A Taste of Seduction (An Unlikely Husband) (33 page)

***

“Remind me to thank Sally one of these days,” Jared Crayton murmured.

“Sally?” Francie tried to keep the alarm from her voice. “What about Sally?”

He laughed, a warm, rumbling sound that belied the evil running through his veins. “She’s the reason we were able to lure you away from Drakemoor. And your husband. Quite clever, don’t you think?”

“I don’t understand,” she answered, but huge weights of dread pulled her under to the dark side of truth.

“Of course you don’t. That’s why it was such a splendid plan.” He released her and turned her toward him, his green eyes sparkling. “I knew Sally was staying at your cottage, knew she’d been tossed out with nothing but the clothes on her back.” He smiled at her, a deep, warm smile that brought out the dimples in his cheeks. “That’s when I decided to write the letter from Sally telling you something had happened to the baby.”

“It was all a lie?”

He nodded, his blond hair swirling about him in the afternoon breeze. “Sally had the child this morning. A boy. I visited her. I thought that might please you,” he paused, “it also afforded me the opportunity to step inside your home. Was your bed at the top of the stairs or further down the hallway?”

Her stomach lurched at the thought of Jared Crayton in her home, scouring out her bed like a lecher.

“Don’t care to answer? Perhaps I’ll boot them out and we’ll try both beds. What say you to that?”

“How can you be so cruel?”

“Cruel? I’m not cruel, I’m clever,” he boasted. “I know how to get what I want. Claire and I even took care of your husband. Didn’t you wonder how it just so happened Bishop was gone when the note arrived? One of Claire’s, ah, friends, an old gentleman who owed her a special favor, agreed to pretend interest in one of Bishop’s companies.”

“Why would you both go to such lengths to take me from the man I love?”

“Don’t speak of such things! You only think you love that bastard. Soon you’ll forget all about him. Once you’ve been with me, you won’t remember anyone’s touch but mine.”

He grabbed her and bound her hands with a leather strap he pulled from his waistcoat. “Did I mention I love taming wild animals?” He trailed a finger along the back of her neck. “They kick. They buck.” He paused. “They bite. Until they become accustomed to my touch. Then, even the fiercest, wildest creature turns to porridge. You’re my wild animal, sweetest Francie, and I’m the master who will tame you.”

“Never.”

“Never? Did I not warn you against that word? I believe I did, shortly before your aunt suffered that unfortunate mishap in her weed patch.” Before she could respond, he hoisted her in his arms and carried her to his waiting mount. “You may kick and even scream, but it will do you no good.
Other than to arouse me, if that’s your purpose. No one can help you now. Your fate is sealed and the sooner you accept it, the better for everyone.”

He flung her across the saddle and mounted behind her. “You’re mine now. And I’d like a bit of privacy, away from the drunk and dying.” He chuckled and nudged his horse into a trot.

Francie tried to ignore the pressure of his thighs against hers and the all-too-frequent sweep of his hand over her person. She would sooner die than submit to the beast. Her wrists bled from attempts to free herself of the leather strap that bound her. Where was he taking her? Certainly, he couldn’t just
keep
her. That was utter madness, and yet, everything about these last hours was madness.

She must escape. Blood seeped into the leather straps as she tried once more to free herself.

“Stop that,” the beast hissed into her ear, “or by all that’s holy, I’ll stop right now and show you what happens when you disobey me.” He stroked her hair. “I do so want our first time to be special, with me, the perfect lover. Don’t force me to behave otherwise, my sweet.”

Francie swallowed her revulsion and forced herself to breathe through the panic. “Where are you taking me?”

“Interested, are we?” He thrust a hand against her belly and pulled her closer. “There’s a cottage on the far end of my father’s property. It’s clean, quaint, and secluded. My father used it to tryst with the more comely members of his staff while my mother was alive. More prudent, he said, and less likely to cause a scene, though my mother never uttered a complete phrase her entire life. She knew her station.” His breath fanned her ear. “And you will learn yours soon enough. Under me. On top of me.” He jerked his hips against her bottom and said on a ragged sigh,
“All over me.”

Francie squeezed her eyes shut and prayed Alexander would find her before it was too late.

When Jared finally stopped his mount, her body ached but her mind sought desperately for a way to escape. Mayhap she could locate a knife and drive it into the beast’s heart. Or smash his head with a rock. Or shoot his private parts to bits. She, who had never so much as squashed a bug, had been reduced to the true contemplation of murder.

Could she do it?

To protect the love she and Alexander shared? The answer roared through her in a resounding
yes
.

He dismounted, hoisted her from the horse, and set her on her feet. “Charming, is it not?” he asked, gesturing toward the cottage.

Had she not known what atrocities occurred within the whitewashed walls of the structure, she would indeed have looked upon the cottage, with its daisies and asters clustered around the perimeter, as charming. Despite her revulsion, she forced an answer. “Yes, it is.”

That seemed to please him, for he smiled and said in a gentle tone, “Come, I’ve a special surprise for you.”

He let her enter first and inside she found roses of every color stuffed in vases, pitchers, and pots, their scent greeting her with familiarity and longing. Oh, to be back in the garden at Drakemoor with Alexander watching her from the library window.

“I know how you love your flowers. I had them brought here just for you.” He smiled down at her, his eyes bright. “I can make you happy, Francie. If only you will let me.” His lips brushed her cheek, trailed along her jaw
, and hovered near her mouth.

She jerked her head away and for the first time in her life, she knew hate.

“Don’t turn away from me,” he spat out and grabbed her chin with two fingers, forcing her face toward him. “Don’t ever turn away from me again.” He clutched her arm and dragged her to the bed. “Why must you fight me so? Can you not see your efforts are futile?
I will have you
.” His voice dipped. “Often.” He fingered the lace rimming the neckline of her gown. “I’ll wipe out every memory of Bishop’s touch until all you think about is mine.”

Nothing could make her forget Alexander.

“Lie down.” He towered over her, his fingers biting into her arm. “Now.”

If she did as he requested, he would force himself on her. If she did not, judging by the maniacal expression on his face, he might well kill her.

She would rather die than submit to the monster. With that thought, she kicked out and almost broke free.

“Damn you,” he said, grabbing her arm in a punishing grip. He shoved her onto the bed and yanked her bound hands above her head. “Why do you choose to anger me? Would you prefer I take you with force?” He tied her hands to the bedpost. “Make you bleed? Bruise you until you can’t walk?” He removed his jacket and folded it over a nearby chair. “That would certainly not be my choice,” he said in a conversational manner as he removed first one boot and then the other. “I would much rather a willing bed partner. One who possesses desire, creativity, and a willingness to
please.” He untied his neckcloth and tossed it aside. “Will you be that person, Francie?” He slid onto the bed and lay beside her. “Will you be my willing lover?”

Before she could answer, he pinned her head to the bed and assaulted her mouth, plunging his tongue inside until she gagged. “Stop feigning distaste and kiss me.” He wrapped his hand around her hair and pulled until she cried out. “Let’s try again. I shall lean over and offer you my mouth. You will run your tongue along my lips and tease me until I open them. Then you
shall…”

A pounding on the door interrupted the monster. “Lord Crayton. Please
, sir, I must speak with you immediately!”

“What the devil is going on?” Jared Crayton rolled off the bed and straightened his clothing. “Just a moment, my sweet,” he murmured, trailing a finger from Francie’s neck to her breast. He leaned closer to whisper, “Don’t bother appealing to him for help. He’s completely loyal to my family.” Then he straightened and made his way to the door
, which he thrust open with a growl. “Dunstin, what the devil are you doing? I’ll have you shot for disturbing me.”

A slight young man with spectacles and a fluff of red hair bowed and thrust a satchel at him.
“So sorry, my lord. It’s the duke. He commands you take this and leave at once. There’s enough inside to see you to the property in Devonshire. Do not return until he sends for you.”

“Blast, man, are you mad?” And then, “Is my father mad? Has he tumbled one too many scullery maids?”

The man named Dunstin shook his head and darted nervous eyes in Francie’s direction. “No, sir.” His face turned a mottled red. “There’s quite a commotion in the green salon, and it would appear you’re in the thick of it.”

“Damnation, stop your blathering and speak sense. How could I possibly be in the thick of anything when I am here?”

“A Miss Sally Baines’s uncle is in the salon.”
Sally’s uncle?
Francie listened with growing fascination. Sally had but one uncle. No one had ever seen him but tales of his exploits filled Amberden.

“Good God.” Jared Crayton ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I’m to pay court to a commoner because I lifted his niece’s skirt and got her with child? Absurd. Tell my father I’ll see him later.” He turned away and smiled at Francie. “I’m rather busy at the moment.”

Dunstin stepped inside the cottage and said, “Miss Baines is dead, my lord.”

Dead?
Francie whimpered.
Poor, dear Sally
.

Jared Crayton’s smile slipped. He swung around. “Impossible. I saw her and the babe this morning. They were both well.”

“She bled to death, according to her uncle. The man demands to see you.”

“Does he not know who I am? Who my
father
is? Why does the duke not toss him out on his ear?”

Dunstin shook his head. “A man named Mad Jack is not the sort of man one tosses out, on his ear or elsewhere. Your father wishes you to take this money and flee at once.”

“Mad Jack?”

It was him, the legend of Amberden!

“Yes, my lord. He threatened to dismantle your body, limb by limb, beginning with your, uh,” he floundered and glanced at his master’s breeches.

If the man were as true as the legend, he
would
find his prey and dismantle him, beginning with his private parts.

Jared Crayton needed no more convincing. “Give me a moment to gather my things.” He glanced at Francie. “And my lady friend.”

“No, my lord. You must travel alone and unencumbered. The duke insisted.”

Francie’s nemesis pulled on his boots and shrugged into his jacket. “How did my father know I was here?”

“Servant gossip, I believe. You must hurry, my lord. Mad Jack does not appear one to be trifled with.”

Jared Crayton leaned over and kissed Francie softly on the forehead. “You’re mine now,” he breathed. “I won’t leave without you.”

“Follow the duke’s instructions,” Dunstin said, glancing once more at Francie. “He fears Mad Jack’s men are scouring the countryside in search of you this very moment. Please leave now, my lord. Your safety and your life depend upon it.”

Jared hazarded one last glance at Francie. “I’ll send for you,” he vowed, then closed the door softly behind him.

She must escape
.

The beast would no doubt find a way to transport her to Devonshire. She yanked at the leather strap, mindless of the pain and blood as the leather tore into her wrists. Every second that passed lessened her chances of escape. Francie thrashed about on the bed and yanked the strap harder, begging for a miracle. She opened her mouth and screamed for Alexander, for their love, for the hopelessness closing in, but no one heard her.
No one at all.

When Alexander bound up the steps to Drakemoor, George greeted him with a very enthusiastic, sloppy kiss. Alexander had hoped his wife would be the one bestowing the kisses, not her dog, but he was fast learning that one never quite knew what to expect with Francie.

“Where is she, George? Where’s that mistress of yours?” He patted the animal’s head and received yet another wet kiss—this one on his hand. “Enough. Any more of this and I’ll require a bath.” Mention of the word
bath
sent the monstrous animal scrambling down the steps toward the row of privets located in the front corner of the gardens. Alexander sighed and hid a smile. It wouldn’t do to show his wife how much he liked George or how much he now considered slobbering kisses on the ordinary level at Drakemoor. Since Francie entered his life, routine had flown out the door along with ordinary and boring. Speaking of his wife, he couldn’t wait to see her. They had an assignation this afternoon—picnicking in the far fields—
with
a basket of goodies and
without
undergarments. Could a man reach any higher level of contentment? He doubted it possible.