Charmed and Dangerous (16 page)

Perhaps he had, she thought suddenly. The Pryors weren't paying much heed to letters just now. Perhaps Catherine had simply forgotten to mention it. Driven by this possibility, Laura walked swiftly toward home. She was halfway back when a street sign caused her steps to slow as a new idea emerged.

She stopped and looked up at the sign. She bit her lip. This was foolish. But she couldn't help herself. She turned down the street and made her way to a residence she had visited once before. “Is the Countess Krelov in?” she asked when the door was opened to her.

“Gone out of town,” was the laconic reply.

“Oh.” Laura's heart sank. “Do you know when she will be back?”

The woman shook her head.

“I don't suppose you know where she has gone?”

The response was the same.

Laura started to turn away. The door was shutting when she thought of something more and said, “Is the count here?”

The landlady's mouth turned down in a disapproving grimace. “He's here—when he bothers to come home, that is. I don't know whether he's in just now.”

“Thank you.”

Laura resumed her walk toward the Pryors' more slowly than before. Had Gavin gone off with Sophie? If not, it was quite a coincidence that they should both leave town at just the same time.

Laura suddenly remembered the evening of carol singing and the way Gavin had stood with Sophie, his head bent close to hers, his smile warm and encouraging. She remembered Sophie's hand coming to rest so naturally on his arm. The whole reason for Laura's presence here was the general's concern about Gavin's infatuation. Undoubtedly Gavin had gone off with Sophie. He was no better than her old employer, the Earl of Leith.

To her horror, Laura found there were tears in her eyes. She bent her head and walked faster, avoiding the gaze of passersby as she struggled for control. She had been living in a silly fantasy world, she thought. She had imagined that Gavin saw her differently, that they were partners in solving the mystery of the attack on him. But what grounds had she ever had for such ideas? He had not included her. He had never told her anything unless forced to do so. And on top of that, he had taken inexcusable liberties with her person.

Laura flushed and had to fight harder against the threatening tears. The last time he had held her, she had enjoyed it! After all her years of resistance, she had been captivated by a heartless libertine. She had fallen in love with a rake.

Gasping at the shock of the realization, Laura almost ran the rest of the way to the house. Once there, she went immediately to her room and stood in the middle of the carpet with burning eyes and clenched fists. It wasn't love, she insisted silently. She was in the grip of mere infatuation, and she could conquer it—particularly now that Gavin was gone and she was unlikely ever to see him again.

The word seemed to echo in her ears—ever. She had had this one chance at a more expansive life, and she had wasted it on a man who cared for nothing but himself and his own pleasures. How could she have been such a fool?

Laura unfastened her cloak and threw it over the chair. She went to the mirror and smoothed her hair, noting dispassionately that her eyes were still overbright. It didn't matter, she thought. She would have all the time she needed to recover; she would have all of the rest of her life.

Someone tapped on the door. “Laura?”

“Come in.”

Catherine entered, looking more cheerful than she had in days. “Laura, Matthew is feeling a little better, and I have gotten permission to take him home!”

“Oh, good,” she replied, trying to sound natural.

“We are leaving as soon as we can get packed up.”

“All right.”

Catherine looked suddenly concerned. “This will cut your visit short, and you have not…that is, perhaps I could arrange for you to stay with…”

“No.” It all seemed futile, Laura thought. It was over. “I am ready to go home.”

The other woman looked distressed. “Are you sure? But you haven't… I thought you would meet someone here in Vienna—a suitable husband.”

If she had not been so unsettled, Laura would have laughed. “I don't think I'm destined for a suitable husband,” she replied a bit hollowly.

“The Merritts would very likely be glad to…”

“Of course I will go home with you.”

Catherine's expression did not lighten.

“The visit has been much longer than I expected already,” Laura added. “You and the general have been very generous.”

Catherine seemed torn between trying to arrange something for her and wanting to prepare for the journey. “You will stay with us in London for as long as you like. There is no need, you know, for you to look for a post. We would be more than happy to—”

“Let us not think of that just now,” interrupted Laura. Indeed, she never wanted to think about it. “We need to get the general home.”

“Yes.” Catherine wrung her hands. “I will feel so much better when we are in our own house.”

“Of course you will. I will supervise the packing, so that you are free to sit with him.”

“Would you?” She looked immensely relieved. “You must come and ask me if there is any question.”

“I will.”

“The trunks are in the cellar.”

Laura nodded.

“And, let me see, don't forget the teakettle. I brought ours from home, because I didn't know, you see…”

“I remember,” said Laura gently.

Catherine laughed. “I am so distracted.”

“Don't worry. I will take great care.”

“This is so kind of you, Laura.”

It wasn't really, she thought. A task was exactly what she needed to occupy her mind, and keep her thoughts from straying—as they continually did—to Gavin Graham.

They arrived in Venice in an early February dusk that threw purple shadows on the glorious old buildings and made the water glow in rippling stripes of gold. Catherine had decided to return to England by ship rather than the more taxing land route. Privately, Laura wondered whether it was really because she didn't want to spend the long journey shut in a carriage with an extremely irascible patient. Illness had made the general short-tempered and morose.

Laura herself was not in the best of tempers. Her great adventure had ended badly, and she had nothing to return to but a life that had begun to seem pointless. She tried to keep from brooding over her situation by staying busy, volunteering to do Catherine's errands and manage the details of their travel. It didn't help. She was perfectly able to think as she visited shipping offices and dealt with innkeepers. It was ironic, she thought as she crossed one of Venice's beautifully arched bridges, her mind had always been her refuge. Now she longed to escape from it. She paused at the top of the bridge and gazed down the canal. It was busy with gondolas carrying people and goods. She watched a load of cabbages pass beneath the bridge, then turned an idle gaze to the next boat. Its contents made her stiffen.

In front of the gondolier sat Sophie Krelov, her red-gold hair gleaming in the sunlight. And close beside her, their shoulders touching, was Gavin Graham. Laura stood frozen as the boat approached a landing. Gavin stepped to shore and then turned to offer Sophie his hand as she followed. Laura hadn't really believed their departures were connected. She had expected some other explanation to surface. She would hear later, she had imagined, that Gavin had been sent on some critical mission or been called halfway across the world by some exotic crisis.

She watched the countess take Gavin's arm with a proprietary air. His head bent to catch something she said, and Laura could see his elegant profile quite clearly. He looked unruffled, and perilously handsome. Laura's hand went out and gripped the balustrade of the bridge. She had to close her eyes to weather a wave of pain that made her sway on her feet. She couldn't believe how much the sight hurt her.

Her distress was so obvious that a woman walking across the bridge stopped and asked if she needed help. Laura swallowed, straightened, and assured her that she did not. The exchange caused a few heads to turn, Sophie Krelov's among them. But Laura was too occupied to see the countess's quick frown and angry glance from her to Gavin. When Laura was able to look again, the pair had started off along the canal, arm in arm, strolling as if they hadn't a care in the world.

Laura told herself that it was none of her affair. The matter was now closed, and she should get about her legitimate errands. But somehow her feet took her in the same direction. It was simple to follow them. Gavin towered above the other pedestrians, and his golden hair was like an irresistible beacon luring her on.

They walked to a large inn near the waterfront. In its courtyard, Sophie stopped and leaned against Gavin seductively. Her arm went around his waist. She raised her head and kissed him, slowly and passionately, prolonging the embrace despite the ribald comments from loungers around them.

Laura couldn't bear any more. She turned away and started to walk blindly over the uneven cobblestones. She didn't see Sophie signal to a man lurking in the inn yard or notice when he fell in behind her. It was all she could do to find her way back to the Pryors' lodgings and into her own small room. There, at last, she could let herself cry.

* * *

It was fortunate for her that the general was so ill, Laura thought the next morning as she set out to do some shopping for Catherine. If he had not been occupying her mind, Mrs. Pryor would surely have noticed Laura's dejection and tried to discover the reason for it. She would never tell her, or anyone, Laura vowed silently. She had been a fool but no one need know about it.

She rounded a corner and crossed a narrow bridge over one of the smaller canals. At least she had seen Venice, she thought. She took a deep breath and gazed at the beautiful stone buildings on the other side of the canal. She was imagining how she might have enjoyed the place under other circumstances when a hand closed around her upper arm and jerked her into a dim passageway. Laura opened her mouth to scream. A rag saturated with chloroform was immediately thrust into it. She struggled and felt more than one assailant pinion her limbs. As she lost consciousness, she felt herself smothered in heavy cloth and lifted off the ground. After that, everything was black.

Laura woke in dimness. She was curled into a ball on some hard surface that seemed to sway beneath her, making her queasy. Her head hurt, and there was a vile taste in her mouth.

She had been attacked, she remembered, sitting up quickly, and then regretting it as dizziness made her clutch the wall.

It was an odd wall, she was able to notice after a while. It was made of horizontal planks, and it wasn't straight but curved. Was it her vision? Laura shook her head and blinked, but the wall remained bent. She raised her eyes further and found that the room was illuminated by a small round window faced in metal. A ship, she realized, slightly relieved. And so this shelf behind her head was probably a bunk. She hoisted herself off the floor, hoping for no more than a soft place to lie down.

On the bunk built into the wall lay Gavin Graham, lashed in and unconscious.

Laura fell back to her knees. “Mr. Graham?”

There was no reaction.

“Gavin?”

He was very pale and absolutely still. Suddenly frightened, Laura put out a hand and touched his face. It was clammy. She felt for a pulse and was profoundly relieved to find one. “Gavin?” she said again. She shook his shoulder.

He gave no sign of awareness. She checked for wounds. There didn't appear to be any blood on his clothes. His hair was tangled though, and she soon found a lump on the side of his head. But that didn't explain his current state. He must be drugged, she concluded.

Laura looked around the cabin. Where was Sophie? she wondered irrationally. She tried the metal latch on the door—locked. There were cupboards in one wall, but when she opened them, she found only a tin cup, a tinderbox, and two squat candles.

The ship rolled. Probably they were casting off. It rolled again, and she put out a hand to steady herself. There was nowhere to sit but the bunk. Gently pushing Gavin's feet aside, she settled beside them.

Voices from beyond the door made her muscles clench.

“I don't see why the damned prisoners had to be put in
my
cabin,” complained a man in French. “Why should
I
be the one cramped in a hammock all the way to Marseilles?”

“I don't think they'll be with us for the whole voyage,” answered a deeper voice. “I heard the lady tell our passengers to get rid of them as soon as they could.”

“The devil you say? She gives the orders, you think?”

“So it seems.”

“I would not be commanded by a woman.”

The other sailor laughed. “A woman like that? With hair red as sunset and a body from my dreams? I would be happy to fulfill all her demands.”

“Or she mine,” responded his companion. “On her knees, eh? We could put those lips to good use.”

“I would rather be between
her
knees.”

“Too bad she didn't sail with us.”

The other agreed with a grunt. “This Michael of hers is a hard man. He and the captain have secrets.”

“What kind of secrets?”

“My friend, I think it is better we do not ask.”

The two men's footsteps faded down the corridor. Laura relaxed, thinking over what she had heard. It seemed the countess had had them imprisoned here and that Michael was on the ship. It sounded as if they were to be killed, she thought with a chill. What were they going to do?

Gavin would know. She watched his still, white face, wondering if he realized that Sophie had betrayed him.

* * *

Laura started awake to a stream of curses. It was pitch black, and the room was heaving around her as if in some sort of earthquake. Her first thought was—“The children!” Then she remembered she was in Vienna. Had some catastrophe struck the city?

The curses continued—vividly.

Laura moved and found she was curled in a confined space next to someone's legs. Startled, she sat up.

“Who's there?” demanded the deep male voice that had been swearing so colorfully.

The ship, thought Laura. Venice. It all came rushing back. Gavin was at last conscious.

“Sophie?” he said.

Laura froze. Was he accustomed to waking in the dark to find Sophie Krelov beside him? Groping in the dark, she opened a cupboard, found the tinderbox and candles, and clumsily lit one. She looked for a candlestick, but there was none.

Turning, she found Gavin staring at her. “What the devil?” he said.

“Are you all right? How do you feel?”

“Vile.” The ship heeled over and it felt as if it was skidding down the trough of a wave. “Are we at sea?”

Laura nodded.

“What the bloody hell are we doing there?”

“I believe Michael abducted you.”

“Michael?”

“I've forgotten his last name,” said Laura.

Gavin moved his hand and found that his arms were bound to his side. He cursed again.

“Here, I will untie you. I was afraid you would fall before.” Laura leaned over and found herself hampered by the lit candle. She looked around for a place to set it down. Finally, she saw wax drippings in one spot on the exposed timbers of the cabin. Adding to them from her own candle, she started to affix it in order to get both hands free.

“What are you doing?” demanded Gavin.

“Making a place for the candle.”

“Do it later,” he ordered.

“I can't untie you with one hand,” she pointed out.

He cursed again.

Finished, she turned to the rope. It appeared that one long piece had been wound round and round the bunk, which was separated from the wall by a narrow gap. There was only one knot, at the back.

Laura reached for it. The placement was awkward; standing by the bunk, she could just touch the knot, but she couldn't work with it. She leaned forward, and the deck lurched, throwing her onto Gavin's lower regions. “I beg your pardon,” she said, regaining her balance with a stumble.

“Will you just untie me?”

“I am trying to do so!” Laura looked at the knot. She put a knee on the edge of the bunk, but that position was quite precarious. She knelt there, and her skirts hampered her every movement. Finally, she hiked them up and pushed them out of the way, then bent over Gavin and grasped the knot.

It was complicated and tied very tight. She tugged at the coils with no effect. The ship heeled, and Laura fell onto Gavin's hips and legs again, her bare knee braced against his thigh. He made a sound. “I'm sorry,” said Laura. “The boat keeps—”

“Just get the ropes off,” he snapped. He sounded as if he might be choking.

Laura braced herself more securely and went to work again. The movement of the ship kept interfering, and she couldn't keep her breasts and torso from brushing Gavin at intervals. The cabin began to seem very warm. Laura was flushed and flustered. “It is a very difficult knot,” she said, to excuse her slowness and to break the silence, which was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

“Undoubtedly,” answered Gavin, his voice thick.

“I don't think it was tied by a sailor,” she added to keep the conversation going. She didn't add that she was finding it almost impossible to concentrate on the rope in such close proximity to him. “I have read that sailors chiefly use—”

The ship gave a particularly violent lurch. Laura grabbed the ropes to keep from falling off the bunk. Momentum pressed her hard against Gavin, the fine wool of his coat rasping her cheek, the contours of his body impressed upon hers. The scent of him evoked the memory of his arms around her and his lips on hers. Her flush deepened painfully as she scrambled up. She felt dizzy, and her mouth was dry. She told herself it was the motion of the waves.

Gathering her scattered wits, Laura attacked the knot. At last, she worked one finger under the widest loop. Feeling it give a little, she yanked and managed to get another of her fingers into the gap. When she pulled again, there was a definite movement. “I think I'm getting it,” she said. She shifted position to gain more leverage; her elbow brushed Gavin in an extremely awkward place, and he let out an almost inaudible groan. “Sorry,” stammered Laura.

The cabin had become unbearably hot, she thought, focusing her scattered attention on the coils of rope. It was hard to breathe. She tugged at the knot again. “It is definitely coming loose,” she told Gavin.

“Splendid,” he said, sounding as if his teeth were clenched.

Laura worked at the knot. The ship continued to toss and force their bodies together and apart in an irresistible dance that made her fingers fumble and her cheeks burn. At last, when she was about to give up in frustration and embarrassment, the coils gave and fell away. “There!” she cried and sprang up out of her awkward position.

Gavin pushed against the rope. It didn't give. “Are you sure?” he said.

“It is untied.”

He flexed his shoulders. “It doesn't move. There are too many windings. You will have to pull it off.”

Laura swallowed, wishing her pulse would slow down. She bent over him once again to pick up the end of the rope, and then she began to unwind it, pulling it across his body and through the narrow gap behind the bunk over and over again.

It seemed to take forever. Gavin was holding himself rigid as the coils slid over him. His face looked like stone in the flickering candlelight. Laura tried to hurry, but that only tangled the rope and forced her to lean across him to free it. His breath touched her cheek and seemed almost to burn it.