My Dangerous Duke (24 page)

She could not believe that, once more, Rohan had pushed her away. The man was impossible.

Her attempt to apologize had merely left her feeling all the more foolish, while he, no doubt, was wishing that when they reached her cottage, he could have left her there. Then she could not bother him anymore.

Little did he know that, as they pressed on northward, Kate was having a silent argument with him in her head.

You could hardly argue aloud with someone when your life depended on him, after all. Honestly, her dependency on him was really beginning to chafe. But she kept her comments to herself, stewing in confused resentment.

You don’t really know me, nor do you want to,
he had said.

Oh, really? Why not? How do you know what I want? It’s not as if you’ve ever asked,
she retorted mentally.

But a part of her thought that maybe she should listen. Maybe he had good cause to warn her away.

Obviously, he was not the buyer of abducted virgins that she had originally feared, but perhaps there were still dark things about him that she did not know.

Well, I never took him for a choirboy,
she thought crossly. But on the other hand, it took little imagination to surmise that he had secrets which might well make her back away from him of her own accord if she were to learn them. She heaved a sigh that puffed a cloud of steam in the biting cold of the winter afternoon.

All she knew was that he had called her apology absurd, which was very rude—and maybe it was, but at least
she
was trying to be honest about the attraction that she knew they both felt. His Grace, on the other hand, seemed determined to ignore it, to pretend this was all business, and to shut her out.

She was losing patience with it. Why were his answers always so cryptic? She gathered, insultingly, that he did not trust her, but why? For snooping in his library? Or was it bigger than that? Did he think she was after his money, somehow, scheming to snare him for his title? Laughable. She did not care in the least about either.

She just wanted … to be close to him. She wanted him to acknowledge that what she felt for him was not entirely one-sided.

Unless, of course, it was.

In which case, he was doing the right thing, she admitted, trying to discourage her growing attachment to him. Maybe he saw her as nothing but a burden.

Her thoughts churned as they traversed the snow-covered countryside. She found herself longing for the freedom of her old life before she had ever heard of Rohan Kilburn or his silly curse. She missed the independence of not having to answer to a single soul, especially not some large, brooding, overprotective aristocrat, whose every word held a maddening undertone of terse command.

He was not good for her peace of mind.

Shoving aside her frustration, she did her best to ignore him, though he rode beside her, sitting tall astride his sable horse, looking every inch the warrior.

In truth, she was acutely aware of him, but she refused to indulge herself in savoring the memory of his magnificent, gleaming body, the way she had happened upon him at the castle earlier today, in the Hall of Arms.

It was nice to know that at least he had to work for all those muscles. He had been born with his towering height, but honing that demigod’s physique clearly took some effort …

Blast it, why was she thinking again about his body? He wasn’t that good-looking. Was he? She sneaked a sideward glance, only to repress a wistful sigh.
Afraid so.

His black hair hung unbound around his shoulders, blowing slightly with the motion of his horse. His caped greatcoat was unfastened; beneath it she could see the array of weapons he had donned for the journey.

After witnessing his practice earlier, she had no doubt he was a master of each one.

The cold had ruddied his complexion, but his expression was hard and closed; with somber vigilance, his piercing gaze restlessly swept the snowy desolation of the landscape, scanning for any signs of trouble.

Before leaving the castle, he had warned her that O’Banyon and possibly more of his henchmen might still be lurking around her house, which was why the four guards had joined them. Presently, two of the men rode ahead of them, and two behind.

Parker and Wilkins, her usual guards, were to get Kate out of there and to speed her off to safety if, indeed, they encountered her kidnappers; Rohan, meanwhile, planned to stay and fight if it came to it.

That was the plan, anyway. She didn’t think it likely, but she had long since realized that her friend the duke, somewhat gloomily, was a man who liked to plot out exactly how he’d respond if the worst possible outcome in any given situation were to occur.

Just in case he was right, she had donned her borrowed footman’s livery. It was not only warmer and more convenient, allowing her to ride astride for their three-hour journey. It would also help to disguise her identity in case the shiftless O’Banyon really had made himself comfortable at her cottage.

Appalling thought. It infuriated her too much to dwell on it. She had to believe the much-more-likely scenario, that she would find her home much as she had left it. She couldn’t wait to get there. Not even Rohan’s dark and distant attitude could quell the anticipation bubbling up in her with every yard of ground the horses covered.

After all that she had been through, she was desperate to be surrounded once more by all the familiar sights and sounds and smells of home. Practically speaking, as well, the brief visit home would give her the chance to collect some of her own clothes, so she could finally quit wearing those too-tight, stolen gowns from the traveling trunk.

She wondered what Rohan would think of her humble home when they arrived. To be sure, she had never thought she would entertain a duke there. But although His Grace was used to grandeur, there was nothing pretentious about him, she mused, slanting him another sideways glance.

He caught her eye. “Everything all right?” he clipped out absently.

Far be it from her to complain. “Of course.”

“Ground seem familiar to you yet?”

“Not really.”

He nodded warily. “Think I’ll go have a look over that rise.” He clucked to his horse and cantered ahead to scout out the territory over the next rolling ridge.

Kate watched him speed away with a pang of vexation. Truly, it had seemed easier for him when he had assumed her to be some drunk, degraded whore from the smugglers’ village. She shook her head. Well, this would all be over soon, then he’d be rid of her.

Almost home,
she assured herself as they pressed on toward Dartmoor. But in spite of herself, she couldn’t help wondering if her cottage would still feel like home once the Beast was no longer in her life.

 

Another hour passed.

When they finally arrived at the edge of the heath and spotted her home a few hundred yards away, Rohan was astonished by its desolate location.

Perhaps Gerald Fox knew what he was doing, he thought, for this remote outpost looked like just the sort of place that Rohan also would have chosen as a safe house, if he had been charged with hiding some high-value target.

The cottage sat atop a gentle rise in a clearing ringed by tall pines painted with snow. He saw no tracks or footprints in the layer of virgin snow everywhere, but he felt a familiar eerie prickle on his nape, a sixth sense that usually alerted him when something was wrong.

He’d know more soon, once he got inside her house and had a careful look around. First, he had to make sure that nobody else was already there.

With a lifted fist, he signaled to his men to halt.

They gathered near the stand of trees, where he gave them their orders in hushed tones. “Findlay, Mercer, you’re with me. Parker, Wilkins, stay with Kate. We’ll sweep the perimeter and call for you once it’s clear. If there’s trouble, take evasive action while we hold them off. Get her out of here. If we’re separated, take her back to the castle, and we’ll see you there. Otherwise, if it’s quiet, we shall be back shortly.”

“Yes, sir.”

“It looks fine to me,” Kate murmured, anxiously scanning her property.

Rohan paused to study her. The moment of truth was at hand. If this was an ambush, they were about to find out. “Anything you want to tell me before we go?”

She furrowed her brow. “Like what?”

“Never mind. Stay silent,” he warned her. “And don’t worry,” he added, begrudgingly giving her the benefit of the doubt, just in case. “You’ll be safe with these two. Follow their instructions, and all will be well.”

Kate nodded. “I will.”

“Good.” He nodded to Findlay and Mercer as he drew his pistol and cocked it, then took out his knife. “Let’s go.”

He could feel her watching him as he walked away.

A few early stars winked to life in the winter’s early twilight as he and his men approached her house. He could see its simple outline through the trees, a blacker shade against the pearlescent snow and the gray midafternoon.

Silent as shadows, they advanced, keeping abreast of each other as they pressed on in their sweep of the premises.

Constantly scanning the area, peering into every pool of shadow amid the trees, Rohan soon concluded they were alone.

No enemies, no ambush.

Kate had been telling the truth. The place was quiet, her small house as still as a tomb. No voices could be heard. No light shone through branches. And as they slowly crossed the clearing, it became evident why.

All three men stopped. Findlay and Mercer glanced uneasily at Rohan. But he stared straight ahead with a sinking feeling in his chest.

There was nothing to threaten them here. The damage was already done. Now he had to go back and tell her …

Her cottage had been put to the torch.

All that remained was a charred, empty shell, like a shipwreck’s hull broken open on the rocks. The gutted ruin slumbered under a thick white coating of Devon snow. He cursed in a whisper and slid his knife back into the sheath at his waist.

In that moment, he hated himself for doubting her. He could no longer believe that she was anything but innocent. The realization finally sank in that she had been telling the truth from the start. She was completely innocent.

And now she had nowhere to live.

His mind churned with self-directed rage as he thought of sweet little Kate that first night in the great hall. Drugged. Terrified. Ripped from her home.

Given to him as a gift.

And what had he done? Why, the soul of gallantry, he had put the girl under surveillance.

Beast.

“What do you think happened, sir?” Mercer asked, staring at the wreckage of a young woman’s life.

“Hard to say,” he forced out.

The Prometheans might have done this, or it could have been as simple as a hearth fire left unattended after she had been dragged out of her home.

The point was, her only real place in this world had been destroyed. She was going to be devastated.
How much more is she supposed to take?

He drew a deep breath and glanced at the stars for guidance. He exhaled slowly, steadying himself to break the news to her. “Have a look round,” he said to his men. “See if you can find anything useful. Be careful going in there, though. Those charred beams are likely quite unstable.”

“Aye, sir.” His men holstered their weapons and went to do as he had said.

Rohan turned away from the burned ruin of her home and faced the direction where she waited with her two minders.

He braced himself for the painful task, marching back grimly through the snow.
God, for once in my life, let me do something gently.

“At ease,” he said to Parker and Wilkins as he approached.

“There’s no one here but us.”

“See? I knew you were just being overly cautious—as usual,” she teased with a return to her usual cheeky cheer.

Her words pained him more than she could guess as she jumped down off her horse at once and grabbed his hand in hers. “Come on! I’ll make some tea to warm us up!”

“Sweeting—wait.” He tightened his hold on her hand and drew her back to him before she could go dashing off in her eagerness.

“What is it?”

“Kate—I have bad news.” Haltingly, he said: “There was a fire.”

“Fire? What do you … ?” Her words trailed off. Reading his bleak countenance with a searching gaze, she drew in her breath in horror and suddenly pulled her hand free of his light hold, running toward the cottage.

Rohan flinched at the blow she was about to receive, but he let her go. No point delaying the inevitable. He strode after her, the snow crunching under his boots.

She ran ahead, her borrowed cloak flowing out behind her like some dark phantom chasing her. He saw her reach the clearing and stop cold. Her back was to him as he approached, her posture ramrod-straight.

When he stepped up beside her and looked at her in profile, he saw stunned dread written all over her beautiful face.

Her mouth was agape, her eyes slightly glazed as her shocked stare traveled over the burned-out husk of her home.

“Kate?” he whispered.

She did not even seem to hear him as she took a dazed step forward. She did not say a word; he did not hear her breathe, as though the air had been knocked out of her lungs.

He reached out to steady her, but his hand barely grazed her when she sprinted toward the ruin without warning.

“Kate, no! The whole thing could collapse!”

He was behind her in the blink of an eye, grasping onto her arms, stopping her as she tried to pull forward, panic breaking through her shock.

“Let go of me!”

“You can’t go in there! It’s not safe!”

“Oh, God, I’m ruined,” she gasped out. “What am I to do?” Straining in his arms in wild-eyed confusion, she suddenly stopped trying to escape and sagged against him as a low, keening moan escaped her. “It’s gone. It’s all gone. My home!”