Dark of the Moon (43 page)

"Are you going to get dressed?" he asked, his voice ominous as he crowded her against the wall. Those aqua eyes glittered down at her like twin daggers. Looking up at him, Caitlyn wanted to scream with frustration, and cry and laugh at the same time. She knew this Connor well. He would take her with him, would she or wouldn't she, by force if need be. And oh, how she wanted to be taken! But she couldn't permit him to sweep her up and carry her off. Because as soon as Sir Edward discovered that she had disappeared, the tale would be told. She didn't know if he would search for her first or go straight to the authorities. She did know that there would be hell to pay for the man she loved.

"I am not going to get dressed," she said, meeting him glare for glare and trying to sound calmly determined. "Because I am not going anywhere. I have a new life now, and it is here.

You are making things very difficult for me, Connor. Please, please, just go away and leave me be!"

"In a pig's eye," he said through his teeth. Before she could guess what he meant to do, he threw his cloak around her shoulders, wrapping her in it. Then he bent and hoisted her onto his shoulder. She hung facedown for a surprised instant while he turned toward the window. Then she began to fight, kicking and squirming until her hands were finally free of the enveloping cloak and could pound his back with her fists.

"Damn you, Connor d'Arcy, put me down!"

He continued to walk toward the window. She punched him in the small of his back with all her strength. He did not even flinch.

"Put me down, do you hear? I'm not alone in the house, you know! I'll scream for help!"

"Scream away," he invited, steadying her with a hand on her backside. His other arm was wrapped securely around her legs to keep her from falling and/or kicking him as he maneuvered the pair of them through the window. The freezing cold of the night struck Caitlyn like a blow. It was dark as pitch, the wind was blowing, and a few fat flakes of snow drifted down. Even with the haphazard protection of his cloak, the wind found its way up her legs. The silk wrapper she wore beneath was totally inadequate as a decent cover for her nakedness, let alone as protection from the weather.

"You can't just kidnap me, damn you! I'm not even dressed!" Despite her furiously hissed protest, she clung to the back of his coat with both hands. Upside down as she was, the distance to the street below was terrifying. He walked the length of the stoop as surefootedly as a cat, despite his limp, but she did not want to chance an ill- timed bite or pinch that would make him drop her on her head on the cobblestones.

"I thought you were going to scream," he taunted. Reaching the edge of the stoop, he bent to catch hold of the decorative railing with one hand. "Hold tight," he advised her and swung himself over the side, so that the pair of them were dangling over the muddy side yard while he hung from the railing with one hand. Caitlyn gasped as the ground spun perhaps ten feet below her reeling head. She shut her eyes and clutched him for dear life. He let go, and she had the brief, terrifying sensation of falling until with a thump he landed on the balls of his feet without ever relaxing his grip on her.

"You swine," she said, opening her eyes when it occurred to her that they were safe on terra firma.

"Bite me and I'll make you wish you were dead," he threatened by way of answer, apparently remembering her previous reaction to being carried off in such a high-handed fashion. Caitlyn knew better than to bite. His retaliation would be swift and more painful than he could imagine, given her battered backside. She contented herself with hissing curses at him as he strode off with her down the street.

"You watch your mouth or I'll wash it out with soap for you when I get you home," he warned her, sounding grim.

"Damn you, I'm not a child! Quit treating me like one! You can't wash my mouth out—and you can't carry me off like this either! I have a right to my own life! I want to go back! Damn you, Connor d'Arcy, do you hear me?"

They had reached the end of the street. A hackney rattled past. Connor let out a shrill whistle, and the driver pulled up. Caitlyn could not see the man's face, but her own burned as she considered the picture she must present: barefoot, next door to naked, and being carried like contraband over Connor's shoulder.

"Giving ye trouble, is she, mate?" the man asked with a jovial chuckle. Caitlyn clenched her fists in the soft, damp wool of Connor's coat. Just wait until she was on her feet again! She would rock his head for him!

"A mite," Connor allowed. Though Caitlyn could not see it, she guessed that the two exchanged purely masculine grins before he stepped up into the cab with her and the driver shut the door on them.

"You are the most . . . !" she sputtered as he bent to deposit her on the seat. Upright, she clutched his cloak closer and glared at him while he settled himself opposite her. Two small, nearly burned-out candles guttered in sconces set high in the hackney's shabby sides.

"The most what?" he questioned with a lifted eyebrow. The candlelight caught those aqua eyes and gave them a startling life of their own. He was too arrogant by half.

"The most despicable, loathsome, high-handed bastard it has ever been my displeasure to encounter!" she snapped, huddling inside the cloak to ward off the chill wind that seemed to blow right through the coach. "How dare you carry me off this way! What are you going to do, lock me up somewhere? I warn you, 'tis what you'll have to do to keep me!"

"Whatever it takes until one of us has come to her senses," he said, lounging back in the seat. Now that he had the upper hand, much of his fury seemed to have dissipated. He was watching her like a hawk, but there was a kind of weighing in his eyes as well that Caitlyn was too furious to ponder.

"Until one of has come to her senses?" she repeated with a disbelieving laugh. "Are you implying that you think I've lost my senses by preferring another man to you? You are an arrogant bastard!"

"And you'll be eating soap as soon as we get home," he responded almost amiably. The coach lurched to a stop. Caitlyn felt panic begin to build. She knew Connor, and he would have not the slightest compunction about locking her in an attic somewhere until she, as he put it,

"came to her senses." The only problem was that as soon as Minna missed her in the morning, she was bound to send word to Sir Edward. Caitlyn had to get back inside that house on Lisle Street before Sir Edward discovered she was missing and carried out his threat. She had to!

"Are you going to walk, or do I carry you?" His eyes gleamed at her as the driver swung open the door. Defiance was useless, she knew. One way or another, she would descend from the hackney. But pride refused to let her give in to Connor without a show of protest. She regarded him stonily. Her only answer was a lift of her chin.

"Very well, then." Despite her outraged hiss, Connor hoisted her to his shoulder as he had done before. Prudent or not, this time Caitlyn sank her teeth into his back just as he was stepping down from the hackney. He yelped and almost fell, the cabby chuckled, and Caitlyn braced for the hand she expected to fall on her backside. But it didn't.

"You'll pay for that, you hell-born brat," he muttered instead and shifted her so that she could not bite him again, though he could not wholly guard himself from her furious kicks and blows. He did not stop to pay the driver but climbed the steps to the front door, which opened before he touched it.

"Me—me lord," Caitlyn heard a shocked gasp and knew that it was Mickeen. She was too angry to care. Cursing like the street urchin she had once been, she squirmed and fought against Connor's iron hold.

"Pay the man, would you?" Connor grunted to Mickeen by way of a reply and strode into the house. He did not stop in the vestibule but went straight up the stairs and down a corridor to a door which he kicked open. Caitlyn got a hazy impression of a comfortable if shabby room warmed by a blazing fire before he kicked the door shut behind him and deposited her on the bed, yanking his cloak from her in the process.

"Damn you, Connor d'Arcy!" she sputtered as she bounced helplessly on the soft feather mattress.

He threw the cloak down over a chair back, crossed to the washstand, and turned back to her with a grim expression and a cake of wet white soap in his hand.

"You'd not dare!"

"I did warn you," he said, and before she could scramble off the bed, he was bearing down on her with the soap. She fought, but to no avail. He pinned her against his chest, wrapped a hand in her hair, tugged her head back, and washed her mouth out thoroughly. She gagged and thrashed wildly, and when he finally let her go she collapsed back on the bed, crawled to the side, and retched miserably.

"I hate you, you . . ."she muttered with real loathing through the horrible-tasting bubbles that still coated her tongue and teeth and lips. A rap on the door interrupted her before she could expand on her theme.

"Go away," Connor responded irritably, never taking his eyes off her as she spat at him.

"Conn, Mickeen says . . ." It was Liam on the other side. Before he could finish speaking, Connor crossed to the door and pulled it open, holding it wide so that Liam and Mickeen behind him had a full view of the bed. Caitlyn, disheveled, half naked, and still spitting soap, glared at the pair of them as she clutched at the wrapper that had threatened to part from its moorings in the melee with Connor.

"St. Patrick and the Blessed Virgin!" Liam gasped, his mouth dropping open. Behind him, Mickeen crossed himself.

"Behold our latter-day Lazarus," Connor said dryly. "Before you start thinking about exorcisms, let me tell you that she is not and has never been a ghost. She merely neglected to let us know that she survived the little incident that upset the rest of us so much. Though she's apologized for being so thoughtless, of course."

Caitlyn spat out more bubbles and transferred her glare to Connor. An errant strand of her hair, which was tumbling wildly around her barely clad form, got in her face and she pushed it back with an angry movement of her hand. Liam and Mickeen watched her with as much horrified fascination as if she were in truth risen from the dead.

"You swine, Connor d'Arcy," she said with loathing. Liam blinked.

"That's Caitlyn," he said, as if he had not been convinced until that moment. Then he turned his stunned gaze on Connor. "But how—?"

"I'll explain the whole thing in the morning," Connor interrupted, and swung the door shut in Liam's and Mickeen's wondering faces. "As for you . . ." He turned his attention back to Caitlyn. "We have some talking to do."

"I've nothing to say to you," Caitlyn stated, crossing her arms over her breasts and hitching herself up so that she was sitting against the pillow.

"That's just as well, for I've a great deal to say to you. First of all, I want the name of your lover."

"Hah!" Caitlyn said scornfully, pulling her legs beneath her and jerking the topmost quilt over her lap. Though an oath trembled on the tip of her tongue, she managed to swallow it.

Connor would not think twice about assaulting her with the soap again. "What kind of fool do you take me for? Shall I make you a present of his name so that you can go and kill him for me?"

" 'Twill be easy enough to find out, do you not tell me."

"Find out, then. For I'll tell you nothing, except that I dislike being dragged from my home by brute force and held against my will. To say nothing of being subjected to your barbaric punishments!"

"Drastic situations call for drastic measures," Connor said with a shrug, coming to sit on the edge of the bed and look intently at her. The unwavering stare made Cait- lyn uncomfortable.

She had the uncanny sensation that he could see into her soul.

"Does your protector bed you, then?"

Caitlyn gaped at him, unable to believe that she had heard him correctly. The look on his face assured her that she had. A hot blush suffused her skin from her collarbone to her hairline.

Connor, she remembered, had ever been one for plain speaking.

"How dare you ask me such a question!"

"That act of outraged modesty cuts no ice with me," he said grimly. "We've discussed—and more than discussed—matters far more delicate, if you will cast your mind back. I want an answer: does he bed you?"

"What do you think he does, feed me a handful of hay from time to time like a blood—ah, great horse?" she hissed in reply.

"The soap is near at hand," he warned, watching her.

"Try that again and I'll . . . I'll . . ."

"Rend me limb from limb," he finished for her with a quirk of his lips. "I remember. I'm quaking in my boots."

She eyed him. He was watching her like a cat at a mousehole, and she was suddenly assailed by the notion that she'd said something, done something, to make him doubt her tale.

Connor had too much pride to shanghai a reluctant woman—unless he had some reason to believe that she was not so reluctant as she pretended. Perhaps because of the ardor with which she had responded to his lovemaking? Remembering her impassioned reaction to his touch, she blushed again.

"You would have me believe that you have been his mistress for the better part of the past year, is that correct?" He looked at her as if for a response. When she gave him nothing but a stony glare, he went on as if she'd nodded. "Then tell me something, if you will: why are you not with child?"

Caitlyn's eyes widened. Though she had not thought about it before, she knew that what she and Connor did together was how people got babies. With Connor, before this nightmare had begun, she hadn't cared. In fact, she would have loved carrying his child. But with Sir Ed- ward.

. . . She barely managed to restrain a shudder. It seemed she had something to be thankful for, after all. If Sir Edward had been a normal man instead of a depraved monster, the chances were excellent that she would even now be expecting his bairn. The idea sickened her; she tried not to let her face show how she felt.

"How do you know I am not?" she challenged when she could speak.

His jaw hardened, and his mouth tightened. Real rage flared for a moment in his eyes.