life...bastard!”

He kicked the door open, stormed into the cottage and flung her down upon a feather bed in the corner of the room.

“I’ll do anything I want with you, understand?”

“I’ll tell the king! I’ll tell my father! I’ll see you hanged!” She rubbed her backside, still feeling the sting of his hand on her bottom.

The Black Fox threw back his head and laughed. The rich, deep baritone reminded her of someone, but who?

“Don’t laugh at me!” She floundered a moment before regaining her balance in the billowy feather bed.

He lit another candle and placed it in a holder. The soft glow illuminated his glittering dark eyes from behind the slits of his mask. He seemed oblivious to the loose ribbons dangling down behind his head mask. So, she had pulled the bottom ribbons loose. Her hands positively itched to snatch the black silk from his face, not only to see the devil beneath it, but to strip him of his arrogant manner.

“I’m leaving to bed down the horse,” he said. He walked to where he had dropped the saddlebags next to a large trunk. “When I come back, we’ll eat and have a glass of the finest French brandy.” He reached in and pulled out a dark shiny bottle. “Compliments of your uncle’s impressive wine cellar,” he said as he placed it on the table. He strode to the door in two long strides. Framed by the doorway, he glanced back at her. “Mind yourself while I’m gone or I’ll chain you to the hitch for the night.” His dark eyes glittered with such intensity, she knew he meant it.

After he had left, Anne glanced about the tiny room. Modest, clean and tidy, it contrasted sharply with her first thought that the cottage had been abandoned. The plaster walls sparkled with whitewash. Fresh rushes had been strewn across the wide plank floor. The wood in the hearth had been laid in anticipation for their arrival, she noted, and now a fire crackled cheerfully in the stone hearth.

This was the Black Fox’s hideout. But there was a decidedly feminine touch that piqued her curiosity: the delicate hand stitching of the muslin bed coverlet, the crisp lace that flounced above the window, the high beeswax polish on the plain wooden furniture, the dried bundles of herbs that hung from the rafters.

Her glance fell to a vase of pink gillyflowers on the corner table. She remembered what the Black Fox had said to Jane Herrick when he robbed her of her brooch: Maybe one of my women might take a fancy to it.

She sat bolt upright in bed, unsettled by the thought. What if he now considered her one of them!

Her gaze fell to the dusty saddlebags leaning against a large trunk. Anne knelt down beside the bags and lifted the flap. Inside, the plump sack of gold coins lay on top of loose papers and maps. Her heart hammered with excitement. Tucked alongside the pouch glittered Dr. Herrick’s gold watch and Jane Herrick’s brooch. Filled with elation, she glanced nervously toward the door. She’d return their keepsakes to the doctor and his wife when she found her way to Rosemoor. She’d return the gold to the Herricks, as well. They’d see that the coin would go to the king’s cause. Besides, stealing it from that insolent rogue would help settle her account with him, she thought smugly.

With a surge of satisfaction, Anne removed her leather jerkin and spread it on the floor. Carefully she emptied the coins from the pouch onto it, then folded the garment into a packet and hid it underneath the feather mattress. Before she pulled the blanket over the saddlebags, she thought to fill the slack pouch with something. Her eyes scanned the small room. Nothing. Then she remembered the pebbled walk outside the stoop.

She opened the door a crack and peeked into the darkness. He must be on the other side of the cabin. With shaky hands, she gathered the damp stones in her apron, elation and fear fusing within her. Within minutes, she had filled the pouch with the stones, then sat back to wait for his return.

A short time later, she heard his boot steps scrape at the door. Her heart raced as she lay back upon the pillows, feigning sleep. The door creaked open and she felt a deeper tug of excitement.

She shifted her head and watched him through her thick lashes. He carried an armful of firewood and dropped it beside the hearth. After he stacked it, he moved to the shelf above the table. His back was to her, so she couldn’t see what he was doing. Within minutes, he turned and she saw him place a trencher piled with biscuits on the oaken table.

He threw his leg over the seat of a chair, sat down and splashed a small portion of brandy in each of the empty tankards from the bottle. His mask hung loosely about his face by one ribbon, allowing him enough freedom to eat, yet concealing his identity. He took a sip from one of the mugs. “Fit for the gods.” Then with a small knife, he whacked off a triangle of cheese from the large wedge and plopped it into his mouth. Anne’s mouth watered and her stomach growled so loudly she was afraid he heard it.

“Mmm. What flavor!” He ate with slow, tantalizing relish. “I know you’re not sleeping, wench,” he said finally. “If you’re hungry, come to the table.”

Reluctantly she got to her feet and slid into the seat across from him. She bit into a biscuit, the flaky morsel almost melting in her mouth. Had the woman who baked his food provided the feminine touch about the cottage, as well?

Anne ate daintily, refusing to show how starved she was. Besides, his large masculine presence made her so nervous, she could hardly swallow. His man scent reminded her of her favorite glen at Wycliffe Manor, when the late afternoon sunshine permeated the air with the aroma of cedar.

He had removed his hat and his dark hair fell loosely about his mask. The sputtering candlelight shot deep auburn glints through the thick chestnut mane. He didn’t need blades or pistols—just the sight of the fearsome rogue would strike terror into the hearts of those he robbed, she thought.

“Drink the brandy.” The black silk fluttered about his chin when he spoke. “It will help you sleep. Tomorrow, I’ll snare a rabbit. You’ll be hungry by then.”

She took a sip from the tankard. The liquid burned a line straight down to her gullet. She blinked back tears, but forced another swallow. He watched her silently, the only sounds coming from the crackling logs in the hearth. She couldn’t help wonder what he was thinking and she would have given anything to see the expression behind that mask.

“More?” he urged, lifting the bottle, but she shook her head. He turned and the mask moved slightly about his mouth. She caught a brief glimpse of his chin. He wore no beard, she noted. Through the slits, his eyes glittered with something that strangely thrilled her, but terrified her, as well.

If only he’d say something to vex her again! His irritating words had taken her mind off her fear, her uncertainty, and the peculiar way he made her insides feel.

After they had finished, she watched him place the knife with the remaining cheese and return it to the shelf. She scraped her chair back and warily sat on the edge of the bed. He strode past her to the wooden trunk in the corner of the room. Anne dangled her legs over the bed and swung her long hair over her shoulder, watching him with interest.

He dragged the trunk into the middle of the room and creaked open the lid. Curious, Anne straightened for a better view.

After rummaging through the contents, he pulled out a gold-handled hairbrush, several folded undergarments, a blue silk gown and one more article before he sat back on his haunches and slammed the lid. “Buttercup is a bonny color for you,” he said, tossing a bright yellow night rail at her.

Anne gasped, staring at the delicate lacy confection as though it were a coiled snake. “I’m not...wearing this, and you can’t make me. It’s not proper.”

He chuckled under his breath, and she didn’t need to see his evil face to imagine his don’t-dare-me expression. “Proper?” He slammed the chest back against the wall with a booted foot. “It’s a bit late to worry about propriety, wench.”

Anne’s face flushed with self-consciousness as she examined the exquisite gown. Delicate embroidered yellow rosebuds decorated the soft gathers about the neckline. She wondered how he came by such finery. “Whose clothes are—?”

“A rich merchant’s wife, if I remember.” He laughed softly beneath the mask. “I came by the lady’s wardrobe quite innocently. She was so thrilled to meet the Black Fox that she kissed me boldly. I was so taken by her charms that I neglected to notice her husband’s growing jealousy until he tossed his wife’s trunks from the coach. I would have returned them, but I avoid possessive husbands whenever I can.”

“I bet you do!” Anne hated his arrogance. Suddenly a fearful thought crossed her mind. “You’re not sleeping with me!”

“You have nothing to fear.” His devilish chuckle deepened. “I prefer my women...clean.”

“Clean?” she repeated, aghast.

“Aye. You’re mud from head to foot. Take off that silly man’s disguise, at least. Tomorrow, I’ll heat some water for a bath. And if you balk, I’ll give it to you, myself.”

Anne pushed back the veiled threat that he would sleep with her then! Her hand rose to her throat. “I hope they catch you and you swing from a gibbet.” Anne tumbled forward and leaned toward him. “I’ll dance a jig at your hanging and help them tug on the rope.”

“My, my. Sounds like you’re going to be busy. I suggest you get some sleep to keep up your energy.” He unfastened his flowing cape and tossed it over the wood fireplace settle. “I’ll sleep here,” he said, pushing the bench nearer the hearth. “Don’t try anything foolish. I’m a very light sleeper.”

Anne tossed her head in stony response. She crept back to bed and peered at him warily. What could she do if he chose to ravish her? She was completely at his mercy. She watched him undo the ribbons at his wrist and neck. God’s bones! He was undressing in front of her!

She turned her head into the pillow and squeezed her eyes shut, dismissing the disturbing image from her mind. She heard him chuckle in that insidious way, and she vowed to get even with him, somehow. Damn the rogue. She’d think of something!

* * *

Birds chirped in the distance and Anne stirred, pushing a wave of hair from her face. When her eyes fluttered open, it took her only a moment to orient herself and remember where she was. Already, pale morning light spilled in through the lace curtain above her head.

She knew without turning in his direction that the Black Fox was in the room. She could feel his presence. She threw back the blanket and sat up.

Low embers sputtered in the grate. Sprawled out like a loose doll upon the bench was the Black Fox, snoring softly before the fire. Even dozing, he appeared menacing. He had fallen asleep, fully clothed, without so much as removing his fancy wide cuffed black leather boots. His head lay on his shoulder, slumped against the hard wooden slats of the bench, the plumed wide brimmed hat on his lap.

The remaining ties of his mask were knotted behind his head. If she could only see his face, maybe he wouldn’t appear so frightening. He wasn’t some black spirit who haunted the highways at night, was he?

Suddenly she remembered the small sharp knife he had used to cut the cheese. Her glance darted to the shelf across the room. Sharp enough, she thought, to cut ribbons!

In her stocking feet, she tiptoed past the sleeping highwayman. She moved stealthily toward the shelf, unwrapped the linen and grabbed the small dagger in her palm. She pursed her lips together in concentration as she inched silently behind him.

Moving into position, she took aim. With one straight motion, she cut the ribbon and yanked off his mask.

“Wh-wh—” Startled, he jumped up. Seeing Anne standing over him, the knife in her hand, he lunged for her. He caught her by the right wrist and threw her down on the floor.

“Did you really think you could stab me, you hellcat?” He nearly took the air from her lungs while he shook the knife from her hand. Pining her to the floor, his hands squeezed her wrists so tightly she thought her bones would break.

From the flickering embers in the grate, she stared up into his dark, angry face. It was the lieutenant, her lieutenant from Wycliffe Manor! She gasped. “It’s you!” Her voice rose with astonishment. How could the compassionate friend be the same blackguard known as the Black Fox? The question caught in her throat.

“Answer me! He raked back the chestnut lock that hung over his forehead. Did you really think you could kill me?”

“K-kill you?” What was he talking about? She had only wanted to remove his mask! But of course. He had awakened to see her poised with a knife in her hand and mistakenly thought—

“Don’t think I wouldn’t have tried if I had thought of it,” Anne said, outrage adding to her shock. His face loomed inches from her lips. “But I only...”

“Go on!”

His grip tightened and she cried out in pain, but she refused to ask for pity. “I—I only wanted to see your face.”

“My—” His hand let go of her wrist and flew to his cheek. “Bloody hell!”

She took advantage of her freed hand and rolled out from his grip, but he caught her again, pulling her to him. “Don’t you know what you’ve done, you little fool?”

“Don’t call me a—!” His chest crushed on top of hers, his arms gripped hers again.

“It means I can’t send you back to your uncle, because now you can identify me as the Black Fox.”

“I—I told you, I don’t want to go back to my uncle.” Anne stopped squirming, aware of her helplessness beneath his muscular power. She felt strange sensations at his clamped grip about her wrists. “Please, take me to Jane Herrick—”

“It’s too dangerous. That fancy colonel of yours will search under every thatched roof until you’re found.”

“Twining might as well not bother. I’ll never marry that weasel.” Her breath came fast and hard. “Never!”

“He’ll never give up the chase.” His heavy-lidded gaze dropped to her lips. “I know if you were promised to me, I’d never stop searching for you.”

Anne’s stomach gave a tiny flutter. His dark brown eyes smoldered with something she’d never seen before. It both excited and frightened her. She stared back, unable to hide her fascination. Dawn’s pale light filtered in from the window above, caressing the dark shadow of beard along his jaw, the powerful mouth, the sheer might of his body. She let out a small, involuntary gasp of vague understanding, and at the sound his hands tightened on her wrists.

Their eyes held and for a brief moment she wondered if he felt the same sensations as she did. The velvet heat of his eyes raked her with an intensity that left her weak. When her gaze fell to his full mouth, her lips parted expectantly as a prickly warmth spread throughout her body at the memory of their kiss in the rose arbor.

He lowered his head until his lips were barely a hair’s breadth from hers. She trembled against him, aware of her own desire to touch him, to feel him against her fingertips...

Anne closed her eyes, her thoughts drawing back into the darkness. “Na—!” His lips caught hers before she finished saying his name. A shudder of passion ripped through her as his claim on her mouth intensified, pulling her deeper and deeper into the whirlpool of sensation she could never have imagined before. Now, enraptured by her own spinning desires, her breathing became as ragged as his own.

She felt his rough palm at the nape of her neck, his fingers tangled in her thick hair, all the while his mouth pulled at hers, drawing the heat from her very soul. She felt his strong hand slip inside the large waistband of her breeches. She gasped at the shocking realization that his other hand had parted her shirt as he caressed the sensitive skin along her rib cage.

She felt as though she were drowning in the onslaught of overwhelming intensity. Before she could cry out with longing, his tongue captured hers, his voice a guttural growl.

She thought to resist, but as their kiss grew more intense, these never-before feelings exploded with renewed passion, dissolving her struggle like a puff of smoke in a tempest.

Anne gasped when his hand cupped her breast. She began to tremble with an urgency she didn’t understand as his rough thumb and finger stroked her, the bud growing taut beneath his touch.

“Tell me you want me as much as I want you,” he whispered hoarsely in her hair. Then his mouth trailed a searing line of kisses along the smooth column of her throat, the sensitive hollow at her neck, down to the soft swells to seek the rosy nipples with his tongue.

As his hands possessively explored her, she felt his hardened desire press against her. A jolt of reality slammed through her mind. This man wasn’t the sensitive, handsome lieutenant who had gently kissed her in the rose arbor. Her eyelids fluttered open. A rush of despair invaded her. Nay, he was the Black Fox, the hunted outlaw who took women’s virtue as easily as he took their gold. Hadn’t he admitted as much? The lieutenant who had befriended her was an illusion, a lie. In fact, all of his words had been false.

“Let go of me!” She struggled from his grip. He jerked back, his dark eyes smoldering down at her with what she recognized as wild, insatiable desire; for those eyes mirrored what she had felt in her heart, as well.

Nat glared at her. His gaze, like burning embers, raked over her naked breasts and she felt herself flush crimson as she hastily covered herself with the crumpled clothing.

“You burn away my every thought of duty, my lovely nymph.” Without another word he got to his feet, picked up his hat and stormed out of the cottage, leaving the door ajar.

Breathless, Anne stared after him, her heart beating wildly. Remorse charged through her as she straightened her rumpled garments. She shivered as a breeze, damp with early dawn, brushed her flaming cheeks, still warm with his kisses. She wrapped her arms tightly about her knees and stared at the open door.

Never had she felt so abandoned in all of her life.