Dangerous to Love (23 page)

“Serena!” The rain drowned the sound of his cry.

He dashed across the turf toward the river. “Serena!” He was bellowing at the top of his lungs, his heart pounding against his ribs. As his long strides covered the distance to the river, his thoughts scourged him, taunting him with his stupidity. He’d been too complacent, too sure of himself. He should have warned his men that behind his wife’s artless looks and innocent smiles she was a scheming bitch. She was a Ward. He, of all people, should have known what to expect.

Fear and anger ripped through him, making him tremble. He had set a dozen guards to watch her. Where the devil were they? As for Serena, did she fear him so much that she would risk life and limb to escape him? She must think that she had good reason to fear him.

“Serena!” he roared. “For God’s sake, answer me.”

Providence rewarded that call with a flash of forked lightning. It streaked across the sky, and for one heart-wrenching moment, Julian had a clear view of her. She was in the boat, well downstream, and using a long pole to steer her small craft clear of rocks and river debris.

What the hell was she doing? Didn’t she know that she was in a punt? She would never keep that small craft steady in this kind of weather.

Torn between rousing his men and going after her at once, he stood on the riverbank. Cursing the fates, cursing himself, and most of all, cursing Serena, he ran to the dock where the boats were moored.

Serena, oblivious of Julian’s pursuit, peered into the
murky darkness, scanning the water ahead for obstacles. It was no use. She could hardly see her hand in front of her face. Even the shore had receded behind a screen of rain. This was not how she had imagined it would be; this was not the Thames she knew. There were no other boats on the river, no watermen calling out friendly greetings, no lights winking at her across the water to give her her bearings. She might have been traversing the river Styx in the Underworld.

Shuddering in spite of the humidity, pulling the hood of her cloak forward to protect her face from the sheet rain, she tried to beat back the panic that threatened to engulf her. When she had launched the punt, she’d almost had a change of heart. Only a fool would be out on the river in this kind of weather. The alternative was unthinkable. She could not, dare not face Julian, or at least, not the man who had entered her chamber with a candle in his hand. She had sensed that something wild and savage lurked just below the surface of that harshly handsome face, something cold and infinitely unpredictable. She couldn’t explain her feelings. Instinct had taken over, warning her that she stood in the greatest peril of her life.

This was panic, she tried to tell herself. This was irrational. Julian was devious, but he was not dangerous. Or was he? If he were a government agent trying to infiltrate their little network, he was not merely dangerous, he was lethal.

She wasn’t sure how long she had been moving downstream when she became conscious that hers was not the only boat on the river. There was someone behind her, someone following her, someone in hot pursuit. She could hear his oars dipping and rising as the boat gained on her, could hear the sound of a man’s harsh breathing as he labored to overtake her. She closed her eyes momentarily
as alarm shivered through her. He would never give up, never permit her to escape him now.

Luck was with her. In true Stygian fashion, vapor rising from the river, a sudden heat haze, closed around her, enveloping her like a shroud.

“Serena!”

Julian’s voice. She checked the sudden sob that rose in her throat. Her breath was coming so hard and fast, she was sure he must hear it.

There was an ominous crack as her boat jolted and came to a shuddering halt. Heart pounding in alarm, Serena half rose to her feet. Edging her way forward, with hands outstretched, she reached out to feel the obstacle that was impeding her progress. She couldn’t believe what her hands told her. Her boat had drifted to the riverbank where it had become lodged in the branches of an overhanging tree. She cried out as wet tendrils grazed her face, then subsided when she found herself clutching the drooping branches of a weeping willow.

“Now I’ve got you!” cried Julian.

As he reached out to grasp Serena’s boat, she scrambled up and leapt for the bank. Her knees took the brunt of her fall, but she scarcely felt the pain. Hauling herself up, she spun quickly to ward off any attack.

Now that he didn’t have to worry about her safety, a cold, murderous rage settled over him. “You little bitch!” he said. “You scheming, murderous little bitch!”

She backed away. “No,” she said. “No.”

At that moment electrifying fire ruptured the darkness. Ducking under his arm, Serena bolted.

Pausing for neither puddles nor the sting of rain on her cheeks, ignoring the squish of water in her boots, she hared along the riverbank. Once or twice, she changed direction, just to throw him off the scent. Whenever she stumbled, which she did frequently, she picked herself up
and forced herself to go on. Soon, her breath was wheezing in and out of her lungs; there was a stitch in her side, and her wet garments were sticking to her like a coat of wet plaster.

When she came to a wooden footbridge, she stopped to catch her breath. The mist had thinned out at this point, and she looked around, trying to
get
her bearings. She’d thought she was following the river downstream. It came to her then that in her panicked, headlong flight, she had lost direction. She could be anywhere, and in that Stygian darkness, there were no landmarks to guide her.

Lifting her head, she listened intently. She heard nothing but the hiss of the rain. Though there was no sound of pursuit, it never once crossed her mind that he would give up the chase. She had to go on.

On either side of the path, dark stands of trees stood out like impenetrable prison walls. She had almost made up her mind to turn aside and find a thicket in which to hide, when she came out of the mist and caught the glow of a light way off in the distance. A great gasp of thankfulness shuddered through her. Throwing back her hood, unmindful of the sting of rain on her cheeks, she blinked as she tried to focus her eyes on that small welcoming gleam.

“Don’t stop now,” he said, right at her back. “We’re almost there.”

With a sob, she pivoted, swinging at him wildly with her balled fist. Her movement was anticipated. His hand caught that flailing arm and yanked on it, and she was lifted high off her feet to be hoisted over his shoulder. Her blows had no effect on him. Then her struggles ceased as she heard the crash of his boot against wood, and he maneuvered her through an open doorway.

When he
set
her roughly on her feet, she stumbled back against what appeared to be a table. As she stood
there shivering, the dank air closed around her. The darkness was so profound that not even a shadow was discernible. No shadow was necessary. All her senses had come alive. She was aware of his presence, aware of the heat of his body and every breath he drew, but most of all, she was aware of the barely leashed violence.

There was a thunk as a bolt was shot home, then he was striking flint to tinder, and in short order, a lamp was lit. They were in a huge, dilapidated barn that seemed to be part workshop. Bits and pieces of machinery—axles, wheels, and things Serena could not name—were propped against the walls. Off to one side was a mound of straw. Her eyes absorbed everything in one lightning glance before fixing on the cold-eyed man who advanced to within a few steps of her. It wasn’t courage that rooted her to the spot, but blind instinct. One hand curled around the hard edge of the table for support.

Wild. Dangerous. Reckless. She trembled as other more menacing impressions pressed in upon her. Something savage and primitive beyond knowing had been loosed in him. She didn’t trust that cold mask of civility, that air of careful indifference. The man was like a sleeping volcano waiting to erupt.

“It would have been wiser,” he said, “if I had made you my mistress and not my wife.”

“I might have had something to say about that.” Though her head was thrown back defiantly, inwardly she was quaking.

A bitter smile played across his face. “How did you arrange it—that’s what I can’t understand.”

She moistened her lips. “What are you talking about?”

“Give it up, Serena. You know very well I’m talking about the attack on me tonight.”

“Attack? I know nothing of an attack.”

Her eyes darted to the barred door.

“Try to escape me,” he said in a voice curiously devoid of the fury she knew consumed him, “and I shall make you sorry that you were ever born. Now, shall we begin at the beginning? How did you arrange it? Who was your accomplice? You will observe that my mind has not been idle. I know that there must have been an accomplice.”

“How could I have arranged anything? There was no reason to. I thought I was Victoria Noble, or have you forgotten?”

He shook his head, laughing softly. “Now that was a brilliant ploy, and I freely admit it. You had us all duped and unsuspecting as sheep. What did you do—seduce one of my own men into becoming your messenger?”

More rash than wise, she shot back, “It’s what I should have done, what I would have done if I had been in my right mind, you .  .  . you unprincipled spy!”

His smile terrified her. “Serena, you have gone your length. You shouldn’t have run away. By that one injudicious act, you betrayed yourself.”

She looked at him, at the hard, unyielding set of his features, the diabolical half-smile, and every muscle in her body contracted painfully. Her mind began to grapple with a way of escaping him.

Turning into the table she was leaning against, as though suddenly overcome with weariness, she said plaintively, “This is so unjust. I am the one who has been wronged. I was the one who was abducted and held against her will.” As she spoke, she used the sodden folds of her cloak to conceal the movement of her hand as she felt around on the flat of the table for a tool, anything she could use as a weapon. Her fingers closed around a smooth length of iron, and she nestled it in her palm.

For a moment, uncertainty clouded his eyes, then the ice returned to them. “Enough of this,” he said. “Tell me what I wish to know or I shall beat it out of you.”

As his hands reached for her, she took a quick step back and struck out at him blindly. He tried to dodge the blow and it caught him squarely on the chest. She heard the thud of that blow, then his gasp as he sagged against the table. Glancing at the hammer in her hand, with a cry of horror, she threw it on the flagstoned floor. When he cursed her and made a move to straighten, she dashed for the door. It took only a moment to slide back the bolt. Without a second’s thought, she burst through that door and took off like a fox with the hounds on her heels.

He immediately came after her. She had barely time to cry out before he had caught her and was lifting her high against his chest, with one arm curved under her knees.

Her head fell back against his shoulder, and his mouth seized hers in a brutal, punitive kiss. Head swimming, breath rasping painfully in her chest, she made a feeble effort to defend herself. Her resistance was met by a fiercer pressure on her lips, making it almost impossible for her to breathe.

When he lifted his head, his breathing was harsh and uneven. “You may yet succeed in your goal. But by God, if you are to become a widow, you’ll know what it is to be a wife.”

Turning on his heel, he strode for the barn and carried her over the threshold.

A
ll the fight had gone out of her. It was more than exhaustion. She feared him as she feared the storm. Neither reason nor resistance could prevail against him in this mood. Strangely, when that thought took hold, her panic ebbed and an odd anticipation shivered through her.

Feeling herself slip, she reached for his shoulders. He made a sound, something hoarse and guttural under his breath, and her eyes lifted to meet his. He took her lips again in another punishing kiss. This time, she did not try to fight him. From the deepest reaches of her feminine psyche came knowledge as old as time. Her lips softened, absorbing the fierce pressure of his.

When he raised his head, his voice was hard and unyielding. “That won’t work with me either,” he said. “Not now. You’ve left it too late.”

There was a moment when it seemed as though he were waiting for her to answer him. When she said nothing, he adjusted her in his arms and, with a muffled oath, carried her to the pile of hay. Depositing her none too gently, he threw himself down beside her.

Rain and wind lashed the small windowpanes, making them rattle. Her own heart seemed to accelerate and beat in frantic counterpoint. When lightning and thunder suddenly erupted overhead, she cried out in terror and turned in to him.

Breath mingled with breath. For long, long minutes, they remained as they were, lips almost touching, skin heating, chests rising and falling as awareness grew in
them. The genesis of the mad chase which had led them to this place and this point in time receded to the periphery of conscious thought, but the powerful emotions which had been loosed in them were still at work, seeking an outlet.