Rapture in His Arms (30 page)

Jillian realized she would be better off if she didn’t show him that she was frightened. But she was so afraid, that her legs shook beneath her. If, for the life of her, she had been forced to rise at that second, she would never have been able to gain a proper foothold. But she bravely countered his less-than-friendly appraisal of her with one of her own. “Will you ransom me, sir?”

No response.

“Can you not speak?”

Again, no response.

“Well, you shan’t receive a fortune for me if ransoming me is your intention. I am a widow and have no funds. The rebel army has taken what little food—” She didn’t get to finish her speech. The man turned away like a dark whirlwind and left the room, slamming the door behind him. Jillian tensed, but then icy fear sliced down her back when she heard the latch being lowered on the bedroom door. Though she knew it was no use, she stood up and tried the door, and discovered it was bolted from the other side. “Sir, please open the door,” she called and pounded on the heavy wood. She sensed he was on the other side. “I do not know why you have done this, but I trust you shall not hurt me. Please let me out of here and I shall find my own way home. I beg of you, sir!”

No response.

Seconds later, she heard the thud of the front door, followed soon after by the sound of the horse’s hooves retreating from the house. She was alone! The blackguard had left her!

Quickly, Jillian ran to the window, which was draped in a heavy green material. Casting the material aside, her hope was dashed when she saw that wooden boards had been nailed to the outside. She was trapped in this house with no way out. Did the horrible man intend to keep her a prisoner, and if so, for how long? And what did he want with her? If he intended to ravish her, he could have done so already. There must be another more compelling reason for this man to kidnap and imprison her.

But what?

~ ~ ~

Donovan didn’t sleep that night. He arrived at the Laytons’ just after eight o’clock and went straight to his room, pleased that his grandfather had nodded off in the parlor. He didn’t relish having to explain his activities at the moment, especially not to Grayson, who disliked Jillian anyway and would never understand why Donovan was obsessed with gaining his vengeance upon her. His grandfather wanted him to leave Virginia with him and sail for England to take up residence at Rockfield. A sad smile curved his lips to think of residing in a manor house, his ancestral home. Strange, but he felt more at home in this primitive country than he imagined he could ever feel in England.

Walking into the dining room, Donovan stopped abruptly in his tracks, faced with a touching scene between Sabrina and John Lattimore. The two of them stood near the fireplace with their arms wrapped around each other. They were so engrossed in one another’s company that Donovan discreetly turned away and left them to their own lovers’ musings. He envied them their happiness and fervently wished he could feel that way again. But he knew he never would—not now—not after Jillian had betrayed him with Tyler Addison.

He had loved his wife, and if the truth be known, he still felt something for her. But he couldn’t dwell upon what that might be, Jillian had played him false but no more. As of tomorrow, he would gain his revenge. He had placed her on a pedestal and had believed she was different from other women, but now he knew the truth about her. She was a wanton at heart, and he would take his pleasure in proving it.

~ ~ ~

Jillian knew morning had arrived by the sounds of the twittering birds in the tall trees outside. A thin slice of sunlight shone through a small crack between two boards on the window. She rose from where she had fallen asleep on the bed and pulled the coverlet with her to dispel the early morning chill. Had anyone missed her at home? she asked herself. Would someone start searching for her? And if they did, would they think to look so far away from Cameron’s Hundred? Jillian doubted it.

Her stomach growled and she realized she hadn’t eaten since lunch the previous day. Was her kidnapper going to starve her to death?

A noise on the opposite side of the door caused her to whirl around. She listened intently, knowing she wasn’t alone any longer. Someone was in the house with her. A second later, she heard the bolt being lifted on the door and then nothing. Ever curious despite her own fear, Jillian tried the handle and the door opened easily. She peered into the room and saw no one. However, the fire had been lighted in the hearth and the room glowed brightly and invitingly. The table in the middle of the room was covered by a lace cloth and upon the cloth stood a plate of freshly cooked ham, fried eggs, and a corn cake.

Jillian’s mouth watered at the delicious scent. Her hunger impelled her forward, and she would have gobbled up the offering, but her need to save herself was stronger. She ran to the front door and to her delight, she found it was unlocked. Wrenching it open, she prepared to take flight, but she got no further than the threshold when a large, black man appeared and blocked her way.

“Who—who are you?” she asked him.

“I’m ordered to watch over you, ma’am. Don’t you like the breakfast I brung you?”

So, he had brought her the food and probably prepared it, too. She knew this wasn’t the same man who had kidnapped her, but no doubt, he was involved. “I—I should like to go home,” she told the man.

“I’m powerful sorry, but I can’t let you leave. Now, you just go back inside and fill your belly with my good cookin’. I’ll be standin’ out here for a spell like I did last night.”

Jillian had had no idea that anyone had stood guard over her. Apparently, her kidnapper wanted to make certain she didn’t escape. “I insist you tell me who has brought me here and why!” Jillian demanded of the man.

“Sorry, ma’am.” He smiled apologetically.

Jillian, realizing she wasn’t going to get any information out of him, was forced to return inside. She heard the bolt on the outside door slide into place, and once more she was a prisoner. Despite her fear and the odd situation, she devoured the food. Hours later, she even managed to nap as she waited for something to happen, for her kidnapper to return.

And she wasn’t disappointed.

That afternoon, she woke to discover the man who had kidnapped her standing over her while she slept. Instantly she flew off of the bed and huddled beside the wall. “You should make your presence known, sir,” she chastised him with a brave scowl.

He bowed lowly to her. Her eyes scanned his face, but could tell little due to the hood and the half mask above a sensuous pair of lips. Was this man real or an apparition? She hadn’t realized he was holding anything until he took a step toward her and held out a red silk gown to her. In the candlelight, she saw the material was of the finest quality, that the scarlet lace on the sleeves was sheer and fragile, and the bodice was cut so low as to be indecent. Placing the gown on the bed, he pointed to it. “Wear it,” he ordered in a huskily disguised voice that sent chills down her back.

“I shall not wear—that—that gown,” she hissed back at him, offended for the man even to ask it. Who did he believe her to be, some doxy to wear another woman’s leavings? As beautiful as the gown was to behold, it had evidently belonged to a woman of loose virtue for no lady would deign to wear such a revealing dress.

“Do as I say,” he whispered harshly back.

The door to the room was opened, and the whole time Jillian had been aware that the man’s broad frame no longer blocked the doorway. If only she could make it past him, then perhaps she might have a taste of freedom. She moved toward the dress, as if she were interested in it, as if she considered wearing it. She picked it up as if to hold it, but then she threw it at the man’s face. His head became entangled within the layers of material, but Jillian didn’t wait a second longer.

She ran into the parlor and yanked at the door, but it wouldn’t budge. “You ready to come out, sir?”

Jillian recognized the servant’s voice on the other side and realized that he guarded the door. But she shouted, “Open up, let me out—”

And then her kidnapper grabbed her by the arms and spun her about. “He obeys only me,” he told her and released her.

“I want to go home!” she insisted, wild-eyed and angry. Freedom was on the other side of the door and this man was denying it to her. Like someone possessed, she curled her fingers into claws and reached for his face, intent upon unmasking him. But he was too swift for her, and once again, his powerful hands grabbed her own before she could rip away the mask.

His glittering glance raked over her, his eyes smoldered beneath the covering. It seemed as if an eternity passed, and then suddenly his mouth descended upon hers in a punishing kiss which robbed her of her breath and her sanity. And then he broke away from her and he shouted to the servant to open the door. But he stood in the doorway, and he said with a voice that was far from calm, “Wear the gown. I shall return at dusk.” And then he was gone, and the bolt again was pushed into place.

Jillian watched the door. She gently placed her fingers on her lips, still able to feel his kiss. And then joy bubbled inside of her, gushing forth like a spring from ground that had been dried and barren.

Donovan was alive!

The lingering wounds from weeks of pain and misery faded. A sensation of such gladness washed over her that Jillian felt dizzy with the implications. Her husband was alive, a flesh-and-blood man. No ghost had held her and kissed her with such intense passion that she was drained from the experience. Donovan was alive. He’d come back for her.

But why had he kidnapped her?

And why had he insisted that she wear such a revealing gown, the sort of gown worn by a woman without morals, a woman who intended to entice a man to her bed? Jillian was confused, but more than confused, she was angry. For some odd reason he felt she deserved to be treated like a doxy. Otherwise, he would never have resorted to such an outrageous method.

Jillian went back into the bedroom and discovered the gown lay in a scarlet heap on the floor, probably where Donovan had flung it. Bending down, she picked it up and cradled the gown in her arms. A small smile split her lips. It would serve Donovan right if, when he returned, she was wearing the gown. What would his reaction be if she played the part he had written for her? How would he behave if his very own wife no longer feared her kidnapper but lusted after him? No doubt, he would wonder at her lust and fascination for a man who was a stranger.

And what a perfect way to gain her own revenge.

~ ~ ~

Shortly after dusk, Jillian was ready. The gown fit her to perfection, emphasizing her tiny waist and the full breasts that nearly spilled from the tight bodice. She had found a brush in the dresser drawer and had brushed her chestnut locks until they shone. Her hair hung to her waist and she didn’t wear shoes with the gown, preferring to go barefoot. She also lighted the candles on the dining table in anticipation of the black servant carrying in the evening meal. She wasn’t disappointed.

The latch was pulled back shortly thereafter, and the man entered the room. He carried a covered silver tray, and Jillian caught the delicious aroma of roasted turkey. Donovan, still in his kidnapper’s garb, followed on the man’s heels, and then the man departed and Donovan shut the door. The lock fell back into place with a thud.

Donovan’s gaze traveled over her. Even across the room, she felt the heat of his eyes upon her. She knew that the candle glow emphasized the beauty of the gown and clearly showed off her lush, pale breasts. Jillian caught her breath when he moved nearer to her. His right hand reached out and pushed a stray lock of her hair from her shoulder. “Very lovely,” he complimented her in a ragged whisper.

This was her husband, she knew that now. There was no mistaking the slight lilt in his voice, though he attempted to disguise it. She resisted the urge to crow aloud that she knew who he was, for Jillian wanted to see him suffer. He had frightened her, and for what reason she still didn’t know. But she would let him wonder at her own wanton behavior. She had decided to tease him mercilessly in retaliation for his shabby treatment of her. And then, if she was of a mind to tell him, she might admit she knew who he was.

Jillian purposely enticed him with a seductive smile. “I dressed just as you wished. I hope you aren’t disappointed.” He shook his head. She could tell he was far from disappointed. Then she lifted the hem of her dress from the floor. “I had no shoes to match. I trust you don’t dislike a barefoot woman at your dining table.”

She noticed that he swallowed convulsively as his gaze fastened on her bare calves. He was making this seduction horribly easy, she decided, and hid a wicked grin. Going to the table, she removed the top on the silver platter. Bending down, she purposely allowed him to view her breasts as she breathed deeply of the wonderful food. “Ummm, how good that turkey smells. May I serve you some?” she asked, and flashed him an innocent grin. Before he responded, Jillian broke off a small piece of turkey with her fingers and retraced her steps to where he waited. She lifted the tempting morsel to his lips. “Here, try a piece. I’m certain it will whet your appetite, sir.” Then she waited until his mouth opened and when it did, she slipped the meat inside, but purposely let her fingers linger on his lips.