Bound by Love (14 page)

Sucking in a deep breath, she turned her head, meeting Stefan’s brilliant blue gaze.

Just for a moment the entire world skidded to a halt. The cramped room with its shabby furnishings, the chatter of birds that echoed through the open window that overlooked the back garden, the churning concern at having been caught before she could reach St. Petersburg, all faded away.

A sweet, poignant emotion clenched at her heart.

An emotion that sent a chill of dread down her spine.

No. She was not stupid enough to fall in love with this man.

For God’s sake, he considered her a thief and a liar.
And then there was his threat to haul her back to England as his prisoner.

Thankfully oblivious to her shocking thoughts, Stefan folded his arms behind his head and regarded her with a faintly smug smile.

“A most delightful interlude, my dove.”

“Interlude?” With a sudden surge she was off the bed and, ignoring her tattered shift, she yanked on the hideous gown. She did not know why she was hurt by his words. So far as Stefan was concerned she was just another woman in a no doubt long line that he had skillfully seduced. Then again, perhaps she should be grateful, she told herself severely, fumbling to retie the numerous ribbons. If she were not already desperate to escape from him, she certainly was now. “I have taken complete leave of my senses,” she muttered beneath her breath, shoving her feet into the slippers that had fallen from her feet during the…
interlude
. “Sophy was right.”

“Right about what?” he demanded.

She deliberately kept her gaze adverted from his naked body sprawled across the rumpled sheets. “I should have brought a pistol.”

He chuckled softly. “It would take more than a pistol to keep me out of your bed.”

Arrogant bastard. She wrapped her arms around her waist. “Will you please just go away?”

“Neither of us are going anywhere, Leonida. Not until you have told me why you came to Meadowland and precisely what you have stolen from me.”

“I have told you I cannot.”

She heard a rustle and peeking out of the corner of her eye, she watched as he slid from the bed and tugged on his breeches.

“Ah yes, the dire threat to your mother.”

“It is not amusing.” Whirling to face him, Leonida sent him a frustrated frown. “And the threat is not only to my mother.”

“Are you saying that you are in danger?”

“Me and anyone who…”

His brows lifted. “Who?”

“Could you not just trust me, Stefan?”

“No.” With a shake of his head, he moved to stand directly before her, his hands gripping her shoulders. “That is the one thing I cannot do.”

“Why?” She resisted the urge to pull from his grasp. “I would never do anything to hurt you or your family. Indeed, I have done everything in my power to protect you. It was your own ridiculous notion to follow me.”

His lips thinned, as if angered by her sincere words. “You knew that I would.”

“Actually, I presumed a duke would have more important duties than chasing after an unwelcome guest.”

“I never allow anything that belongs to me to slip away.”

Swallowing her pride, Leonida parted her lips, prepared to plead if necessary. Before she could speak, however, there was a loud, unexpected bang just outside the window.

Mon Dieu
. Had someone just fired a pistol?

Caught off guard, Leonida did not readily recognize the danger. Not until Stefan stumbled forward, a trail of blood running from his shoulder down his bare chest.

W
RAPPING HER ARMS AROUND
Stefan’s waist, Leonida managed to keep him upright as he struggled for his balance.

“You have been shot,” she breathed, still stunned by the unexpected attack.

“Yes, I had surmised as much,” he said dryly, managing to steady himself as he turned and headed toward the window.

“What are you doing?” she demanded. “You must lie down.”

“And allow the bastard to slip away? Not bloody likely.”

She pressed a hand to her heaving stomach, her heart pounding with fear. Stefan had been shot. He might have been killed. And it was entirely her fault.

“For God’s sake, do you
want
to be shot again?” she hissed, watching as he pressed against the side of the window and glanced out.

“Damn,” he muttered. “Whoever it was has made his escape.”

Moving forward, Leonida grabbed his arm and steered him toward the bed. Her concern for the wounded Stefan was for the moment far greater than for the escaping attacker.

“Would you please take a seat? You are bleeding everywhere.”

He grudgingly allowed her to settle him on the edge of the mattress, although he appeared remarkably indifferent for a man who had just been shot.

“It is nothing more than a crease.”

“I must call for a doctor.”

With startling speed he reached to grasp her wrist. “No.”

“Do not be a fool, Stefan. You must allow your wound to be properly treated. It might become infected.”

“And have all of Paris buzzing with the news that the Duke of Huntley was shot in the private hotel suite of the Countess Karkoff’s daughter?” he demanded.

“No one in Paris knows who I am. We could say…”

“Leonida, there would be no means to prevent an investigation. The French authorities would insist upon it.”

“And you believe there will be no investigation if the Duke of Huntley bleeds to death in a Parisian hotel?”

His lips twisted. “You will not be rid of me so easily. I have received worse injures cutting wood. If you would be good enough to hand me my jacket?”

She bent down to pluck the jacket from where Stefan had tossed it onto the carpet, her heart giving a faint flutter as she felt the unmistakable bulge of his purse in an inner pocket.

If she could just manage to get her hands on his money she would have the means to flee Paris. And more importantly, the means to lure the danger away from Stefan.

“Why?” she demanded, her voice determinedly steady.

Pulling a tiny flask from yet another pocket, he handed it to her. “This should cleanse the wound as well as any sawbones could do. If you would do the honors?” He flashed a wry smile. “I assure you it will hurt like the devil.”

“Good.” She readily hid her shattered nerves behind a pretense of anger. “You deserve to suffer for putting yourself in danger.”

He winced as she splashed the spirit into the thankfully shallow wound.

“No doubt my brother would fully agree with such an uncharitable sentiment.” He pointed toward her forgotten shift at the end of the bed. “Now if you could tear off a length of linen, I believe it should work well enough to bind the wound.”

She reached for the shift, tearing off a large square. She
folded it and carefully positioned it over the wound before tearing a small strip to wrap under his arm and around his shoulder to hold it in place.

“I notice that none of your precious clothing is to be sacrificed,” she muttered.

“I did promise to purchase you an entire wardrobe.” He turned his head to brush his lips over her cheek. “Of course, that promise comes with the condition that I be allowed to rip it off you.”

She straightened with a sharp jerk, unnerved by her explosive reaction to his touch.

“
Mon Dieu
, you have just been shot and you are thinking about ripping off my clothes?”

“When you are near that is
all
I think about,” he said, his expression revealing he was not entirely pleased with his desire for her. “But you are right.”

“What are you doing?” she demanded, exasperated as he rose to his feet, then, grasping the post of the bed, studied the window across the room.

“The shooter had to have climbed the tree to have a clear shot into the room.”

She shivered, her stomach twisting with sick dread at just how close Stefan had been to being killed.

Oddly, the knowledge that some criminal might have been watching as she and Stefan had made passionate love, or even the realization that the bullet had more than likely been intended for her, were forgotten beneath the tide of horror at the thought of Stefan lying dead on the shabby carpet.

“I suppose,” she muttered.

“Which means it was not simply a stray shot.” He turned to stab her with an ominous glare. “It was intended to kill one of us.”

“Yes.”

“So either someone in Paris has recognized you or I have enemies I did not even know I possessed.”

She pressed her hands to her stomach. “You should not have followed me.”

“Enough of your games, Leonida. You will tell me the truth,” he rasped, muttering a curse as there was a loud knock on her door that made both of them jump in alarm. “Ignore it.”

“Madame.” The sound of the manager’s anxious voice floated through the room. “Madame, I heard a shot. Are you injured?”

Leonida licked her dry lips, welcoming the interruption. “If I do not answer he will come in to check on me.”

His jaw tightened, his expression strained from the pain he was attempting to ignore.

“Very well. But Leonida.”

“What?”

“This is between the two of us,” he warned, his voice lethally soft. “Do not involve anyone else.”

She pursed her lips, pushing back the hair that Stefan had so recently unpinned and heading across the room.

“Just stay there and for God’s sake be quiet,” she muttered.

There was another loud pounding, and, yanking open the door, Leonida stepped into the hall and closed it swiftly behind her.

“Enough,” she commanded, conjuring her mother’s most imperious expression as she regarded the slender, rather fussy little man with gray hair and somber attire. “Why are you pounding on my door?”

The manager’s thin face was ashen as he plucked nervously at his starched cravat.

“A shot,” he managed to stutter.

“Shot?”

“I heard a pistol being fired.”

“Oh yes, I thought something must have wakened me from my nap.” She slowly narrowed her gaze. “Do you mean to tell me that there is some madman in this hotel shooting your guests?”

The manager flapped his hands, nervously gazing down the empty corridor to ensure that no other guests had overheard her accusation.

“No, of course not. This is a respectable hotel. There is no trouble here.”

“Then why was there someone firing a gun?”

“I…”

Leonida took swift advantage of his obvious abhorrence at having any sort of disturbance threaten the peace of his guests.

“Perhaps it would be best if I packed my bags. I do not approve of being murdered in my bed.”

“Madame, I assure you, there is no danger.”

“And what of the shot you heard?”

“A mistake.” He straightened his narrow shoulders, happily convincing himself that nothing so bourgeois as an attempted murder could have occurred beneath his roof. “Perhaps one of the maids dropped a tea tray.”

“Tea…” Leonida stiffened, struck by a sudden, awful notion. Taking the manager’s arm, she steered him toward the nearby stairs and away from the door where Stefan was no doubt listening to the conversation. “Yes, of course. This entire incident has quite overset my nerves. I shall have need of a hot cup of tea with plenty of sugar.”

“Of course, Madame.” Relieved that Leonida was not about to make a disruptive fuss, the manager readily agreed to her modest request. “I will have it sent up at once.”

She leaned closer to her companion, lowering her voice until it was a mere whisper.

“And perhaps you could put in a drop or two of laudanum? I possess a weak constitution.”

“Certainly.”

“Thank you.”

Waiting until the small man was hurrying down the stairs, Leonida sucked in a deep breath and returned to her chamber.

A part of her was horrified by the plot forming in her
mind. She was not by nature a devious, cunning woman who enjoyed outwitting others. Still, a larger part of her understood that she had no choice. Not if she wished to keep Stefan out of his grave.

Entering her room, Leonida closed the door, her heart contracting painfully at the sight of Stefan leaning wearily against the post of the bed. With his dark hair mussed and his face unnaturally pale, he appeared unbearably vulnerable.

As if sensing her unwelcome surge of sympathy, Stefan deliberately straightened, a sardonic smile curing his lips. “You are quite the accomplished actress, my dove. Even I was moved by your touching performance of the delicate widow.”

She tilted her chin. “You wished to be rid of him, did you not?”

“I did, but it makes a man wonder if you are ever sincere, or if your entire life is a well-rehearsed performance,” he mocked.

“Well-rehearsed?” She gave a short, humorless laugh at the ludicrous accusation. “My life has become one disaster after another.”

His gaze seared over her tense expression. “Do you include me as one of those disasters?”

“Absolutely,” she lied without hesitation.

Some emotion flashed through his magnificent eyes, but it was gone so swiftly that Leonida was unable to say if it were pique or disgust.

“It is fortunate that my pride is not easily bruised” was all he said.

She snorted. “Your pride, Stefan, is impervious.”

“And your ability to distract is beyond compare, but no longer.” His expression hardened. “You are going to tell me why you came to Surrey, and more importantly why someone just attempted to shoot a hole through me.”

She shook her head, stalling for time. “If you would just return to Meadowland you would be perfectly safe.”

“Oh, I intend to travel to Meadowland. And you are coming with me.”

His absolute certainty sent a chill down her spine. In this moment she did not doubt that he would willingly tie her to the back of his carriage if necessary to return her to Meadowland.

“No, I have to get to St. Petersburg.”

“Why?”

“I have told you. My mother needs me.”

“A pity, but she shall have to wait. Until I decide I am satisfied—” he deliberately paused, his gaze skimming down her slender form “—fully satisfied, you are staying with me.”

She gritted her teeth. The Duke of Huntley was quite possibly the most stubborn, unreasonable gentleman ever born.

“You have no idea what you are risking.”

“I believe I have a very good idea,” he said dryly, glancing toward his bandaged shoulder.

“No, you do not,” she hissed, not bothering to hide the fear that had haunted her since fleeing England.

He stilled, regarding her with a searching gaze. “Then explain it to me,” he urged softly.

For an insane moment, Leonida felt an overwhelming impulse to lay her troubles at Stefan’s feet. For all his taunting and threats, she knew he was a rare gentleman who could be depended upon without question. With his assistance there would be nothing and no one who could halt her return to St. Petersburg.

Besides, she hated the lying. The secrets, the constant charade. Most of all, she hated the barriers that kept her from the one man who had ever stirred her emotions.

Whether or not she would have given in to the unexpected whim, Leonida would never know. Just as her lips parted there was yet another knock on the door, interrupting the brief madness.

“Damn,” Stefan growled. “Now what?”

Leonida swallowed the lump of regret in her throat. “I ordered tea.”

“I have had more privacy in the midst of a carnival.”

“Madame?” the maid called.

Stefan muttered a savage curse. “Open the damn door.”

Turning, Leonida cracked the door just wide enough for the maid to hand through the steaming cup and saucer.

“Will that be all?” the obviously curious servant demanded.

“Yes, thank you.” Using her free hand, Leonida firmly shut the door and turned to regard Stefan with a concern she did not have to feign. Heavens, he looked like he was about to topple over. “Sit down and drink this,” she said briskly.

“You sound like my nanny,” he muttered, but much to her relief he moved to settle on the edge of the mattress.

“You are pale and obviously weak.” She pressed the cup into his reluctant hand. “This should help to revive you.”

He reached for the flask that she had left on the bed, wincing in pain at the movement.

“I have what I need to revive me.”