Chapter Four
Oh, dear heavens, what has this man done to me? Done to my future?
Madeline’s chest heaved as she stared at the man before her who stood with a hand to his cheek. Black hair longer than fashion demanded would have reached his collar… if he’d been wearing one. A black beard and mustache decorated his jaws and cheeks that gave him a bit of an intimidating air as well as a rakish look.
“Where am I?” It was the first cohesive thought formed in her mind while so many other feelings continued to batter her—fear, confusion, an odd longing for something she didn’t understand, and underneath it all, a bit of hope.
“Ravenhurst Hall in Essex.”
Dear God, that name. Surely this couldn’t be him. “Who are you?”
“Do you truly wish to know?” When he crossed his arms at his chest, her attention was drawn to his muscled forearms. One of his back eyebrows rose in challenge, and her gaze was drawn back to his face. Why did those eyes seem so familiar?
“Yes.” Because she had some choice words for him.
“Alexander Sutcliffe, the Duke of Ravenhurst.” In that baritone voice with a slight growl running through it and with no remorse in those sapphire eyes, he was quite something to behold.
A shiver went down her spine, mostly fear but mixed with something entirely too foreign that she somewhat wanted to explore, especially after he had done those unspeakable things to her. Yet she peered at him with narrowed eyes then gasped when she could suddenly see the young man she used to know buried inside the man he was now. “The Duke of Ravenhurst? Surely you can’t be.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” She continued to peer at him with the knowledge of what he’d done to her while sleeping off the remainder of the laudanum… or whatever that man who’d taken her had forced down her throat. Finally, she found her voice. “You look like a dog’s breakfast. I thought you were dead. At least that is what current gossip holds.”
Except, she’d never heard anyone within the ton talk about Ravenhurst. The only one whoever did had been her brother.
Why?
“Clearly, I am not, and those rumors are quite wrong.”
Clearly.
She swept her gaze over his form once more, took in his lawn shirt and pair of navy-colored breeches as well as the scuffed boots. He was no longer the young man from her youth. In his place stood a male stronger, older, jaded, and slightly menacing. Especially if he was the one who had given the order to have her kidnapped from her home.
“Then where were you? My brother told me you’d left England.”
“I did, and now I wonder why or how he knew.” His eyes narrowed this time. “Your brother is Viscount Prentice, yes?”
“He is.” This man’s explanation made a bit of sense. If he’d truly been out of the country, then no one would have known where he was or what he’d been up to, yet Richard had. Why? A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth. Did he know more than he was telling? Pushing those thoughts away, she said, “I was eight years old when you went missing.”
“Ah, yes, I remember you as the fresh-faced girl I’d see when riding through the countryside. You were always wandering through meadows with a book in your hand yet were always alone.”
She blew out a breath. “I didn’t have many friends. They teased me, called me names like roly-poly because I was bit plumper than them.”
“Your father had an estate that shared a border with mine.”
“He did, but once my brother came into the title, he was forced to sell the property.” The man didn’t need to know of the crush she’d had on him or that her brother had warned her away, but the fourteen years between them didn’t seem as insurmountable as it had back then. Even more to the point, in an odd way, she much preferred this duke to the young man she used to know, for at least this man had a personality, dark though it may be. “I am Madeline Hardesty.”
“I am well aware of that. Why else do you think I arranged to have you kidnapped?”
“Obviously, it’s not for my looks. I’m the farthest thing from a heroine in a gothic tale of obsession, huh?”
“Perhaps.” One corner of his mouth quirked as his notice went to the scar on her cheek. But he said nothing about it. “However, none of this has any bearing on why we are here tonight.” The duke raked his gaze up and down her body, being sure to linger over her private bits. Prickling awareness danced over her skin and tightened her nipples. “I do have other business with you. What I already sampled was merely an introduction of sorts.”
“Oh!” Belatedly, Madeline remembered her night dress had apparently been cut off her body. Quickly, she gathered the remnants around herself. A curious throbbing made itself known between her thighs where he’d pleasured her with his mouth, and her breasts felt heavy, the tips sensitive as if yearning for his touch again. Get hold of yourself, Maddie! With a blush, she left the relative safety of the bed and put it between him and her. Disjointed memories, perhaps scraps of dreams, once more filtered into her mind of his hands on her breasts and between her thighs, making her feel wonderous things… Then she cleared her throat. “You have ruined everything, Your Grace.” It was best to return to the topic at hand so she could go home.
“How so?” His eyes darkened, and the shadows therein spoke to scandalous, wicked, and perhaps horrible things that might fascinate her if she let them.
“I’m to marry the Marquess of Inglehart next week, for my brother has huge gambling debts. The marquess has bought all those vowels, but there is something else he is holding over my brother’s head, something that will destroy our family if it is common knowledge.” Tears filled her eyes.
“That is not enough to interrupt plans already in progress.”
One of those tears fell to her cheek. “Please, take me home. I need to marry him as an innocent bride.” Heat seeped into her cheeks as she glanced away from him. “That was a direct order, so please tell me you didn’t violate me in that way while I was unconscious.” How humiliating to even discuss this with anyone let alone a duke!
Ravenhurst snorted. “The man is mad. Wishing to marry only virgins so he might be the first to have them, defile them, hurt them, but you are still that… for the moment.” He shook his head, but kept his arms crossed at his chest. “Too bad for him. I intend to claim you in short order, however.”
“How is that different from what he wants?”
“Because I will take that pleasure from him.”
“Why? Why the need for revenge?”
“That isn’t up for discussion at the moment.” For the space of a few heartbeats, he remained silent as he stared at her. That force compelled her to seek out his gaze in the dim light. “Do you truly think Inglehart will play fair in your marriage? You’ll be his third wife, and I’m loath to tell you that the first two probably didn’t die of natural causes.” When she didn’t answer, he continued. “Additionally, do you have such low self-esteem that you can place a value on your life in the amount of your brother’s debts, or whatever damned secret that might be kept? Rather shortsighted of you, hmm?”
Her chin trembled, for she had, indeed, had such thoughts before. “It can’t be helped.”
His eyes snapped blue fire. “Do you owe your brother a debt in order to sacrifice your life for his problems, ones he made with his eyes wide open? For that’s what marrying Inglehart is. A lamb to the slaughter on the altar of a few vowels. You see, my dear, the marquess isn’t a nice man; he’ll make your life miserable.”
That was the pot calling the kettle black. A huff escaped her. “Seems to me, neither my brother nor you are nice men, so which of you is the lesser of the two evils?”
The corner of his mouth twitched again, and she almost thought he would grin, but that gesture never fully materialized. “There is that, so why are you doing this?” As he spoke, he prowled toward her.
Oh, dear. Only when he moved did she realize that his presence was quite commanding and seemed to fill the small room. “I must. There is no other choice.”
“Poppycock. One always has choices.”
“Did you, in making yourself into whatever monster you’ve decided to become?” That wasn’t well done of her, but it had made an impression on him.
A muscle in his cheeks ticced. His voice was a growl. “That is not your concern, and we don’t know each other well enough for me to prove I’m a good man or even benevolent.”
What had happened in his life to make him like this? She hadn’t been privy to the gossip or even the speculation on what prompted him to leave England, for she’d never been interested in what waspish tongues had to say.
Perhaps she should have been. Obviously, right now, her first need was to escape from him. “Why am I here?”
“Talking isn’t on my agenda for tonight, Miss Hardesty, but if you must know, I’ll tell you, even if it makes you frightened or squeamish.” His pursuit and her retreat soon had her back against the wall.
Another shiver went down her spine, but this one wasn’t entirely made of fear. “Of course I want to know. I have been violated and snatched from my home, both against my will and choosing. Tell me right now, damn you.” That sudden burst of spirit felt lovely, and she intended to use all her strength to fight against this man, even if he was Ravenhurst and she’d once thought fondly of him in the past.
Neither of them was those people any longer.
“Very well.” He came close enough to her that when he rested a palm against the wall at the side of her head and leaned his body into hers, he pinned her there with nowhere to run. “Since I despise Inglehart and desire revenge upon him, I intend to ruin the hell out of you, make you spoiled goods so to speak before returning you to him. He can marry my cast offs, and if he doesn’t, that isn’t my problem. Or, if I’m feeling very horrid, I might sell you to a rich man in a foreign land and dump your arse on a ship. Thus cheating Inglehart out of a marriage and alternately saving you from him in one fell swoop.”
“No.” Madeline shook her head as her pulse began to pound. Not that she wanted to marry Inglehart at all, but she wouldn’t have a chance at following her own dreams if she wasn’t even in in England. “You can’t do that. I must go to the marquess unharmed and not ruined.” Her voice turned pleading. “You don’t understand.”
“Perhaps I don’t, but then, I don’t need to, for it doesn’t matter to me.”
“When did you stop caring about others, Your Grace? When did you become an abomination that mirrors that which you hate?” When she raised a hand with every intention of slapping him, for he had insulted her in every way possible, he caught her wrist and yanked the arm behind her back. Prickles of pain went through her shoulder while fear twisted down her spine. “Let me go.”
“Not likely, and definitely not until I’m quite finished with you.” The warmth of his brandy-scented breath skated across her cheek. “As for being like him? I am nothing like Inglehart, mark my words.”
“Forgive me if I find that difficult to believe just now.” Trembling, she attempted to push him away, but he grabbed her other hand and pinned it behind her back as well. “What makes you think I’ll go along with your insane plan? I’ve no love for the marquess, this is true, but I refuse to be used as leverage or a tool for you .”
“So says the woman marrying that man to settle her brother’s debts.”
Tears sprang to her eyes, for it was an impossible coil all around, and she was lodged in the middle of it. “Richard took care of me when our parents died, when my fiancé perished in the war. He is my only living family, and I—”
“I don’t care, just as I don’t care about what you want.” When he interrupted her, he held her wrists tighter in his grip. “This body, your body, belongs to me for the next six days. Do you understand?”
“You have no right—”
“Aye, but then, neither do you.” Then the duke kissed her with intent and hardness, no doubt to force her into submission or perhaps to shock her. When he pulled back enough to hold her gaze with his, an unexpected longing shadowed those sapphire depths that she couldn’t quite puzzle out. It came with a vulnerability she doubted he was even aware he showed, as if he were silently asking for help, for what she had no idea. “This is how life is now, at least for the next six days,” he whispered seconds before he claimed her mouth again in a kiss no less demanding.
Madeline wasn’t as prepared for the onslaught as she wanted to be. Of course, she’d been kissed before in her life; she’d had a fiancé for goodness’ sake, but he’d never kissed her with the hunger and power that Ravenhurst did now. It awakened something in her she’d thought long dead, something that went to the grave with her fiancé.
Of course, the duke was a bully and a coward if he thought kidnapping and holding her captive made him better than the marquess’ hellish reputation. He needed to be taught that she wouldn’t back down.
Shoving forward, she went up on her toes and then bit his bottom lip. When he immediately pulled away, she grinned with victory, for there was a trace of blood there. The metallic taste of it was evident on her palate. “I am not an object to use or possess, Your Grace. Now I demand that you return me to my home at once.”
“Such airs you put on, Miss Hardesty, as if you were a queen instead of a viscount’s sister, and one in dun territory at that.” Yet he released her wrists only to yank her back into his embrace, only this time he softened his approach. “I will do no such thing. Inglehart has no idea you are missing at this moment. He won’t find out until the morrow when your brother raises the alarm. No one knows why I hate the man so, and there is very little chance anyone will even think it was me who took you.”
And he kissed her once more.
Madeline was at sixes and sevens with this man. Deep down in her soul where she’d locked all the bright memories from her past away to keep them safe from the horrid reality of the world and the sadness therein, she was in awe of the fact that the Duke of Ravenhurst not only knew who she was, but that he’d kidnapped her, brought her to his country estate, and was now kissing her.
Her eight-year-old self would have been in such delight and thrilled by the intrigue of it all, for even at that early age, Madeline had been addicted to reading tales of Gothic horror and unrequited love.
However, the reality was quite different and eye-opening. As he moved his mouth over hers in a way that demanded both her attention and her submission, the embrace had the power to steal her breath, but he had to learn she would not be an instrument for him to use in a plot for revenge.
Or anything else.
She slipped her hands up his chest—his warm, hard chest—to clutch his shoulders in order to give the impression that she had, indeed, offered a surrender and given into pure curiosity as she let him continue kissing her while she tried to mimic what he did to her, but then she made her ultimate move by driving a knee into the soft organ between his legs.
“Damn you, woman!” When he groaned and doubled over clutching himself, Madeline snickered.
“If you think that you own any portion of my body and if you think I’m going to aid or abet you in this twisted game of yours, I’ll need to disabuse you of that right now.” As she spoke, she took hold of his arm and escorted him across the floor. The trip was made longer by the fact he couldn’t walk correctly. “I will do everything in my power to break free of this demented captivity you’ve planned, and you can also keep your perverted pleasures and whims to yourself. I have my own problems to try and wrestle with, and I don’t need them being tangled up in yours.” So saying, she wrenched open the door to the corridor, shoved him out of the room, then slammed the door behind him.
In retrospect, she should have used that opportunity to escape the manor house. Yes, she was familiar with the countryside, but she certainly couldn’t have run off into the night clad only in a torn nightdress. And wrapping a sheet about herself would have been just as scandalous.
For now, this was enough. There would be other opportunities, but that didn’t stop her whole body from shaking with reaction or the tears from escaping onto her cheeks. With trembling fingers, Madeline quickly turned the key in the lock. Once she removed it from the keyhole, she deposited it on the bureau top where it fell with a dull clang.
What now?
With nothing else to do, she burrowed beneath the covers of the bed, pulled them up to her chin, and wrapped her arms about herself in the hopes of quelling the shaking. There was no doubt in her mind that she needed to escape, but if she did, would she go back to her brother’s home in London? Wouldn’t this be the perfect opportunity to disappear, to reinvent herself somewhere new, somewhere that no one knew who she was or her family was?
Or what Richard had done?
A gasp escaped her. Dear God, where was her bonnet with the secret of her future inside? She simply couldn’t go anywhere without that. For now, what she needed was to rest her tired body and to plan.
Then she would act, yet… There was something that compelled her to linger here with the duke, as demented and ridiculous as it sounded. If she didn’t know better, the man was hurting inside and desperately needed help, even if he didn’t ask for it, but was it her responsibility to fix him? Perhaps he didn’t want to be a better man, and if that were so, it was entirely his right, but still. Something about those eyes said differently.
He wasn’t truly the man he’d become, and drat it all, she wanted to know his story, to understand what had driven him to this pass of desperation, and above all, to learn why he hated Inglehart so much.
Then she could go. And as long as she kept her wits about her, she might manage to go about it unscathed, for deep down, he was a man of honor even if he was dangerous.
Wasn’t he? It didn’t matter that the awareness seeping through her body spoke differently.