The Pleasure Trap (20 page)

She had found sanctuary with Anna’s donkeys.

Chapter Sixteen

After changing into her nightclothes, she took a chair by the empty grate, ears straining for sounds of Ash. It seemed that every other minute she was looking at the clock, wondering what was keeping him.

He wouldn’t have noticed her slip. His mind couldn’t conceive of anything that could not be explained reasonably and logically, so if he pressed her to tell him who had told her about Lady Sophie’s bed, she would reply that it came to her through servants’ gossip.

That ought to give him something to think about.

Sighing, she stared into space and began absently to pick at her dressing robe. A confusion of thoughts buzzed inside her head, and she tried to put them in order. When she’d set off from Henley, she hadn’t known Angelo existed. Her primary purpose in coming to London was to attend the symposium, then take in the Season so that she could accurately describe the ways of high society for her next book. At the back of her mind, however, she’d been thinking of her mother, hoping to discover the whereabouts of the quarry where Antonia fell to her death.

She’d been sure she was on the right track. Memories that had slipped from her mind had come brilliantly into focus. She dreamed constantly about that last night and the vision Antonia had put into her thoughts, that premonition about the future. It was all coming together, she’d thought then.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Angelo appeared on center stage, and her focus had shifted to him. Her Claverley charisma, suppressed for so many years, had quickened to life. She’d been stupefied the first time her mind had locked on his, and electrified tonight.

Electrified, galvanized, and convinced that Antonia had seen this day coming. She had caught up to the future that Antonia had foretold.

And she was scared to death.

She wasn’t a defenseless female! She had her charisma to guide her. Use it!

Angelo.
She closed her eyes and used her considerable will to recall her impressions of their two encounters. She might not know his name or be able to recognize his face, but she’d taken his measure. He was like a two-year-old child. He couldn’t control his temper, and when he was in a temper, he smashed things,
and
people. He was without remorse and thought the sun revolved around him. She remembered his choking rage and the fear behind it, fear of exposure. He wasn’t mad. He knew right from wrong.

All those faces she’d seen. Were they his victims? She’d thought so at the time. How could she be so sure?

Where are you, Angelo? Who are you?

There was nothing but a memory of his remorseless rage.

Is that how it worked? Was it his rage that opened the door to his mind? Did she have to be near him? And why had his thoughts come to her? What was their connection?
They were connected
. The thought turned in her mind. The more she thought of it, the more convinced she became that she and Angelo were tied in some way.

His stories were set in stately homes and gardens. Was that how she knew him? Had she met him when she was visiting the gardens with her mother? It was so long ago, and her memories were very sketchy.

She was crossing the floor to the dresser where she kept Angelo’s stories, when the doorknob rattled. “Eve?” Ash’s voice.

“The door is open,” she said.

Ash entered her room. His dark hair was wind tousled and damp from the rain. His boots were muddy. Though he seemed relaxed and was smiling, she never doubted for a moment that some strong emotion seethed just below the surface.

“You’ve been out in the rain,” she said for something to say.

“With Dexter.” He shut the door. “I’m afraid he’s covered in burrs. He’s with my man. Reaper will clean him up before he sends him back to you.”

“You took my dog for a walk in the rain at this time of night?”

“Actually, he took me. He led me to what I think is Nell’s lair, but there was no Nell. Now don’t look like that. I don’t think anything bad has happened to her. There were no signs of a struggle or anything like that. It’s my opinion that she’s safe and snug somewhere else, but that’s only my opinion. What do you think?”

She was sure of it. If Angelo had caught up with Nell, his murderous thoughts would have reached out to her.

“Her lair? Where was this?”

“At the edge of the gypsy camp. But why ask me?” She stood her ground as he closed the distance between them. “Look into your crystal ball, Eve, and you tell me where your runaway is.”

There was a long silence as she studied the harsh lines of his face. This was not the face of her dream Ash, that one special man in whom she could confide her deepest secrets.

“What?” His tone was derisive. “Nothing to say for yourself? No protestations of innocence?”

Her chin lifted a fraction. “Am I guilty of something?”

His voice rose a notch. “Damn right, you are! How could you know that Angelo was consumed with anger tonight? How was it that you were first on the scene when that devil attacked Lydia? How could you have known he was after Nell? And how could you possibly know about Sophie’s Gothic bed?”

In contrast to his heated tone, hers was like ice. “Servants’ gossip, in answer to your last question. As for your others, I’ve told you before. I’m a Claverley. We Claverleys sense things.” She injected her voice with equal amounts of amusement and ridicule. “Do you really believe that I look into my crystal ball every time I want to know what someone is thinking or to foretell the future? Then why haven’t we found Nell or Angelo?” She gave a credible laugh. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. You’ve never made any secret of the fact that you think reading tea leaves and crystal-gazing are nothing but flummery.”

A look of doubt crossed his face, and he combed his fingers through his hair. “Put it down to fatigue. It’s been a god-awful night.” Her spine began to relax, then straightened at his next words. “But all this can be settled one way or another if you show me your back.”

“What?”

“Show me your back. That’s all the proof I need.” He grinned when her jaw dropped. “I’ll help you disrobe, and I promise to close my eyes until you tell me it’s all right to look.”

It took a moment for enlightenment to dawn, then, shaking her head, she backed away from him. His smile vanished as he followed her.

“Eve? Tell me it’s not true. Tell me I imagined the birthmark on your shoulder. Tell me I was dreaming.”

She stopped retreating when she bumped into the bedpost. “It’s not possible.” She spoke more to herself than to him. If he knew about the birthmark, he must have shared her dream or read her mind.

“What’s not possible?”

She held out her hand, palm up, and pushed it hard against his chest. “Keep away from me, Ash Denison.”

It was the wrong thing to say. In the unequal struggle that followed, she was no match for him. He turned her around and dragged both night robe and nightgown down in one impatient yank, then he went perfectly still.

His fingers touched her gently, hesitantly. “Your birthmark. The Claverley ruby.” In the next instant, he turned her back to face him. “You’ve been putting thoughts in my head,” he roared, “making me want you, tormenting me until I was mad to have you.”

She wriggled and pushed to no avail. In truth, she was as shocked as he. He shouldn’t have known about the birthmark. It was her dream, damn it! And her dreams were too personal, too intimate, and far too carnal to admit that they were hers. She felt guilty, mortified, but, above all, she felt trapped.

There must be a way out.

“You’re hurting me,” she said.

His fingers instantly relaxed.

“Thank you.” She spoke as coolly as she could manage, although she felt at a distinct disadvantage when she was in her nightclothes and he was still fully dressed.

“I’m waiting for an explanation.” His voice was gentle and at odds with the storm in his eyes. “You’ve been meddling with my mind, putting thoughts in my head.”

Her brows lifted. “And how did I do that?”

“By distorting my dreams, not once but night after night. I should have realized what was happening. The dreams were so vivid, and you were so receptive, so passionate. But right before I had the chance to complete the act, you backed off and I woke up sweating like a horse. That’s what you meant to happen, isn’t it?”

She felt the color rise in her cheeks. Just thinking about her dreams was making her go hot all over.

His eagle eyes narrowed on her face. “So you do know what I’m talking about.”

“I can’t be held responsible for your dreams!”

“That’s no answer. You were there, weren’t you?”

She gave a supercilious smile. “I think you must be confusing me with Sophie Villiers or one of your many—”

The rest of her words were lost when he tumbled her on the bed. His face was only inches from hers. “I have never yet dreamed about Sophie Villiers, nor ever will. What is more, she doesn’t have a birthmark on her shoulder.”

“As you should know!” she interjected crossly.

He smiled grimly. “As I should know. It was you, Eve. You invaded my mind. Well, I want to know how you did it. I want to know
why
you did it.”

She struggled to a sitting position, clasped her hands, and gave a helpless shrug. “It wasn’t deliberate,” she said. “I didn’t know you were having the same dreams as I. I thought they were
my
dreams, but if you know about my birthmark, you must have been inside my mind.”

He sat back, a look of disbelief on his face. “So it’s true! You really were inside my head, meddling with my mind?”

She perked up. “Maybe my aunt told you about my birthmark?”

“You’re not going to get out of it by blaming your aunt!”

Her eyes fell before his stare. “I don’t know how it works. For all I know our dreams were different.”

“Not if I saw and kissed your birthmark.” He sounded angry. “Shall we compare notes?”

She glared at him.

“Are we dreaming now, Eve?”

“No,” she said at once.

“How do you know?”

“Because now I feel awkward and embarrassed. I don’t feel awkward in my dreams.”

“Our dreams,” he corrected. He paused. “How did you feel?”

She jiggled her shoulders. “If you were there, I shouldn’t have to tell you.”

“I’ll tell you how you seemed to me.” He captured one of her hands, opened her fingers one by one, and studied her palm. “You were the loveliest, most desirable creature that I had ever met. I couldn’t resist you.”

She had to say something in her own defense. “It was a dream. I can’t be held responsible for what I said or did in my dreams.” He was brushing kisses along her palm, and she was having trouble breathing. “As I remember,” she said between breaths, “you encouraged me.”

“Do you know what I think, Eve? I think the Eve and Ash in our dreams are more truly us. The people here in this room…well, we’re only shades of what we could be, what we want to be.”

The thought arrested her. Did she have the nerve to be that woman?

“Let’s pretend this is a dream,” he said.

“What?”

She squealed when he rolled with her on the bed and moaned when his smiling lips touched hers. He kissed her eyelids, her brows, her cheeks, the hollow of her throat, whisper-soft kisses that soon had her purring like a kitten.

“What comes next?” he asked.

“You know what comes next. It was your dream, too.”

She tried to stop her inner trembling. He was beginning to look like the Ash in her dreams, the one person in whom she could confide all her secrets and deepest fears. Could she, dare she make that leap of faith?

“Ash,” she began, but another kiss sent her thoughts scattering.

He relieved her of some of his weight and stretched out beside her. “We’re on a grassy bank,” he told her, “and the sun is shining. Can you feel the sun, Eve?”

She remembered only too well. Her face lifted to feel the sun’s rays. A warm breeze heated her skin. She could smell the fragrance of new-cut grass.

Her brows knit. “It’s only a dream, not real life.”

Ash felt the change in her. A moment before, she had been yielding. Now she was trying to regain lost ground. He wasn’t going to let that happen. She’d done more than torment him in his dreams. She’d invaded just about every waking moment, as well. He couldn’t look at another woman without comparing her to Eve, and Eve always came out ahead. The things he’d once admired in women had lost their luster. He wanted this difficult, intensely private, eccentric lady with the sharp tongue, whose gentlest touch could bring him to his knees.

She was also the only woman he knew who could make him quake with fear. She was a law unto herself and took the most foolhardy risks. Someone had to put her in leading strings, and, whether she liked it or not, he had appointed himself to the position.

Those lovely, expressive eyes were looking up at him with absolute trust. “Are you reading my mind?” he asked.

“No,” she whispered. “I can’t read minds. It’s my sixth sense I want to talk about. You see, Ash—”

He silenced her by brushing his thumb over her lips. “We’ll get to that later. For the moment, let’s go back to our dream. You asked me to teach you about pleasure. Do you remember?”

She swallowed and nodded.

“Lesson one: Forget your troubles. They’ll still be there tomorrow. Lesson two: Pleasure comes in giving, not in taking. Understood?”

“Ash—” She gasped as he rubbed himself erotically against her. “That wasn’t in our dream.”

“It would have been if it had been my dream.” He did it again. “Don’t you like it?” he crooned.

She nodded, then shook her head.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He kissed her again.

Her hands spread against his ribs to push him away. Instead, she clutched at his shirt, dragging him closer. The dream they’d shared was only a pale imitation of what she was feeling, what she was experiencing.
Pleasure
was too hackneyed a word. Her heart was full to bursting.

Still kissing her, he opened her robe, then the bodice of her nightgown, and filled his hands with soft, womanly flesh. Her little cries of arousal raced from her lips to every pulse point in his body. His heart was thundering, his breathing was irregular, his body was on fire. He was ready to take her.