Darkness In The Flames (33 page)

There was an air of leashed power surrounding him like the faint glow of a distant star in the night sky. Something hard to see but definitely present.

Or perhaps she was just creating a mythical magic where there was none simply because he’d helped her the night before.

Of course, he didn’t know it. Would never know it, if she had her way. It would be unthinkable for him to discover that she was “Hermes”, the leader of a gang of highwaymen. Even more unthinkable would be the knowledge that a certain Verity Chandler had fallen head over teenage heels in love with Sir Nicholas Blaine long,
long
ago.

He didn’t know her, hadn’t recognized her or remembered her name. As she hastened to prepare the Dowager for the rest of their journey, Verity silently chuckled at her own stupidity.

It had been almost—no—
more
than twelve years since she’d seen him. He’d changed in that time and God knew
she
had as well. Besides, during most of his visit to Oakleigh he’d been sharing drinking adventures with her brother Clive, both of them at Cambridge, both living life to the fullest and enjoying all the vices available to their set…wine, women and probably song. Although Verity knew Clive couldn’t sing a note.

“Move, gel. Sometimes I think your head is stuck in the clouds. That’s what you get for being a Long Meg.” The Dowager snapped harshly at Verity and jerked her from her reminiscences.

Used to such treatment, Verity let it slide by simply lowering her head in submission. They were to re-enter the coach shortly, as soon as Sir Nicholas had collected his belongings and settled his account.

Verity spared a moment from her duties to wonder if he had sufficient funds. For some reason he looked…desperate. There was a sense of despair behind his dark gaze. Last night he’d come through with a solution that had relieved her and quite possibly saved a few lives. Even now, Cooper was in the small room he rented from Dame Wandle, lost and confused, trying to recall where he’d gone after the Michaelmas fair.

That had been over four weeks ago and shortly before he’d joined the Midnight Shadows. Truly, Nick had kept his word and uncannily erased Cooper’s more inflammatory memories.

The men would be relieved. She was quietly ecstatic. And now Nick himself was to travel with them to FitzAdams Towers at the behest of the lovely Isolde.

A cold curl of distaste unfolded within Verity’s breast as she helped her employer clamber into the carriage and tucked her securely beneath the blankets and furs. Isolde had more in mind than a charitable offer of hospitality, Verity would bet money on it. And there seemed something more between Isolde and Nick than just a mere acquaintance.

Could they have been lovers? It seemed possible. She was certainly beautiful enough and had a strongly whispered reputation for lasciviousness prior to her wedding. Even though marriage to the handsome Gawain had laid much of that to rest as far as the Ton was concerned, there were those who did not forget such things.

Verity settled herself in the very corner of the carriage, facing backward. She was used to the uncomfortable position—the customary lot of a companion. She had a room and food, both of which she’d been lacking when she’d arrived at FitzAdams Towers. She also had employment with the Dowager Countess FitzAdams.

And she had a secret. Beneath her lumpy feather mattress, in her tiny room under the eaves in the attic of the Towers, was a small bag. It was growing slowly heavier with each nocturnal journey Verity took under her alternate identity—that of
Hermes
.

She hid a smile from her fellow travelers. They were in no danger from highwaymen this night since the brave leader of the small band was actually sitting
inside
the carriage for once. There would be no masked men, no threats or weapons…no whip.

A little shiver of something unsettling rippled over Verity’s skin. She liked using the whip. Liked the sound it made, liked the smell of the leather—liked the feel of the instrument as it nestled into her grasp.

What scared her most was not the skill she’d developed with it over time…no, it was the delight she took from using it and the uncomfortable thought that just once she’d like to be on the receiving end of a couple of blows.

Her fantasies scared her with their intensity—their heated desires. So inappropriate for a woman of her station. So wrong…so…
arousing
…

She’d like to be gently and erotically whipped. She’d like to be naked at the time. And then she’d like to be thoroughly fucked.

And after the events of the last couple of nights, she now knew by
whom
. Her fantasy lover finally had a face. And a name.

Nick Blaine.

She suddenly realized something. Her fantasy lover now had black eyes.

When she’d known him all those years ago, they’d been blue.

Chapter Four

Nick rode quietly next to the leader, letting the four carriage horses set the pace for them all. The darkness was no impediment to his vision, of course, but the rest of the party could not see so clearly and thus moved more slowly through the night.

He was very aware of the women in the carriage. The Dowager and her friend Hetty had been settled with much fuss, but Isolde had let her hand linger in his as she mounted the steps. “I’m so glad you agreed, Nick. ‘Twill be grand to spend an evening together.” Her fingers tightened on his. “With Gawain, of course.”

“Of course.” Nick encouraged her to mount the final step. “You are kind to extend such a gracious invitation.”

Fortunately the Dowager hurried Isolde’s progress and there was only Chandler left.

He was about to extend his hand to her when a servant called him to his horse and he was forced to leave the woman to her own devices. Which was not what he’d intended at all. There was something about her that gnawed at his brain and he wanted to find out what it was.

She occupied his thoughts as he let the jingling harness lull him into contemplation. Chandler.
Chandler
. The name was vaguely familiar, ringing a small bell somewhere in Nick’s head.

He cast his mind back through the years—something he’d not done for quite some time. Memories of his “mortal” past had troubled him, pained him and forced him to accept what he now was. It was a habit he’d given up once he’d learned that the life he recalled could never return.

Now, for the first time in ages, he deliberately opened that mental vault and peered backward in time to the life of Sir Nicholas Blaine. The human Sir Nicholas Blaine. Images of a young man in the prime of life flickered past Nick’s inner gaze, distant enough now that they might have belonged to another man’s past.

They seemed unreal—almost idyllic—and Nick wondered why he’d not appreciated the life he’d led while he was leading it.

He shrugged away the profound thought and let the past unwind until—
there
—a name, a face—
Clive Chandler
. And yes, he had a sister, but damned if her name would come to Nick. She had been a youngster, as best as Nick could recall. Too young to be part of her brother’s adventures.

Nick barely remembered Clive, but the name was solid as was the distinct odor of port associated with it. They’d drunk their way through a year at Cambridge together. Nick grinned in the darkness. No wonder he had few memories. Lord, but they’d consumed vast quantities of liquor, only to rise the following morning, cast up their accounts in the nearest chamber pot, attend a couple of lectures and then repeat the process all over again.

Relieved now that he’d associated the Chandler name with a face, Nick resolutely closed the door on his past life. He’d taken too long to come to terms with his “death” to jeopardize the fragile state of mind within which he now existed. The question remained as to whether
this
Chandler was a relation of
that
Chandler. It would at least provide the opening for a conversational gambit.

And it would give Nick a good look at the tall, slender woman with the whiskey brown eyes.

He gazed absently between his mount’s ears as he wondered about her. Why he’d experienced such a strong reaction to her glance and whether she had felt a similar sensation. It had been as if somebody brushed his body with hoar frost, a touch so cold it burned him.

He had responded instantly and still did when the memory crossed his thoughts. He lusted—strongly—an unusual reaction for one so in control of his emotions. He also hungered, a deep growling hunger that began in his loins and spread to his fangs. He wanted to taste her blood, to drink her sweetness as he sucked her pussy. Her screams of pleasure would be a symphony of passion, one that only he could conduct to its conclusion.

And again his cock stirred…not the most comfortable of responses while riding through the night. Easing his position slightly, Nick shifted on the saddle and deliberately forced his mind away from the mysterious companion and on to what lay ahead.

He had no illusions. Isolde had invited him for a reason and the odds were damned good that sex would be involved. Exactly how he was going to avoid such an encounter occupied his thoughts for quite some time and he nearly jumped when the coachman hailed him.

“There ‘tis, sir. Gate’s just ahead.”

He looked to where the man was pointing with his whip. There, indeed,
it
was. Solid and uncompromising, the massive grey building dominated the skyline, barely illuminated by the rays of the moon. There were lights in some of the windows, but a lot more remained dark, adding to the overall impression of stern and unyielding protection.

More of a prison than a haven of home comforts.

They passed through the gatehouse and within moments were nearing the steps leading to the center entry, a flight of grey granite that opened up onto an impressive frontage and two huge oak doors.

These doors were already opened and awaiting the arrival of the ladies, maids bustling, servants fetching and carrying and Nick staying firmly out of the way as much as he could.

Isolde directed her butler to take care of Nick and smiled prettily at him, begging him to join her for a little refreshment after he’d settled in to his room.

He barely managed a nod before she swept away, followed by a retinue of maids. The Dowager and Chandler had already left the hall.

Nick had no other option but to silently follow the butler to his assigned room. The die was cast…he was now a guest of the FitzAdams family. Exactly what that would entail remained to be seen.

*~*~*~*

Verity closed her door behind her with a sigh of relief. It was very,
very
late indeed and the Dowager had sunk gratefully into her bed with little fuss or bother—an unusual occurrence for which Verity could only be profoundly thankful. It had to be past midnight.

She was tired too, tired and on edge from the constant nagging knowledge that Sir Nicholas Blaine was somewhere on the floor below, settling himself into a suite of rooms.

Fortunately the Dowager’s apartments were in the farthest wing, well away from the noise and bustle of the rest of FitzAdams Towers. Now that the old woman was settled with her maid in attendance, Verity was free. But the trip back to her own room had been a series of tentative peeks around corners and hurried rushes to staircases leading away from the main rooms and up to Verity’s little nook.

She did not want to come face-to-face with Nick. Not tonight—not
ever
come to think of it. He was too disturbing. Too much a reminder of all the things she would never have.

She lit the one small candle on her bureau and began the process of disrobing as hurriedly as she could. It was October and already the damp cold air of winter was beginning its inexorable seepage through the old stone walls and poorly fitting windows. She would whimper and badger the grudging housekeeper to provide a fire later in the season, but for now the room was chilled and so was Verity.

She had gotten as far as unpinning her hair when a light tap on the door made her heart thud in her breast.

“Miss Chandler.” Verity recognized the voice of Isolde’s personal maid and opened the door an inch or two to peer through.

“What is it, Marjorie?”

“The mistress is asking for you. The usual time and place.”

“What,
tonight
? It’s so late…it’s been a long day for all of us.”

The woman grimaced. “Don’t I know it. But she’s all excited and she’s got his Grace all in a lather too. You’d better be there, Miss. I wouldn’t care to gainsay her when she’s in this mood.”

Verity swallowed. “Has she been…indulging already, Marjorie?”

The other woman stared steadily back. “A little. Not much, but enough.”

There was silence for a moment, then Verity sighed and nodded. “I’ll be there. It will take me half an hour or so. You may tell Lady Isolde I shall attend her.”

“Very good, Miss.” The woman left as quietly as she’d arrived and Verity closed the door with another deep sigh.

She had hoped to avoid this rendezvous tonight. She always hoped to avoid it, but once her skills had been revealed, there was little chance her hopes would be fulfilled. Isolde was a greedy woman, hungering for what Verity could provide.
More
, always wanting more, never being truly satisfied…in more ways than one.

Verity crossed her small room to a chest at the foot of her bed and flung the blanket draped over it aside. With hands that felt leaden and awkward, she opened the chest and stared at its contents, then secured the lid and began to remove what she needed.

First came a corset. Reminiscent of something the Dowager would have felt quite at home in, it was a far cry from the delicate confections of lace and ribbons that passed for corsets beneath the light gowns of today.

This was heavy black satin, embellished with tiny red and silver beads. The laces crisscrossed each other beneath the breasts, and there were half cups boned to lift and separate the wearer’s assets into tantalizing trembling mounds of flesh. The small ruff of lace trim barely covered the nipples.