Fire at Midnight (9 page)

“Careful! Or you may just kill him yourself,” he cautioned as he steadied his hand.

“Please don’t hurt him,” Rachael begged, voice catching in her throat. “Please let him go.”

“I won’t leave without Rachael,” Tarry warned.

“Convince him otherwise.”

The Frenchman’s tone prompted Rachael to pull Tarry to his feet and urge him down the path. “Go, Tarry,” she said. Tarry shook his head and opened his mouth to protest, but she took one look at the Frenchman’s face and hushed him.
“Go.”

Tarry took a reluctant step in the direction of the beach before he turned and gave Rachael a fierce hug. “I’ll be back.”

“Go as far away from Cornwall as possible,
Monsieur
Morgan,” Sebastién warned. “Spare me a second opportunity to take your life. I will not be so generous the next time.”

Tarry began the slow trek down the path. Rachael took a deep breath, steadied herself, and glanced at Sebastién. He was watching her and pointed silently up the path in the direction of the cottage.

When she hesitated, he turned his head and squarely met her eyes, thunder building in his expression until she grasped her skirts and moved with a speed that belied the difficult terrain.

Rachael reached the cottage ahead of Sebastién, throwing wide the door and shouting for Mrs. Faraday. The housekeeper’s presence in the hall at such a late hour indicated she was aware something was amiss.

“What’s happened?”

“Will you help me escape?”

“You know who he is, then?”

“Yes. My friend Tarry tried to rescue me tonight—”

The woman gasped. “Did Mr. Falconer—?”

“No, he sent Tarry away.”

The door slammed, the sound reverberating throughout the cottage. Sebastién entered the hall, cursing when Rachael spared him a brief, terrified glance before fleeing upstairs.

F
rom behind the barrier of her locked chamber door, Rachael heard the ominous creak of stair boards as someone approached. Feeling the helpless panic of a cornered animal, she spun and surveyed the room with wild-eyed desperation.

As the footfalls drew nearer, Rachael ran to the oak chest of drawers, braced her back against it, and pushed. The chest slid all of two inches toward the door. She groaned and shoved again with all her strength, gaining two more inches.

She was still within several feet of her goal when a knock sounded, spurring her into frenzied action. When Sebastién shouted to her from the other side of the door, she uttered a cry of distress and heaved herself against the side of the chest, frantic to complete the barricade.

The chest lurched forward, scoring furrows in the floor as it went. Rachael cringed at the sound, aware that he had heard it, too. But before she could push the chest the rest of the way, he had tried the knob, discovered it would not turn, and begun a ferocious assault upon the door.

The lock broke, bits of the mechanism showering the floor with a loud clatter. Rachael abandoned the chest and fled to a far corner of the room, where she searched the vanity top for a weapon. She grabbed a thick-bristled hairbrush in one hand and a small hand mirror in the other. When she rapped the mirror against the vanity, the glass exploded into several fragments, and she kept the largest shard as a makeshift weapon.

Sebastién entered the room and began to thread his way around the displaced chest of drawers. He stopped several feet shy of her and folded his arms across his chest.

“So, the arrangement of the furniture does not suit you?”

Sebastién seemed to gloat as he took in her pitiful arsenal of weapons and the evidence of her futile attempt to bar his entrance. He smiled, a chilling baring of white teeth against tanned skin. He did not attempt to come any closer. “We can be honest now,
Mademoiselle
Penrose,” he said.

“I
have always been honest.”

Sebastién’s eyes narrowed. The casual pose was a pretense. His posture was as rigid as a bowstring, and his jaw flexed with tension. His vivid eyes glittered with distrust.

She didn’t know him. She had no idea who he was or what he wanted with her. Duped by his masquerade and the skillful flattery he had lavished upon her, she had been naïve to the point she had almost surrendered to a stranger. She, of all people, should have known that a pleasing exterior could conceal a monster. Hadn’t her uncle taught her that lesson?

Rachael tightened her grip on the shard of glass without realizing it and gasped when stinging pain exploded in her grip. A ribbon of blood welled up on her palm.

Sensing movement, Rachael jerked her head up. Sebastién had used the distraction to edge closer to her. Retreat was out of the question; he seemed coiled and ready to pounce. He ducked when she hurled the hairbrush.

“Put that down before you injure yourself,” he ordered.

“Surrender my only weapon? I think not.” She maintained her hold on the mirror and lifted her chin in a shallow display of bravado.

Sebastién leaned against the chest and crossed his booted feet at the ankles. His smoldering gaze traveled Rachael’s length with an intensity that made her breath catch. A molten pool of heat settled in the region of her stomach and fanned lower. She felt exposed and vulnerable. He had already breached her defenses once and was fully aware of how she had responded to him.

“You need not fear me,
ma chère,”
he said. “I have no plans to don a black robe and offer you up as a sacrifice to some pagan god.”

“On the contrary, I believe it most prudent of me to fear you,” she shot back. His attempt to soothe her only set her nerves more keenly on edge.

“You did not fear me last evening,” he reminded her.

His expression had softened eyes vibrant with gold accents. The smile he bent on her was intimate and seductive, and her pulse leapt in response to his slow scrutiny.

It was difficult to breathe with him looking at her like that. This was not Tarry’s friend John, but a man who had intended her harm. She must not forget that.

“You were someone else then. Someone I trusted.”

Sebastién’s jaw tensed, and his expression became unreadable. His persuasive smile devolved into a baleful look. “Ah, but the game has been interesting,
n’est ce pas
?”

“You refer to your game of identities?” Her already dry throat tightened as he suddenly pushed away from the chest and advanced on her, his look verging upon a glare.

“Non.
I refer to your attempt to deceive me with your preposterous tale of woe.”

Rachael started as if she had been slapped. “I told you the truth,” she said, her voice rising in indignation. “And who deceived whom? You allowed me to think you believed me.”

“It suited me,” he said, unrepentant.

“And you always do what pleases you.” She made no effort to hide the mockery in her tone.

His expression grew pensive as he mulled over her words.
“Non,
if that were true, I would have had you in my bed by now.”

The bald admission shocked her, and Rachael fidgeted under his amused regard. “What do you intend to do with me?”

“Now? At this very moment?” Sebastién raised one dark brow while he studied her with piercing contemplation.

Rachael frowned, realizing she had waved a red banner before his sarcastic wit. As his eyes bored into hers, she felt a tremor ripple through her in response.

“Move you,” he said at length.

“Move me? Why?” A prickling of alarm passed through her.

“Surely you can guess? Morgan’s next attempt at rescue may prompt me to return him to his father by cart, draped in lavender.” He nodded at her reaction. “I see you comprehend my meaning.”

How was she to rescue James if she was to remain this man’s prisoner? There was no point in appealing to Falconer’s better nature. She was sure he had none. She had told him her story, and he had chosen not to believe it.

“There is no point in imprisoning me or threatening Tarry. You have nothing to gain by it. My story is not going to change.”

“That may be,” he agreed, “but if you are not responsible for the treachery that took place at Prussia Cove, my search must still begin with you. I have heard your name too often in connection with it. If you are lying to protect yourself, I cannot afford to allow you to roam freely when you act the part of my enemy with such élan.”

“I cannot change what you believe to be the truth, but if my brother is harmed while I am your prisoner, you
will
have made an enemy of me.”

He looked surprised that she would dare to threaten him.

“I see you comprehend my meaning,” she added archly, tossing his words back at him.

Sebastién’s eyes darkened in the dim light until they shone like black coals.

The shard of glass slipped from Rachael’s grasp, hitting the floor and shattering when he stepped forward and jerked her to him. The elusive, pleasing scent of spices drifted to her nostrils.
Of course he smells like spice. He no doubt traffics in it!

A soft expulsion of air ruffled her hair when he spoke. “That was foolish. Never threaten me.”

He appeared about to say more but pulled back and stared hard at her instead. Rachael trembled and her heart pounded with fear. A sound of misery escaped her, and she closed her eyes against the anger in his voice and the grinding power of his grip.

His hold on her eased and she felt his fingers gentle their grasp on her arm and the warm, feathery brush of his knuckles against her skin. She opened her eyes as he withdrew a handkerchief from his vest pocket and wrapped it around the cut on her hand without releasing her.

The swift change in his manner caused a strange feeling of anticipation tempered with apprehension to rise within her. “Let me go,” she said, the huskiness in her voice sounding peculiar to her ears.

“Why?” he asked. His tone was silky. “Other women have found themselves in my embrace; none have expressed grievances. You did not complain earlier.”

He had the audacity to remind her! Rachael ignored the irrational pang of jealousy she felt at his reference to other women. “This is not an embrace,” she argued.

He chuckled and released her from the vise of his arms, but before she could step away, his hand closed around her wrist and his other hand encircled her waist and drew her forward.

Rachael found herself more fully in his grasp than before. When he leaned his cheek against hers and rubbed the shadowed stubble of his jaw against her skin, inhaling the fragrance of her hair, the simple gesture seemed strangely intimate.

“Now,
this
is an embrace,
oui?”

She fought the awakening senses that threatened to reduce her insides to a quivering mass as heat from his body seeped through her clothing and settled low. What was wrong with her that he could affect her this way? What was it about this man that made her crave the perilous pleasure of his touch? Why did she still melt in his arms, even when she knew he hated her?

“I find this no more enjoyable than before.”

He took her chin in his hand and gently forced her to look at him.

“Little liar,” he admonished in a whisper. His fingers brushed the hair away from her face, and he smoothed the back of his hand against her cheek. “Do you expect me to believe that there is any less attraction between us at this moment than there was only hours ago? That has not changed.”

Rachael closed her eyes as Sebastién moved his fingers down her neck with a deft touch, causing her to shiver as he neared the bodice of her gown. She tried to push his hand away, but he brought her palm to his lips, pressing kisses upon her fingers. He expended no effort in holding her, while his sensual assault confounded her desire to break free.

“Please …”

“I am the same man, beautiful English girl. Only my name is different,” he said. He buried his face in her neck, nuzzling her throat, kissing her, his mouth searing her warming flesh. His mastery of her senses was paralyzing, subjugating her will. She didn’t want him to release her.

Sebastién spoke in decorative, passionate French as his hands sought to create a romance language of their own. He cupped her breasts, rousing her even through the fabric of her gown while his mouth sought hers, stifling her halfhearted moan of protest with a lengthy, probing kiss. Rachael was swept into a swirling abyss of sensation and her mind whirled with longing.

“Tonight we have no names and no past.” He lifted her into his arms and carried her from the room, molding her to him as if they were adjoining puzzle pieces. Raw desire flickered within the depths of his eyes, and she could feel his heart beating in tandem with her own. Sebastién carried her through the dim hallway into a large room with masculine furniture appointed in brass and polished teak.

Rachael felt the feather tick rise to meet her then was caught by his weight and pinned beneath him on the bed.

Sebastién pressed kisses against her flushed skin in an assault on her senses. She battled the traitorous urgings of her body as the muscles of his powerful arms corded and rippled when he turned her slowly, bringing her fully into his grasp.

Rachael’s gown slipped from her body as if by sorcery, coaxed by gentle hands.

Sebastién’s attention focused on the flesh exposed to his burning gaze, and his breath hitched in his throat, eyes darkening with passion.

Rachael moaned and tried to cover herself, her shyness assuaged by the intense desire on his face. It was obvious that he wanted her as much as she had wanted him only hours before. The fact that he had pretended to be someone else had not dimmed the attraction between them.

“Please …” she said again.

“Oui,”
he purred. “I intend to please you.”

Sebastién dropped his hand to Rachael’s abdomen, stroking her supple flesh with reverence. He slanted his mouth across her trembling lips as his hand dipped lower, drawing a short, involuntary gasp from her.

Shocked by his boldness and unable to govern the fevered response of her body, Rachael tried to turn away, cheeks flaming.

“Do not be shy, beautiful English girl,” Sebastién said with an odd laugh.