Diary of a Painted Lady (18 page)

Jarred was alone. He jumped down and hefted Blair as if he was a feather-weight instead of a big man and laid him inside the carriage.

“Oh, be careful, please,” Gina begged, fearful that rough treatment would cause him to bleed more heavily. Already his life’s blood ebbed away at an alarming rate. She climbed in beside him and settled his head on her lap. Her teeth chattered in the bitter cold. She used the hem of her gown to staunch the flow of blood. Blair’s eyes were closed. As his chest rose with each breath, she sent up a prayer of thanks.
He lived.

Jarred lit the coach lamps and jumped up on the box. He slapped the reins. The

horses whickering at being thrust out into the cold in the dead of night, galloped over the coast road. Soon, the dark bulk of the castle disappeared from sight.

“Help won’t be long, my darling.” Gina pressed against the wound more firmly. “We’re taking you to a doctor.” But where was Jarred taking them? She wished she felt more confident that there was a doctor at the end of this mad dash.

They traveled at a bone-jarring pace along the cliff, which in the dark, became doubly dangerous. One miscalculation on Jarred’s part, and they would all join the earl in the roiling waters below.

The road seemed interminable. They’d been traveling for almost half an hour when Blair began to stir and murmur.

“Soon, my darling.” Gina said chaffed his cold hands. “Not long now.”

At last, around a bend, the bridge over the river came into view. The carriage clattered over the stones. Ahead, the tiny fishing village was still and peaceful under the moon.

Entering the village, Jarred drove the carriage down one narrow lane after another. He pulled the horses up outside a small, stone cottage. Someone was there, for candlelight flickered in its windows.

Jarred opened the carriage door and pulled Blair roughly out onto the road. Blair groaned in pain as Gina stumbled to the ground and knelt to help him. Jarred thumped on the door with his fist. Without waiting for anyone to answer his knock, he ran back to the carriage.

“You’re not leaving us?” Gina cried.

Jarred didn’t answer. Jumping up, he cracked the whip over the horses and the carriage rattled away into the darkness. With growing despair, Gina watched him go.

The door opened, throwing an arc of lantern light over the road. A grey-haired man with his shirt sleeves rolled up, took the pipe from his mouth and stared at her. “What’s this to do, lass?”

“Blair’s been shot. Please, please help him.” She jumped up to grasp at the man’s waistcoat.

He removed her fingers. “There, there. No need for that. Help me get him inside to the light.” He leant over Blair, and grasped him under the arms, “Doesn’t look too good, poor man.”

She took hold of Blair’s legs, struggling with his weight. They carried him into the cottage and laid him on a settee. A black iron stove in the fireplace radiated heat warming the room. Gina’s tense cold body began to thaw and she swayed dizzily.

“Are you a doctor?” she asked, praying that he was. He seemed so calm and sure, it gave her hope.

The man stripped Blair’s shirt away. “I am.”

“Will he be alright?”

“He’s lost a lot of blood.”

She watched as the doctor examined the wound. “The bullet’s still in there,” he said. “It will have to come out. I’ll get my things.” He glanced at her. “You’d better sit down before you fall down, my dear.”

Relieved that he didn’t ask questions, Gina sank down beside Blair. She gasped when Blair stirred, but he didn’t wake. She stroked his forehead, finding it warm. A bolt of fear at the prospect of infection shook her. “You are going to be fine, my love. Just fine,” she whispered.

The wound below his shoulder still bled heavily, despite her attempts to staunch the flow.

The doctor returned carrying a bag. Opening it, he took out a scissor-like instrument and went to the wood stove where a kettle simmered. He thrust it into the fire. Taking a bowl down

from the shelf, he poured boiling water into it and stirred the instrument in the water. He wiped it on a clean folded cloth he took from a drawer.

Returning, he took a bottle from his bag and poured a little of it onto a cloth. He held the material under Blair’s nose. Blair grasped his wrist, then he went limp, sagging back against the cushions.

“Just a whiff. It will put him out for a little while. You hold him still, lass.”

The doctor thrust the instrument deep into the bloody hole. Blair’s body jerked and Gina held him down with every ounce of her strength.

For several strained minutes Gina could barely watch.

“That’s right, good.” The doctor withdrew the instrument and the wound bled even more freely. “Press hard on there, lass.” The doctor dropped the bullet into a bowl with a clang.

Gina pressed firmly over the wound with the pad of cotton.

The doctor massaged his fingers. “Now, I’ll clean him up and bandage him. When he comes to, we’ll move him to a bed.”

“I am so beholden to you, doctor.” Gina wiped away a tear.

“Don’t thank me till we see if he lives.” His grey eyes studied her from behind his spectacles. He nodded toward the stove. “Make us a cup of tae, will you, lass?”

She jumped up, glad to have something to do. “I’ll be pleased to.”

“Put some honey in it. And there’s a tin of bannocks and cheese on the shelf.”

“I couldn’t eat...” she began.

“You’ve had a nasty shock. Just a nibble with the hot drink will set you to rights,” he said kindly. “You must stay strong for your lad, now, mustn’t you?”

She nodded and busied herself making the tea.

Blair didn’t stir as the doctor wound the bandage around his shoulder. “And while you are making the hot drink, you can tell me how all this came about.”

Gina took cups down from their hooks. She didn’t want Jarred to get into trouble. “The Earl of Douglass shot him,” she said. “It happened as he tripped and fell over the parapet.”

He raised his shaggy brows. “Lord Ogilvie fell off the castle tower?”

“Yes.”

He pursed his lips and looked at her doubtfully. “That will cause a to-do. There’ll be those who applaud it. Are you going to tell me it was an accident, lass?”

“He fell when he tried to kill us both.”

“Why did he wish to kill you?”

She shook her head in confusion, still not entirely sure what lay behind it. “I think he must have been mad. He kidnapped me, forced me to come here from London. Blair followed to rescue me.”

The doctor’s bushy brows rose. “He always was a bad sort.”

Might we stay here? I can cook, clean...” she put the food on a tray, then brought it to the table with the tea things.

“That would be nice, but this is a small place. It would hardly escape anyone’s notice that I have a pretty girl living with me. You think the villagers don’t know you’re here right now? Besides, if you stay I would have to explain his bullet wound to the magistrate.”

She watched Blair’s face for signs of improvement. Was his color better? “I don’t like to ask you to lie for us, but I’m afraid we will be blamed for the earl’s death. And we are innocent.”

He nodded. “It could likely be true.” There was a pause as he sipped his tea. “Then you’d best take your man and leave before daylight.”

“But he might die!”

“He might die anyway.”

“I have no means of transport.”

“My son will drive you to my brother in Carlisle. You can stay with him; he runs an inn. When this young man is up to traveling, or he’s ready for his grave, whichever, my brother Garrick will help you return to London. I’ll send a letter along with you. Don’t worry lass.” He patted her hand. “I’ll tell anyone, should they ask, that you were a couple just passing through with a sick baby.”

“Oh, you’re so kind. Bless you.” She kissed the man’s bristly cheek.

“Have done with you.” He smiled. “I’ll slip out and fetch my son. You finish your tea.”

When the doctor returned with his son in tow, Gina rose to give them both a hug. “Thank you so much, you shall always be in my prayers.”

Blair stirred. Gina leaned over him. He opened his eyes and looked at her his eyes dazed. She smoothed the lock from his brow. “Am I in heaven?” he asked, before drifting off again.

The doctor laughed. “I do hope he survives, for heaven on earth surely awaits him.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Present Day

London

Dylan came running up the path only twenty-five minutes after Astrid had rung him. She realized gratefully that he must have ridden like the devil to get here so quickly from his flat in Fulham.

He grasped her shoulders. “Are you okay? That bastard, I’ll run him through when we’re next on the set.”

She gazed up into his concerned, blue eyes. He looked appealing with his damp dark hair tousled. Had he been in the shower? “You don’t use swords on the set.”

“I’ll find one in wardrobe. No, seriously, Astrid. What do you want me to do?”

She loved how men always rushed to fix things. “Nothing. I’ll leave it until after the wrap party.” Now calmer and feeling much safer, she could think more clearly. “I don’t expect he’ll bother me again and I don’t wish to ruin the man’s career when his life is already falling apart.”

Dylan coiled his hands into fists. “Surely you’re not going to let him get away with it?”

“If I cause a fuss the man will lose his job.”

“And so he should.”

“And then he’ll blame me.”

He paused. “Of course I don’t want that to happen. But are you sure he won’t do this again? The man should be put away.”

“He didn’t hurt me.” She shook her head, too exhausted to speak of it anymore.

Running his hands through his hair, Dylan strode over to the French windows. He made sure they were locked. “I’m going to check every door and window in the place.”

She slipped down onto the sofa as he went from room to room. Her legs didn’t seem to want to hold her up. She was grateful that Dylan hadn’t asked about Philippe, her whirlpool of emotions made it impossible to talk about what had been said between them. She didn’t want to admit to being very, very tired, but by the slump of her shoulders, Dylan knew. He hurried over to her. When she rose she had to lean against him. He picked her up in his arms. “Time for bed,” he said against her hair.

She rested her head against his shoulder. Entering the bedroom, he laid her on the bed.

He drew off her shoes and covered her with the spread. Then he stood for a moment looking down at her. “I’m going to sleep on the couch, Astrid.” He found a spare blanket and pillow in the wardrobe. “You’re safe now.”

He left the room and she heard his footsteps on the stairs.

She opened her mouth to say, no, stay here with me, but exhaustion weighed her down.

In the early hours of the morning, Astrid woke feeling cold. She sat up to pull the duvet over herself and realized she still wore her dress. Her mouth felt furry. In the bathroom she washed her face, brushed her teeth and changed into her nightgown. When she came back into the room, she found Dylan standing in the doorway, dressed in a pair of boxer shorts. She hadn’t forgotten how magnificent his body was from that day at the lake, his powerful torso tapering to a trim waist and long, muscular legs. A quiver of breathless expectation passed through her.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “I couldn’t sleep either.”

She took a shaky breath. “Is this something special, Dylan?”

“For me, it is.”

She took a step toward him.

In two strides, he reached her. He kissed her as if starved for her. He was so much taller than Philippe, taller than any man she’d known, to coil her arms around his neck, she had to stand on her toes. With a laugh he walked with her to the bed. His mouth explored hers, her fingers tangled in his hair. She felt an insatiable need for this kind, warm gorgeous man.

He massaged a thumb over a nipple through the thin material of her nightgown sending carnal shivers through her body. “Do you want this, or is it just because of what’s happened?”

She pushed away the thought that this was unwise and gave in to everything she felt. “I want you,” she whispered.

He eased her nightgown over her head.

He groaned. “God, you’re the most beautiful woman I have known, Astrid.”

“You are very pretty yourself.”

He laughed, an almost primeval sound, so unlike his usual voice, it made her go hot with desire. No one had seen her completely naked except Philippe. Her hands fluttered up to cover herself.

“Let me look at you.”

Dropping her hands, she proudly invited his gaze. He drew her against him and she buried her nose in his skin, smelling the maleness of him, his own particular scent overlaid with some sharp, fresh cologne.

“I don’t have any condoms. Are you on birth control?”

She nodded. That had been the cause of the bitter arguments with Philippe. Not wanting to think of him now, her thoughts skidded away as Dylan kicked off his boxers reveling his rampant desire for her. She wanted to touch him. She stroked his hard length until the sound of his moan sent her over the edge. Dylan took control and pushed her back onto the bed. When he bent to kiss her between her legs, she gasped at the bold caress. Philippe had never done this. He’d always been a conventional lover. Shocked at the intimacy, the pleasure from Dylan’s mouth and tongue quickly dispelled her embarrassment as she arched her hips and cried his name.

“Give yourself to me,” Dylan said huskily, as his fingers circled her soft flesh. He slipped a finger inside her.

With a moan, Astrid surrendered as her release came hard and swift consuming her.

Dylan smiled at her. “I’ve dreamed of this.”

“I’ve dreamed of you.”

“You have? Why didn’t you say so? We’ve been wasting precious time. What did you dream? Of this?” He gently bit a nipple as pleasure exploded through her.

She gave a breathy giggle.

“Tell me what you want.” His heavy-eyed gaze made her tremble with a sexual thrill she’d never felt before. She yielded to the searing need that had been building for weeks.

“I want you inside me,” she whispered.

He settled over her and she welcomed the weight of him pressing down on her, her hands sliding over his back, discovering strong bones beneath smooth skin, the ripple of his muscles as he moved under her fingers.

Dylan pushed inside her, filling her, causing a fierce flare of yearning. How good it felt, how right. They fitted together perfectly. He took hold of her bottom and thrust into her, riding her hard.

Sliding out of control again, Astrid cried out, but he silenced her with his mouth.

Dylan withdrew and pushed into her again making her mew with pleasure. He filled her with his own climax and holding her tightly, pressing kisses onto her forehead, nose and throat, before his warm body left hers and he lay beside her.

Their panting breaths subsided. “Next time we’ll take it slower,” he said, his cheek against her breast.

Astrid frowned. “Slower?”

He looked up at her. “You don’t want it slower?”

She shook her head.

“I mean make it last longer,” he said with a laugh.

“Oh,
oui
.”

Dylan settled her head against his shoulder. “I want to learn everything about you.”

Her fingers explored the texture of the dark hair on his wide chest while they lay together, languid and quiet. Dylan pulled the duvet over them as the sweat on their bodies cooled. Feeling safe in his arms Astrid drifted off to sleep.

Hours later, as sunlight filtered through the curtains, she woke. Propping her head in her hand she watched him sleep. He lay on his stomach, and she admired the fine contours of his back and his smooth tanned skin. She lifted the duvet and peeked. He had a beautifully curved ass.

As if he sensed she watched him, he opened his eyes and rolled over with a grin. “What were you doing?”

She giggled. “Just admiring the scenery.”

He tossed off the duvet. “You like what you see?”

“I would be very hard to please if I didn’t. A million women would love to be here in my place.”

“I can’t complain. You look beautiful first thing in the morning.”

“Rose colored glasses,” she said with a smile.

He shook his head slowly as passion sparked in his eyes, and corresponding desire quickened her breath.

He pulled her on top of him, and she lay there, her body contoured to his, feeling his cock nudging that sensitive part of her. She reached down and took hold of it, circling and stroking. She loved the feel of him, hard and soft, straining against her fingers. Loved to watch raw passion turn his eyes dark blue. She grew moist and hot between her legs wanting him.

“That’s very nice,” he said in a strained voice.

She angled his cock inside her and began to move slowly. It felt so good, she moaned.

He cupped her breasts, thumbing her nipples, the pleasure intensifying.

“Oh, that’s…” She threw back her head as the pace increased along with the pleasure. When he stroked the hardened nub of her clit, she rode him faster. He grasped her bottom and thrust up to meet her, their passion building.

Dylan rolled her over and entered her from behind. The feeling built again, so intense and exquisite she almost couldn’t bear it and yelled in her own language as she came again.

He hauled in a breath and came. “How am I going to live without you in my bed every night?” he murmured.

She briefly wondered the same thing, but firmly pushed it away. Suffering from a very pleasant kind of exhaustion, she settled down in his arms and slept again.

Astrid’s phone woke them. Astrid leapt from the bed, pulling the sheet with her to cover herself.

“Don’t hide yourself,” Dylan complained, as she staggered over to her phone. He settled against the pillows his hands behind his head to watch her.

She spoke briefly then hung up. “It’s the studio, they need me in costume. Some alterations need to be made.”

Dylan rose and stretched, completely at home with his nakedness. Astrid admired his naturalness, she admired every inch of him remembering the delight they’d shared. It made her grow hot again. She was insatiable. As if she’d stored up passion for years and now, like a dam it had broken free. She bit her lip. How could she ever leave him?

As if Dylan read her thoughts he moved toward her, determination in his eyes. His phone burst into life. He picked it up. “The studio with the same message.” He came to kiss her with a sigh of regret. “Shall we go together?”

“Better not,” she said quickly.

He studied her. “Are we still keeping this quiet?”

“
Oui
.” She crossed to the wardrobe and took out her robe.

Dylan pulled on his boxer shorts. “You spoke to Philippe last night?”

She turned to face him. “I did.”

“Do you plan to tell me what was said?”

“He saw us on the news. He’s upset, naturally.”

“And did you tell him of your plans?”

“No. Nothing definite.”

He swung away from her, frustrated. “Why the devil not?”

“It’s hard for me to explain. Ending this relationship requires something more than a phone call, Dylan. We have a life together in Paris.” She held out her hands, palms up. “I need time to think.”

“I don’t like it when you think too much, Astrid. You’re apt to talk yourself out of something special.”

“I’m being too rational?”

“I suspect you can be.”

“Well, maybe you allow your emotions to cloud your thinking,” she snapped, afraid he would attempt to control her as Philippe did.

He slid his arms around her. “Let’s not quarrel. Would you like me to move in here until the picture is finished?”

“That isn’t necessary, Dylan. I’ll be fine.” She waited, expecting him to argue.

Dylan began to dress. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

Her phone rang again. She picked it up to a barrage of French.

From the doorway, Dylan gestured that he would go home and change.

Astrid blew him a kiss. Grateful to him for understanding, she spoke rapidly as the front door slammed, and consumed with guilty pleasure attempted to appease Philippe. She wanted to be honest and would be, but not now. She hated hurting him.

* * *

In the afternoon, she met Dylan at the studio restaurant. It was busy, filled with well-known faces, the buzz of conversation and laughter from glamorous and witty people infectious. Astrid and Dylan stopped at several tables before they reached their own.

Once they had a quiet moment to themselves, Astrid attempted to explain to Dylan what she’d decided. She’d thought of little else since they were together. Breaking off with Philippe needed time, and she had to do it in a way that was fair. She needed time to think clearly about Dylan too. She was only too aware that rebound romances seldom lasted.

“You want to live alone in Paris?”

She anxiously watched his expressive face, surprise gave way to disappointment, as he struggled to understand her feelings. “Where do I fit into this?”