Enchanted by Your Kisses (20 page)

"I didn't mean to offend you, I just wanted—"

He stood, tossing the blanket over her. "The question is not a good one, my lady."

He saw her swallow. Saw her nod. "And while we're in a chatty mood, let us get a few things straight. You are now my captive. Any kindness I may have shown you in the past was purely to lure you into thinking I was your friend. I am not your friend. Nor will I ever be."

He expected her reaction to be anger, he truly did; instead all he saw was hurt.

"I see," she murmured. She tilted her chin up, just as he'd seen her do when confronted by society's maltreatment of her. "Thank you for clarifying the matter. I confess myself relieved, for I was about to suggest you and I become blood brother and sister, and I do so hate the sight of blood."

Her sarcasm wasn't lost on him. Damn, but he liked the way she snapped back at him.

"See that you remember my words," he warned.

"Oh, I will, Nathan
Trevain
. I will."

Minutes later he'd retied her wrists, wound the blanket around her and sternly warned her not to move as he lay down next to her.

Ariel would have been glad to comply, except she was bloody well uncomfortable wrapped up like yesterday's meal.

Wiggling a bit, she tried to loosen the bonds. But with her hands tied behind her back, her struggles were as effective as trying to untie stays with teeth. It rained outside. Despite the doors he'd wedged back into place, the smell of wet leaves and sodden ground permeated the room. She was cold again in her still damp chemise and growing colder by the minute. She tried to shift in the blanket, but only ended up sinking deeper into the roll, her vision partly blocked by the gray edges of the fabric.

Bullocks. Now what?

"Stop wiggling," he growled.

She stilled, blowing a hank of dank hair out of her face before peeking over at him. He hadn't moved. The hateful man looked blissfully comfortable. His shirt was already dry, she noted, having no wet layers beneath it, unlike her chemise and corset.

When she noticed him still staring at her, she lifted a brow, shooting him a scathing look of impatience. "I would love to stop wiggling, sir. But it's a bit uncomfortable with every limb save my ears tied."

"Then don't think about them being tied."

"Are you mad?"

He still hadn't moved. Impossible man.

"I had no idea English women were so delicate," he drawled.

The words got her back up, as she supposed they were meant to do. Delicate, indeed. Why, she'd once spent a whole evening out of doors. Of course, she'd accidentally locked herself out of her cousin's home, but that was beside the point. She wiggled some more.

"Can you not sit still for a minute?"

"Can you not keep quiet for a minute?"

He opened his eyes, tilted his head a bit to peer at her. "Go to sleep, Lady
D'Archer
. We've a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

"If you think it easy to sleep this way, sir, than I encourage you to do it."

"I have done it."

"Really?" she asked, not believing it for a minute.

His eyes narrowed. "I was a prisoner of war for several months, my lady," and the way he said "my lady" was akin to the way most people said pig saliva. "A guest of His Majesty the King's army in
Charleston
. It's where I learned to love your fellow countrymen so much, for they were quite generous hosts."

Her mouth dropped open, a part of her thinking he'd made the story up just to suit the moment. Then again it was entirely possible he'd been taken prisoner. Such things happened in war. "Is that where you learned your manners?"

"No, it's where I learned to hate anything British." And with that, he lay down again, ending their conversation.

Ariel started at him with narrowed eyes. Cad. Blackguard.

But when she closed her eyes, she only heard his words again:

It's where I learned to hate anything British.

Is that how his face had been wounded? Had something happened while he'd been a prisoner? She settled herself beneath the blanket, telling herself it didn't matter how it happened. A pox on him. He deserved to be taken prisoner. What was more, it was not possible to sleep this way.

But despite the anger she felt, she was human enough to admit that he was also a man whose brother had disappeared. He'd crossed an ocean to find that brother, and though she told herself that this should not make her feel sympathetic or even a wee bit sorry for him after all he'd done, a small, tiny smidgen of her did feel sympathetic.

Bloody stupid man.

She turned her head, studying him, her eyes somehow drawn to his face. The good side of his face was turned to her, his lids still shut, the man feigning sleep. He had a rather strong jaw, she thought, not at all like Archie's. Phoebe had said Archie had a jaw like a catfish and the lips and whiskers to match. But Phoebe always said such things about Archie. She hated the man for what he'd done to her.

Ariel shifted even more, facing him fully now, knowing she should stop looking, but unable to stop herself. For a moment she became intrigued by the fact that no frown lines marred his face, no scowl curled his lips, no sneer lifted the corner of his mouth. With his face so relaxed, his cheekbones seemed less prominent, softer, younger.

It struck her then that Nathan
Trevain
, heir apparent to the duke of
Davenport
, really was a handsome man. Oh, not beautiful like the sculpture of Apollo she seen in a book. No. Nathan was handsome in a wild, untamed sort of way.

He shifted. Ariel caught her breath. He turned to his side, facing her. Gracious, his lips almost brushed hers, he was so close. She prayed he wouldn't open his eyes, but as always happened when she truly wanted something, the opposite happened.

He opened them.

"Bloody hell," he roared, sitting up. "What do you think you're doing so near to me?"

"I. . .ah. . ." She'd been caught staring. "My, ah, arms have become numb, so I moved to my side."

It was a lie. She knew it was a lie. He knew it was a lie. Queen Charlotte would have known it was a lie.

"Get comfortable facing the other direction," he growled.

She blinked. Nathan sitting above her was a sight. Suddenly, she felt as if the blanket was wrapped around her too tight.

"Go back to sleep, my lady."

Yes, indeed, she should.

She watched as without another glance he lay down again, turned his back to her and closed his eyes.

Ariel felt like a broom whose handle had been cut. Gracious, how was she to get through this night? She could hear him breathing, and though she told herself to ignore him, that the man was a liar and a bounder, she discovered it was nearly impossible to do as she ordered. Moisture from outside stirred lazy air currents, currents that brought the smell of him to her nose. His scent was unlike any she'd smelled before. Unique. Wholly Nathan
Trevain
. It reminded her of their time together in the garden.

She groaned. She was certainly in trouble if she found the smell of Nathan
Trevain
attractive. She should hate the smell of him. Truth be told, she should hate everything about him. Yet no matter what she told herself, she only became more and more aware of him. . .of the way he sounded as he breathed, of the way his warm body felt lying next to her. That he slept was patently obvious by the way he inhaled deep breaths of air. The sound was rhythmic, foreign and so utterly masculine she found herself wanting to listen.

Escape,
screamed her mind.

Yes, escape. A most excellent notion. Without another thought she rolled away.

She wiggled the blanket loose, then pushed herself to her feet gently, so as not to startle him or worse, lose her balance and fall atop him. Heaven knows what he'd do if he found her trying to escape.

The blanket slid down to the floor. Ariel side-hopped over it, peeking glances at her captor the whole time. When that was done, she used a shuffling motion to move away from him, feeling rather like an octopus with its legs tied. She had to move at the pace of a snail. At this rate the sun would rise and birds chirp before she made it to the door.

She glanced at her captor again, only to pause. Gracious, he'd begun to sweat. She could see big beads of it on his brow. Curiosity made her stare, light illuminating features gone suddenly gaunt. That gave her pause, too. He jerked. She started, then chastised herself for being such a ninny. He was asleep. A troubled sleep, for his head thrashed back and forth, but a sleep nonetheless. Her own head tilted as she stared down at him. What demons haunted his soul? she wondered, for it was obvious that some did. Well, that was as it should be. He deserved whatever horrible dreams his past brought him.

She turned away—well, shuffled around, really.

A hand reached out to stop her.

It spun her back to face him. Ariel gulped, for the man must have bounded to his feet.

He looked livid. Absolutely put-her-over-his-knees livid.

"Minx," he spat.

"Unhand me."

"You were trying to escape," he accused.

"Of course I was. You kidnapped me. I'm supposed to try and escape."

He looked like he didn't know what to say to that outstanding piece of logic. They stared, Ariel wondering what he would do next. Apparently stare some more.

"Lie back down," he ordered.

"If it's all the same to you, I should prefer to sleep standing up."

"Lie back down," he shouted.

She jumped. "But I—"

"Now," he shot. "Or do I have to put you on the floor myself?"

She gulped. "No." Please no. She didn't want him touching her. Moving back, she carefully lowered herself to the filthy floor, feeling rather like a sacrificial lamb. But that feeling faded when he lifted the hem of her chemise. She shot away, horrified. "What are you doing?"

"Tying you to me."

"You're what?"

He held up a rope. "Tying this end of the rope around your ankle and this end around my waist, so you cannot try and escape again."

Bullocks. If he did that, then she would not be able to try and escape.

Well, yes, Ariel, that would be his point.

"Very well, sir," she said, knowing that to protest would do her little good. "I give you leave to lift my chemise."

He stared at her a moment longer, seemed to grit his teeth, then lifted her skirt, tying the rope around her left ankle, then the other end around his waist.

When he was finished, he straightened, saying, "Get some rest."

Not bloody likely, Ariel thought, closing her eyes. How could she sleep next to such a cad? Likely she'd lie awake all night.

She rolled to her side. Instantly she fell asleep.

He was going to die.

Wess
Trevain
supposed the realization ought to bring him pain, but he was in so much pain now, he didn't care.

"Flog '
im
again," cried a man.