The Runaway Heiress (27 page)

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Well, Madame Wife, what adventures have you been
having when I have not been here to keep my eye on you?' His tone was
deliberately light and he linked his fingers gently with hers.

'He kidnapped us,' she explained simply.

'Charles, I presume?'

'Yes. I can not believe that he would go to such
lengths. I know that he needs money and hoped that he would get it by marrying
me. And I know that he feels a grudge against you for taking me away from him.
But I actually thought, for a moment, he meant to kill us,' she admitted. 'He
might simply have been trying to frighten us, of course. Perhaps I was just
being silly. It would have been so easy to blackmail you, would it not, to release
Juliet and myself? I am so thankful you came to rescue us—and that it is all
over.'

The grim expression around Aldeborough's mouth did not lighten as he
decided to say nothing about Charles's motives. If she was thinking blackmail,
then so be it. It was far better than her knowing of murder. Or that for him
the affair was anything but over.

'
Tell
me how you escaped. How did Charles come to be lying on the floor of his drawing
room with blood in his hair? You obviously managed quite well without Matthew
and myself—you did not seem to need any help to escape.'

Frances laughed, although her voice still trembled a little in reaction.
'I
think Juliet
enjoyed it and will probably talk about nothing else for days. I should warn
you that she has now decided that she would like to be an actress! She played
the role of languishing invalid with tremendous vivacity—I could even have
believed in her performance myself. Poor Charles had no chance.'

'Poor Charles, indeed. How did he come by the large lump on the head?'

'I hit him. With a bronze statue of a hunting dog.'

'Frances! Where is the gentle, retiring wife I married?' His lips
twitched in suppressed amusement.

'What choice did I
have? We thought you were still away and no one knew where to find us. In
Raven's Castle
—one of Juliet's
favourite novels, you know—Marianne rendered the villain unconscious with a
candlestick. So we decided to try the same strategy.'

'What is this?' He took hold of her wrist, lifting her arm to
investigate the inexpert bandaging on her forearm.

'Well...' Frances blushed. 'We decided—that is, Juliet decided that we
needed blood in the interests of dramatic realism, so that Charles would see
the blood and believe it was a genuine emergency and she was truly ill. We had
to get him into the room so that I could creep up behind him. Juliet used a
cake knife.'

Aldeborough felt the blood drain from his face. 'I
don't know what to say,' he admitted, when his heart returned to its normal
beat. 'It certainly proves that a forlorn hope can pay off. I am all
admiration.' He bent his head to press his lips to her wrist above the lawn
handkerchief.

'You are quite sure he was not dead?' He could not
mistake the flash of fear in her eyes.

'No. A severe headache and a blow to his
self-esteem, but he will live to tell the tale. But why did you go there? How
could you both be so foolish as to put yourselves into that position?' His
voice was gentle but he needed to know. 'Knowing what I do about your uncle's
past treatment of you, 1 cannot believe that you would willingly visit his
house.'

'It was a letter. An offer from my uncle to give me
some possessions of my mother. I could not resist it. He said that he had some
jewellery and other keepsakes, even letters. I would dearly have loved to have
them, only I don't believe they really exist—it was merely a ruse by Charles to
get us to the house. But he didn't expect Juliet, of course. Please don't be
too angry.' She studied her linked fingers, unwilling to raise her eyes to his,
afraid of what she might see there. 'Juliet said you might be if you found out.
She said you could be very severe!'

'Did she, now? She has cause to know. A more
headstrong girl I have yet to meet—unless it is my wife, of course.' He drew
her into the circle of his arms to reassure her. 'I can almost find it in me to
feel sorry for Charles.' But only if he could overcome the fury that bubbled
under the surface of this calm conversation with his wife. 'I don't suppose he
thought he would have to face two such resourceful females.'

Aldeborough suddenly remembered one of the more damaging
comments made by Miss Vowchurch in an undoubted attempt to create a rift
between them.

'Speaking of headstrong, is it true that you talked
to Letitia Winters?' he asked conversationally.

'Who told you?' Frances looked up, her eyes
watchful.

'Penelope. She also suggested that perhaps you had
run to Charles and left me.'

'Did she really?' He was delighted to see those
glorious eyes flash with sudden anger. 'She seems to have been remarkably busy
in giving information, much of it false. But, yes, I did speak with Mrs
Winters. She deliberately waited for me when I was returning from Rundell and
Bridge with Aunt May.' Her steady gaze was forthright, challenging Aldeborough
to disapprove. He found that he did not dare.

'I would give anything to know what you discussed.'
He could not disguise his discomfort, to Frances's enjoyment, which she
proceeded to hide.

'I won't tell you. It was between the two of us.
And Aunt May, of course.'

'Lord. There's never a dull moment. And you drove
round the Park?'

'Yes.'

'That would set the tongues wagging! Would it upset
you if I said that I would rather Mrs Winters did not become a particular
acquaintance of yours?'

'No. I can understand how uncomfortable it would
be,' she agreed drily. He could not mistake the mischievous gleam in her eye.
'Letitia said exactly the same thing. I suppose it would be quite improper.'

'Not prudent, certainly.'

'And you would not want me to discuss you with your
mistress.'

'No, I would not. And she is not my mistress!'

'No. Letitia said that as well.'

'Damnation, Frances! We should not be having this
conversation. Come here.'

He had one intention. He was already hard for her
and would assuage his need and his guilt by making love to her with all the
tenderness he could aspire to. He would make beautiful for her, wipe away the
memory of Charles and ugly fears of that dark room in St James's Square. He drew
back the heavy curtains to allow the moonlight to flood the room and gild their
naked bodies. His touch feathered, lingered, enticed, no pressure of time or
fulfilment. He would take all the time she needed to feel beautiful and loved.
He pleasured her with lips, teeth, tongue, teasing her nipples into hard peaks
of desire. When he lifted her above him, easily, effortlessly, the sight of her
took his breath away. Shoulders, breasts, the curve of her hips all highlighted
in soft moonlight, her hollows and secret places shadowed and mysterious. He
lowered her on to him, slowly, filling her with his desire and power.

He let her set the pace and depth, glorying in her
lack of self-consciousness. She was quick to learn, arching her body back with
innate grace and elegance, no shyness, no need to hide herself from his
deliberate gaze. Her mouth, when she leaned down to take his, was soft and
seductive, the swollen lips parting to allow him to plunder her sweet mouth. In
that moment she was totally alluring and he shuddered with suppressed desire,
determined to rule his emotions until her satisfaction was complete. When he
was unable to guarantee his control any longer, he reversed their positions,
pinning her to the bed, still deep inside her. She moved fluidly to echo his
every move, his every thrust. She was perfection. When he could withstand her
enchantment no longer, he shuddered to his own climax, her name on his lips.

For Frances it was a moment of pure revelation. She
felt that her whole body throbbed with love for him and for the gift that he
gave her that night. His hands and body wove a mystery for her, layer upon
layer of delicious sensation. The beauty of it moved her to tears, which
spangled on her lashes and cheeks in the moonlight. She surrendered totally to
his caresses, to his movements, no reticence, no withdrawal. Even when he
lifted her to straddle him so that he could fill her deeply, she drew in her
breath, shocked at first, and then began to move to give him pleasure as well
as herself. She leaned forward to cover his face with kisses. His throat, the
knotted muscles of his shoulders, the broad planes of his chest.

The shimmering light granted her the freedom to
express her love for him in the unspoken language of languorous caresses,
delicate touches. She clung to him, moved with him, opened her thighs and
arched her hips for him. Her lips were tender from his kisses, her eyes dark as
midnight and luminous as the stars, her breasts sensitive to his every touch..
When he finally thrust hard and deep she absorbed the shocks, revelling in the
slide of sweat-slicked skin on skin. Her own release, an explosion of the heat
that had gathered, in her belly to flash through her blood with all the power
and brilliance of a shooting star, shook her to the core so that she cried out
before she lay in his arms and trembled in the aftermath of sensation.

She fell into exhausted sleep, leaving him to look
at her serene face with an emotion approaching incredulity. The wide generous
mouth, the straight nose. Eyebrows dark and
a little heavy. She
looked very young and vulnerable and enchantingly beautiful. Against all
intentions he had fallen in
love. He swallowed the sudden
obstruction in his throat as the realisation struck him with the physical force
of a blow, to the stomach. When on earth had this happened? And yet it seemed
to him that he had been waiting to love her all his life. He would give her
everything in his power. Protection, security, comfort.

His
conscience battered him with the memory of her abduction and the bullet
embedded in the Chinese Bridge. But he would do better. Without disturbing her
he stroked her hair where it curled down on to her breast. And the burden of
his love need not be too great for her. She need never know. Except through his
actions, which would probably clear to anyone who cared to look closely enough,
or believe it possible. Which she never would. But whatever happened in the
future, whatever the outcome between himself and Charles, he would remember
this night for ever. It would have to be enough.

'It is not possible for me to simply close the door
and turn the key on these events, Frances.' Aldeborough prowled across the
library, resolution governing every line of his body. 'I know he is your cousin
and I know you would rather forget about the whole affair and believe that it
is over and he will never trouble you again. But it is not finished. You have
to accept that he is dangerous—a real threat—and the only way to stop him is to
make his crimes public and so discredit him. I will not have him intimidate you
again. I could not live with that fear overshadowing us.'

Frances studied her hands, her dark brows drawn
together as she considered his words. 'Very well.' She raised her eyes to his,
a troubled frown still marring her smooth forehead. 'But what about you? Will
it put you in danger?' She rose from her seat in the window embrasure to lay
her hand on his arm. 'I couldn't bear it, Hugh.'

'I will be in no danger. You will have to trust
me.' He covered her hand with his own and smiled down at her with a tenderness
that made her heart race and the blood rush to stain her cheeks with delicate
colour.

'What will you do?' She strove for calm and
normality in her tone.

'My first task is to make contact with Charles. It
should not be too difficult.'

'Will he have gone back to Yorkshire, do you
think?'

'I do not think so and I am prepared to gamble on
that. I think he will be waiting to see what my next move will be. He has too
much to lose if he gives up now and buries himself at Torrington Hall. There
is nothing there for him—except poverty and isolation from polite society. I
am confident that he will stay in town.' He clasped her hands tightly. 'You
must stay here with Juliet and Aunt May. You must not go out alone. Do you
understand?'

'But I do not see how I can be in any danger!'

'Give me your word, Frances!'

'I suppose I must.' There was no arguing against
the firm command.

'I know how hard it is for you to do so. But I have
to know that you are safe.' His grim expression relaxed to be replaced by a
reminiscent smile. 'You were able to give me your word once before.'

'Yes. But only because you threatened to lock me in
my bedchamber for a week. I did not feel that you had given me any choice!'
Frances smiled at the memory. 'But, yes, I promise. I will not go anywhere
alone.'

Aldeborough bent his head to brush her mouth gently
with his own. He raised his head to search her face, his eyes fiercely
possessive. Then he lifted her hand and pressed his lips against her soft palm,
closing her fingers over the caress.

'God keep you.'

He
strode out of the room, leaving Frances to press her palm with its searing
imprint against her heart.