Enchanted by Your Kisses (18 page)

It fell over, too.

At that moment Ariel was struck by the sudden, inexplicable urge to laugh. She couldn't help it. The night had been such a disaster, the realization that she wasn't the only one to have a streak of bad luck was almost more than her strained emotions could bear.

"If I huff and puff, do you suppose I could blow the whole house down?"

He turned again. Ariel wondered where the words had come from, except that she felt a secret, vindictive urge to bait him. Most likely because she was miffed that he would dare try to use her and failing that, kidnap her. She tensed, and for an instant, just a brief moment, she thought the lid might blow off the barrel of his temper. Somehow he managed to hold on to it, though. Ariel wished her father could exercise such control.

A yelp escaped her as he grabbed her at the crook of her elbow.

"You," he gritted out through teeth that were surely clenched—quite an amazing feat, actually, "are coming with me."

Nathan watched her eyes grow round. She darted a look at the door, her face seeming to pale, her heels digging in again. Her hair had grown more wild, more riotous, he noted, not that he cared, his frustration with the night and his reluctant captive coming to a head. Gods, he couldn't believe the place was in such disrepair. Leave it to his uncle to do such a thing. Long ago his father had told him about his British family's hatred for anything connected to his father's name—this estate for example, the one and only piece of property Nathan could rightfully claim as his own—but until tonight he'd never fully realized the truth of those words. At least they could have hired a caretaker. Lord knows the duke of
Davenport
had enough coin to pay the wage.

He tugged her forward. She didn't budge. His patience snapped again as he whirled back to face her. "My lady," he gritted, feeling the right side of his mouth lift in a snarl. "Once again, we can do this the hard way or the easy way."

"I don't suppose if I say the easy way you'll tie me to the kitchen table, instead."

Kitchen table? Why in God's name would she want him to do that.

"Or any piece of furniture." He saw her swallow. "Anything but a bed."

Understanding dawned. He straightened. The chit thought he was going to rape her. Again. Frankly, he didn't know if he should be offended or amused by her obsessive fear of his touching her. While she was certainly beautiful, he would sooner bed a viper than another British woman, especially one as untrustworthy as her.

"My lady, let me assure you, I have no intention of bedding you. Ever."

"Do you promise?" She swallowed.

He wanted to yell at her that of course he promised, only to realize how ridiculous this whole conversation was. When did he lose such complete control of his captive?

When he saw the fear in her eyes.

He clamped down on the thought. He didn't care if she thought him the Devil of
Dralock
. Didn't she realize any desire he might have felt for her had faded upon learning of her duplicity?

And yet, even with his pulse pounding in anger, he found himself saying, "I promise."

She looked a bit reassured.

He grabbed her arm again, ignoring her small gasp as he turned back to the fallen door, raised the lantern and stopped dead.

If the main hall looked neglected and decayed, then the narrow hall leading to the servants' quarters looked positively tomblike.
Spiderwebs
stretched from floor to ceiling, a rat scurried across the hall.

"I'm not going down there."

He didn't blame her. Not even the militia would want to go down there. Damnation, but why hadn't he examined the interior of this place prior to bringing her here?

Because he was in a hurry. Because he was angry with her. Because he didn't think, only reacted. And an angry man is an ineffective man, one who doesn't plan as thoroughly as he should. He should have known better than to ignore one of his primary rules.

He would have to hold her in the main part of the house, he realized, although that presented more of an opportunity for her to escape, since they would be on the ground floor. He shrugged. It would have to do, even if it meant tying her to him all night. He tugged her back toward the front door.

"Are we leaving?"

"No," he gritted out.

There were four doors off the main hall, and it was toward the one nearest them that he went. The evening air caused the webs above them to ripple. Nathan ignored them. A quick inspection of the door hinges revealed bronze patina and rotted metal, which had been responsible for the other door's downfall. The next one proved no better, although the one nearest the front of the house looked reasonably sound. He frowned, left with little choice but to give it a try, but when the door wouldn't open, he turned back to his captive to order her to stay.

She was gone.

He stared at the spot where she'd been standing. "What the—" Where had she gone?

She's escaped, you fool.

It shouldn't have surprised him, but it did.

"Ariel!" he roared.

But he knew she'd left. The evidence of her perfidy lay before him: ten tiny footprints led back to the front door.

Little hellion.

Ariel knew trying to escape with her hands still tied behind her back was the height of foolishness, but goodness, she'd had to try. He'd abducted her, for goodness sake. She still couldn't believe it.

So she pressed on. Her feet hurt from the uneven ground beneath her, and branches slapped her in the face. Worse, she knew she made a horrible racket.
Trevain
would have to be deaf as Lord Sinclair not to hear her. But she had no choice but to keep going. She had to escape. The word was like a drumbeat in her ears.
Escape. Escape. Escape.

"Ariel!"

She froze.

Bullocks, bullocks, bullocks.
He sounded right behind her.

"Ariel!"

She plunged on, not even looking where she went, just heeding the urge to run. Which was probably why she didn't realize the pond was so near. And why she didn't see it until it was too late. Frankly, she couldn't have planned her plunge into the icy water better if she'd tried. Like a child taking a summer dip, she tumbled in, the shoreline dropping away so abruptly, it felt like her head sank before her feet.

Gracious heavens. Her head did sink before her feet.

She gasped, bubbles rising up around her. Too late she realized she should have held her breath while she could. With no hands to paddle toward the surface, and her skirts tangling in her legs, the thought penetrated that she might drown.

What a disappointment.

Oddly enough, however, the thought didn't panic her, although a part of her realized that it should scare the life out of her. She'd heard tell that people sometimes saw their life flash before them at such moments. Ariel waited patiently for that to happen, but it didn't. Instead she thought about odd things, things like why was a butterfly called a butter fly? It didn't look like butter. And butter certainly didn't fly. And where exactly did all the flies go when it rained? They all just disappeared when drops started falling.

And then to her great relief she heard another splash followed by a rush of bubbles as a body landed near her own.

Nathan.

Oh, ho,
that annoying voice sang inside her head.
When did he become Nathan again?

When he became her last chance of rescue, that's when, she firmly answered.

Arms clasped her waist, then propelled her to the surface. Their heads emerged at the same time, Ariel inhaling a deep, stagnant breath of air. Nathan held her that way for a long moment as she gasped in an out. Gracious. This must be what a fish felt like when it was taken out of water.

Somehow he managed to pull them to safety, then up on the bank. Ariel shimmied further from the edge. Two arms clasped her from behind, tugging her to him.

Well. As far as escapes go, this one was a rather dismal attempt. Of course, it was her first attempt ever, and so she supposed she shouldn't expect great things.

She tried to move away from him, trying not to blush as she realized their positions. His legs straddled either side of her, his arms encircling her from behind. She wished he'd quit panting in her ear. Oddly enough, the feel of that breath as it caressed the shell of her flesh made her begin to tingle. She shot into a sitting position. No, no, no. She did not still desire him. She couldn't possibly. The man was a liar and a scoundrel.

He'd kidnapped her!

She tried to move away, but his arm tightened around her again. Masculine legs lay on either side of her, his warmth shielding her.

It was then that she realized where her tied hands lay, or rather, what they rested against.

They were, heavens, they were snug against his manhood.

She blushed. Wiggled a bit to try and get away from him again, only to be pulled closer still.

"Stop moving," he said.

"Unhand me."

A poor choice of words, given the location of her limbs. She looked at him over her shoulder.

His silver eyes glittered with anger and something else, something she refused to identify. Besides, it couldn't really be lust, not after all they'd been through.

"I think not, Lady Ariel," and his voice raked her with its anger. "You'll be fortunate if I ever let you out of my sight again." He moved away from her, keeping his hand on the crook of her arm.

Ariel wheezed with relief at the loss of contact. That was better. "And just how long are you planning on holding me?"

"As long as it takes to find the location of my brother."

"And if my father can't help you?"

He didn't answer, but she could feel the tension that resonated from his body. At that moment she forgot about male body parts, forgot about the cold chill that had begun to rack her body. For the first time she wondered what it would be like to lose one's brother. Would she not do whatever it took to save Phoebe? Granted, Phoebe was a cousin, but she felt like a sister nonetheless.

She ducked to the side, tilting her head to stare back at him again. Their gazes met, his as cold as the lake he'd just retrieved her from, a lingering something floating in the depths of his eyes.

Was it desperation? She thought perhaps it might be. And with the customary sympathy that always filled her when she saw someone or something in need, she found herself saying, "I'm sorry," before she admitted how ridiculous it was to apologize to one's captor, especially one who'd tried to use her in such a way.

His gaze narrowed.

"I'm sorry that captain stole your brother," she forged on, despite her mental castigation. "It must be awful not knowing where he is or even if he's alive."

If she'd known the effect her words would have, she might have considered saying them earlier, for he pulled away from her, then jerked her to her feet.

Without a word he pointed her toward the brush, then propelled her toward the house.

A few minutes later they neared the house, but not as quickly as she would have liked. Gracious, but she was as wet as the bottom of a canoe. Worse, she had no change of clothing. She might well have frozen to death by night's end.

"I don't supposed you thought to bring me a change of clothes?" and her teeth chattered with every word.