Dare to Love (19 page)

Her voluptuous curves pressed against his torso and he could feel her heart racing. Her hair, silky soft, was tickling his cheek as he rested against her. Opening his eyes, he found he was inches away from the entrancing swell of her breasts. The view was both soothing and arousing. Each time she moved her hand to stroke his arm, it exposed a tantalizing gap in her bodice.

Inhaling, he smelled her distinctive vanilla scent. He could remain here forever. It was so peaceful. So quiet. As though there was no one else in the world but he and Nivea.

Then he stiffened. Yet someone had shot him. Why? And where had they gone? Maybe there were still out there. He tried to rise.

“Are you all right?” Nivea tightened her grip on his arms.

“We should go. Since we don’t know who shot me, we must move away from here.”

“Oh, you are right. Let’s go.” She rose to her feet and held out her hand.

Ignoring her help, Dare found his feet and straightened. No longer wrapped in Nivea’s warm embrace, he shivered. Grabbing his shirt off the ground, Nivea handed it to him. He was able to slip it over his head, but his fingers refused to work the buttons.
When had he gotten so bloody feeble?

Nivea once again brushed his hands aside, this time fastening the material. It felt rather intimate, having her dress him. Judging by the flush that settled on her cheeks, she must have felt it too. Either that or pity, knowing he was such a disfigured coward.

As she retrieved his jacket and turned toward their horses, she asked, “Do you need any assistance getting up?”

There was his answer. She pitied him. What a lowering thought, that Nivea, of all people, thought he needed help mounting his horse. Well, he would move heaven and earth to get on the beast unaided.

He thrust his foot into the stirrup and threw himself into the saddle. A crippling jolt of pain sliced through his side and radiated across his chest. Letting the sensation wash over him, he managed to relax enough to grab the reins, betraying only a hint of distress. It was a skill he’d perfected long ago.

Ready to show Nivea how unaffected he was, he turned and realized he’d forgotten to help her mount. To his surprise, he saw her balancing on a fallen log, before pulling herself up onto her horse. Issuing him a triumphant smile, she asked, “Are you ready to proceed?”

“Yes,” he spat out through gritted teeth.

It was a quiet ride. Thankfully, she didn’t expect him to speak until they returned to the stable and were heading back toward the house. Dare did his best to walk with the confident stride of a gentleman, but it cost him greatly. Nivea, damn her eyes, was not at all fooled by his posturing.

She patted his hand that rested on her arm and said, “As soon as we return, you go to your room and I will send Cook up to treat your wound.”

She must know now that was not an option. “No, I’ll be fine. I’ll have my man tend to me.”

Not content, she pressed, “Please, let Cook help, she’s well trained in the healing arts.”

Obviously, he would have to spell this out for her. Unable to prevent the bitterness from seeping out, he said, “Jackson will handle it. He has nursed me through many injuries.”

Nivea blanched as understanding dawned. “Was he…? That is to say, has he been with you long?”

Anger coursed through him. She shouldn’t know so much about his shameful past, but there was nothing to do about it now. “Yes. Jackson has been with my family since I was a boy. He was the one called upon to patch me up when circumstances required it.”

At that, he dropped her hand and stared her in the eye. “He is one of the few people I trust.”

He didn’t trust her. He couldn’t. That was something she would need to accept.

He could detect the note of remorse in her voice when she nodded and said, “All right. I’ll have the supplies readied for him in the kitchen.”

“Thank you.” Eager to change the subject, he took her arm again and walked her toward the front steps. “Please allow me a few minutes, and then I would like a word with William. I don’t know who shot at us, but we must have them apprehended.”

“Oh, yes. Certainly. We must make sure no one else is injured.” With a final squeeze to his arm, she gathered up her skirts and ran into the house. Finally alone, Dare let out a deep groan and dragged himself to his room.

Jackson patched up Dare’s wound with a minimum of fuss and then doused him with laudanum. It helped him sleep through the night, and when he finally roused himself by mid-morning, the pain was bearable.

As Jackson reapplied his bandage and helped him dress, he briefed Dare on the recent events. “You had a steady stream of visitors while you were sleeping, milord. Lord Horsham and the earl were quite distressed to learn you had been shot on their property. They are arranging a search party for this afternoon to investigate the area. If you are up to it, they would like your assistance.”

Dare flinched as he drew on his shirt. “Yes, I will join them. I look forward to finding the bastard who shot me and giving him a taste of his own medicine.”

“Yes, sir. I will inform them of your interest. You were also visited by Lord Duxbury, who was relieved to hear that you are sound with only a minor injury. After learning of your state, he proclaimed it likely perpetrated by a jealous husband, and returned, unperturbed, to his room.”

“Jacksnape.”

“Yes, sir. The most frequent visitor was Miss Horsham, who expressed great concern and made me promise to update her on your progress and remind you that you should not go riding alone, as it can be very hazardous.”

At that, Dare looked up to examine Jackson’s expression in the looking glass. As he was focused on adjusting Dare’s cravat, he did not notice Dare’s flash of interest.

It was comforting that Nivea was worried about him. Although, given her cryptic message, she wished her riding lesson with him to remain a secret. That might be difficult to pull off, considering the increased scrutiny caused by the shooting. But he would do his best, if that’s what she wanted.

Once dressed, Dare headed out for a walk around the grounds. He wanted to clear his head of the laudanum before heading into the woods this afternoon. He did not have to go far. It was a clear day with a gentle breeze and the fresh air quickly restored him. He took a leisurely stroll to the lake, before circling back toward the stables. He had happened upon a patch of forget-me-nots and thought to make Nivea a small bouquet. Although he tried to tell himself it was a simple gesture to thank her for her concern, he knew the truth.

He was using the flowers as a ploy. He imagined handing her the bouquet, causing her to smile and coo. Perhaps she would even agree to a kiss or two. He had been unable to think of much else since she had leaned over him to bind his wound. Even as he’d shuddered in pain, her scent had both soothed and taunted him.

She was just so…sweet. Everyone had said so, but he’d never considered it a complimentary trait in a woman. Sweet implied bland, insipid, perhaps even a bit dim. Yet yesterday, watching her joy as she learned to ride—it was inspiring. It made him happy. He wanted to see her sparkling sapphire eyes light up, and her plump, red lips curve in a wide, unaffected grin. He’d spent the past day craving a taste of those lips.

Once he handed her the flowers, he would not let it get out of hand. Only a quick peck to get her out of his system and he could move on with his day. Confident he was in control, he entered the family wing. Making certain there were no others about, he knocked on her door.

No answer.

He knocked again. Still nothing.

Disappointed, but undeterred, he turned the knob and slipped inside. Placing the flowers on her pillow where she was certain to notice them, he decided to pen her a brief note. Nothing too risqué, just letting her know he had been there. It was certain to bring a blush to her cheeks. Considering he preferred more experienced women, he was surprised at how enticing that image was.

He crossed to her writing desk. Opening the drawer, he found a stack of papers already written upon. He was not intending to pry, but as he happened to glance at the top page, his heart clenched.

In disbelief, he scanned the page once, then gripping the back of the chair, he read it again.

“Betrayed”

Crisscross welts given

by a man who should only be giving

love

and guidance.

Inflicted, why?

Upon a boy

whose only guilt was what?

Malice?

Or evil schemes?

No, his sin was nothing more

than being born, and young, and a son.

I lost my mother

as a girl

and thought that must be

the greatest sadness to be felt.

But no.

To be betrayed by those

who should give love,

not pain.

‘Tis unimaginable.

No wonder

he dare not love

when love has brought him nothing

but anguish.

And welts.

Nivea Horsham

Shaking with emotion, he dropped into the chair. His rage was so great he thought he might explode. How
dare
she put his deepest secrets on paper! What right did she have to summarize his life, so stark and cold it made him weak?

He’d thought her sweet. Bah! More like a feral cat. You lean over to pet it and the damned beast sinks its teeth into your hand.

Oh, he would wring her neck for mocking him. For opening his secret to the world. Hell, she even put his name in the poem. Right there, to erase any doubt. He
dare
not love! Of course he did not love. There is no such thing as love—only pain.

He dropped his head in his hands and tried to stop the shaking. Suddenly, scenes from his youth, scenes he had buried deep into the corners of his mind, came flooding out.

Playing piano at his mother’s request, watching her smile with joy, then stepping in the hall and being knocked to the ground.

Falling from a horse and struggling to remount with an injured leg. After ridiculing him for poor horsemanship, his father rode off with the horses, leaving him to stumble home alone in the dark, only to collapse with exhaustion and terror hours later, long after the family had retired.

His sisters, with their triumphant sneers, eagerly relating his transgressions at dinner. They had quickly learned their punishments would be lessened if their father had someone else to focus his attention on.

He trembled as the agony from days long gone flooded through him. Then his eyes fell back on Nivea’s poem, and the anger surged back. What was her motivation for putting his deepest shame onto paper? Was she truly as sympathetic as she appeared? Or would she use it to betray him? She was a woman, after all.

He had to find out for himself. He would have to confront her, look her in the eye, and study her reaction. Regardless of her response, he would make clear this was his business alone. He did not need nor want her sympathy.

Placing the poem back into Nivea’s desk, he slammed the drawer shut. Taking a deep breath, he stood and crossed to the door. He would have to find her. Now.

Striding downstairs, he saw the other gentlemen waiting for him in the entrance hall. He signaled that he would join them in a moment and headed into the parlor where Lady Horsham was serving tea. Spotting Nivea near the window, he crossed to her.

“I would like a word with you in private,” he hissed.

The smile that had lit her face changed to worry at his tone. “What is wrong? Are you all right?”

“Not now,” he emphasized. “I want to make something clear to you. When we get back from the woods, I’ll come to your room.”

She looked up in surprise.

He gave her a sardonic smirk. “Have no fear, I will not tarnish your reputation, milady. I am perfectly capable of sneaking in and out of a bedroom without detection.”

She looked at him with a steady gaze. That did not appear to sit well with her, but she nodded her head in assent.

With a curt bow, he strode back into the hallway.

There. He would deal with that issue when he returned. For now, he would focus on discovering who shot him and why.

As they rode, the earl chatted amiably with William, never raising his voice or casting aspersions. They were so bloody
nice
to each other.

Listening to them, the truth of Dare’s past took hold of him. Damn it, he
had
been deprived of a normal upbringing. Instead of support or encouragement, he had been taunted and abused. It was no wonder he kept himself isolated. Who among his associates had ever experienced even a sliver of the torment he had?

None.

They had been raised with kindness and guidance, not whips and straps. They were able to love and laugh and enjoy their families and friends. Nivea was right, he had suffered. Through no fault of his own, he was left to wallow in this black pit of despair.

The question was, could he move past it? Could he learn to trust? Could he, in fact, trust Nivea?

No!
the voice inside shouted. Look at the poem. She was mocking you! She will betray you.

And yet images of Nivea flitted through his brain, a soothing blur of laughter, concern, and passion. She didn’t flirt with him like most women, with mooning eyes or calculated glances, but instead talked to him like a friend. He felt so damn peaceful around her. How was that possible? She was a woman! While a man might inflict physical injury, it was the insidiousness of women that caused the most pain. What exactly did she want from him?

Unable to arrive at an adequate conclusion, he returned his attention to his companions.“We’re almost there. I was around the bend a bit, planning to go as far as the ruins, but I never made it.”

“I cannot tell you how incensed I am that you were injured on my land. I don’t understand how this could have happened,” said the earl.

Having no explanation, Dare shrugged. A few steps farther, he drew his horse to a stop. “This is it. We were right here when I felt the shot.”