Captive Bride (8 page)

 
Rozalyn had very nearly worn a path in the plush carpet of her boudoir with her frustrated pacing. Her good fortune in finding a rake to fit her description of the man of her dreams had, in actuality, been a stroke of rotten luck. If Dominic Baudelair had an ounce of decency he would never had insisted that she compromise her virtue in payment for his assistance. The longer she paced, the more furious she became.

 
How could she pretend to be civil to Dominic when she must constantly fight the urge to pound him flat and float him down the Mississippi? The cad! How dare he suggest that she spread herself beneath him to compensate for his time and trouble. How dare he threaten to expose her to her grandmother.

 
He wasn't dealing with some simple-minded twit who could be manipulated and who would not think to retaliate when he became familiar with her right under Lenore's nose. This rogue will not outmaneuver me, Rozalyn thought belligerently. She was strong willed and she had a temper. She was not about to allow a conniving rake to twist her around his little finger.

 
She crossed her arms beneath her breasts and impatiently tapped her foot, waiting for a scheme to hatch in her mind. There had to be a way out of this mess. If she didn't panic, an idea would eventually come to her. This wasn't the first time she had found herself in
 
scrape, she calmly reminded herself. She must somehow win Dominic's affection, keep him dangling like a puppet on a string until the engagement party was over. Then she could tell him exactly what she thought of him and of his skullduggery. After wishing him a one-way trip to hell, she would then run to her grandmother and play the betrayed, heartbroken lover. Lenore would think no less of her granddaughter if the disengagement was presented as Dominic's idea.

 
But how was she to keep Dominic at arm's length when he approached her like cavalry responding to a bugle call? Dominic Baudelair was as bold as he was handsome, and it was obvious that what he wanted from a woman he took. And what he wanted from her had nothing to do with love or affection. Not that she gave a fig whether or not he fell in love with her . . . the possibility lingered in her mind and a deliciously mischievous smile caught the corners of Rozalyn's mouth, lifting them upward. That was the answer! If Dominic found himself attracted to her, that attraction might evolve into affection. He would be more considerate of her feelings then, wouldn't he? She would love to have that lion of a man eating out of the palm of her hand instead of licking his lips in anticipation of devouring her. But Rozalyn was not in the habit of manipulating others to achieve the ends she desired. She had always been bold and direct, not underhanded and scheming, so her conscience bothered her. But I am not dealing with the usual situation or the normal breed of man, she hastily reminded herself.

 
As Rozalyn peeled off her clothes and sank down into the tub, she let her thoughts flow, contemplating her plan of action. When Dominic came at her, hungry to satisfy the beast within him, she would confess that she had felt some warm emotion when they'd first kissed. She would ask to become better acquainted with him before rushing into a situation that might leave permanent scars on her tender, innocent heart.

 
That should do it, Rozalyn thought smugly. Surely Dominic had been born with a smidgeon of conscience. He wouldn't stoop so low as to force himself upon her when all she asked was a little time to allow her affection for him to blossom. She would woo him as she had no other man, making him fall in love with her, giving him no reason to doubt her sincerity. And if her plot was successful, perhaps she would consider a career in the theater. Rozalyn giggled to herself. Indeed, to smile and bat her big blue eyes at Dominic would require a magnificent pepformance. Rozalyn would prefer to shake the man until his teeth rattled. After all, he deserves it, she thought huffily. She ignored the tiny voice of conscience that was berating her for attempting to manipulate this man for her own selfish purposes. She was only doing what had to be done.

 
Let Dominic think it had been love at first sight, if he believed in such sentimental notions. Let him think that, in time, she would surrender to his embrace without protest. Let him think she might offer him what no other man had claimed. He would soon realize there was one woman on earth who refused to be dominated by a man.

 
Satisfied with her counter tactics, Rozalyn scrubbed her face until it shined. Then she selected the most provocative gown she owned. A sly smile pursed her lips when she wormed into a pink silk affair with a plunging neckline, and she peered at her reflection in the mirror. This will make the rake sit up and take notice, she thought wickedly. Once she had his attention, she would set her plan in motion. Carefully, she pinned her ebony strands on top of her head, to create a sophisticated appearance, but she let a few ringlets dangle about her oval face. She wanted to retain some appearance of youth and innocence, just to remind Dominic that she was at least ten years his junior.

 
After her painstaking preparations, Rozalyn spun away from the mirror. If this scheme failed to keep that bold rogue in his place, perhaps she would beg the assistance of some of her rough-edged friends. Rozalyn snickered spitefully at the thought of several ruffians leaping out of the shadows to pound some manners into Dominic. If he couldn't understand tact, maybe he would respond to forceful persuasion.

 
As was the custom in the DuBois mansion, Rozalyn was on her way out for the evening when Aubrey was returning from another long day at the warehouse. Although Aubrey had only been home two weeks since his yearly journey to the rendezvous, he had spent not even an hour with his daughter. He traveled to the foot of the Rockies each summer to trade with trappers, and Rozalyn had grown accustomed to his uneventful homecomings. She no longer anticipated a cheerful greeting from her father. She was like a stick of furniture he veered around. Aubrey had never paid attention to her.

 
When she descended the steps, garbed in her stunning gown, Aubrey did, however, notice that he was not the only person in the foyer, much to Rozalyn's surprise. When he spoke to her they never truly communicated. Aubrey just made a few inconsequential comments and asked some innocuous questions so he would not have to listen carefully to her responses.

 
"Where are you off to this evening?" Aubrey veered toward the study to pour himself a tall drink, forcing Rozalyn to follow him if she intended to have her answer heard.

 
A disappointed frown clouded her delicate features, for she realized Lenore was absolutely right about Aubrey. He made only meager attempts to be social to his daughter, as if she were no more than an obligation. Aubrey pretended an interest in her, but he was not concerned enough to await her reply before he ambled away. Rozalyn doubted that he even listened when she supplied an answer.

 
Determined to test that theory, she swept into the elaborately decorated study where her father spent his evenings, laboring over his ledgers. "I have a most exciting evening planned," she gushed as she threw back the drapes and peered out into the darkness. "I thought I would take a drive along the wharf and then set your warehouse afire."

 
"That's nice," Aubrey mumbled stoically as he plopped down at his massive desk. After rummaging through a drawer, he located his ledgers. "Try to be home at a reasonable hour. The streets are not safe after dark these days."

 
What did he care if she were brutally assaulted and left in an unconscious heap in an alleyway? Aubrey didn't even know she existed. He really didn't give a fig what she said or where she went. It was a crushing blow to Rozalyn's pride that her father would not even spare her five minutes of his precious time. What had she done to deserve such disinterest?

 
Hurt by his indifference, she ambled out of the study without saying farewell. Why should she? Aubrey was paying no attention. He'd already buried his nose in his ledgers and had blocked out the rest of the world.

 
Rozalyn burst through the front door and then planted herself on the bench that sat in a corner of the porch that stretched across the front of their home. Tears triggered by wounded pride swam in her eyes, but Rozalyn refused to release them. She had spent the past nine years braving her father's lack of concern so why should she fall to pieces tonight? He didn't care about her. If she faded into the woodwork, never to reappear, he probably wouldn't even notice she was gone.

 
A pensive frown puckered her brow. Was it because of Aubrey's cool indifference that she played her mischievous pranks? Did she hope to make him notice her? Most likely, Rozalyn decided as she considered the past few years of her life. She had led a boisterous existence: chased her own rainbows, followed her every whim, and cavorted with lively characters whose way of life varied greatly from hers. Yet she had not gained her father's attention. Although she had failed to do so, she had learned a valuable lesson. Money does not make the man nor credit him with morals. She had met many delightful characters in the streets. Although most of them were desperate for coin, by and large they retained a certain amount of goodness and conscience. They focused upon survival, and Rozalyn often helped those who were less fortunate. Then, too, she spent many a night listening to the tales and joining in the adventures of the raucous waterfront crowd.

 
Indeed, her association with so-called ruffians had earned her a scandalous reputation in the sophisticated social circle of the French aristocracy. But her friendships with the earthy men of the streets were more gratifying than her association with the shallow gentility.

 
Dismissing these thoughts, Rozalyn pricked her ears at the sound of an approaching carriage. She had important matters to attend, she reminded herself. Gracefully she descended the steps to accept the groom's supporting arm. Then, breathing a thankful sigh that Dominic had remained at his estate, Rozalyn settled herself on the tufted seat. Staring at the opposite wall, she concentrated on her purpose as the carriage rumbled down the street. She had to tame this lusty beast who had suggested they become intimate since they were supposedly head over heels in love with each other.

 
She must pretend to be enamored of this tall, dark, ruggedly handsome cavalier, though he could never truly steal her heart, especially after he had attempted to blackmail her into his bed. If he were a noble gentleman he would expect nothing in return for aiding a damsel in distress. But Dominic Baudelair is a philanderer, she thought resentfully. She would flirt with him and string him along for a while, but she would not allow herself to be seduced. Someday the right man would come along, and Rozalyn would offer him all the love she had to give, the love she had kept bottled up inside her all these years. Until that day came she was not going to experiment with passion—and especially not with Dominic. She wanted no part of him. She'd had enough trouble keeping his straying hands corraled in front of her grandmother. She couldn't even imagine what he might do while they were alone. . . .

 
Rozalyn squeezed her eyes shut, squelching the traitorous sensations that spilled through her when Dominic's handsome visage arose in the darkness. Only an arrogant fool would discount his charm and persuasiveness, she cautioned herself. She could not give an inch. She would have to stay one step ahead of him or she might . . .

 
Don't think about that, Rozalyn chided herself. You have enough to fret over. Clinging to positive, determined thoughts, Rozalyn eased back into the carriage seat, mentally plotting her moves. When she appeared on center stage to face the charismatic but dangerous Dominic Baudelair, she would be well prepared.

Chapter 5

 
Rozalyn was jolted from her contemplative deliberations when the brougham in which she was riding came to a screeching halt. As the sound of muffled voices came through the open window, she poked her head out to see the groom holding his hands high above his head while three men aimed their pistols at his chest.

 
A robbery, Rozalyn thought disgustedly. She was anxious to confront Dominic and to begin her performance. Indeed, she had spent the past few minutes rehearsing her soliloquy. She did not need her train of thought derailed.

 
Hastily, Rozalyn flung open the door and hopped to the ground, only to hear the groom's shocked gasp.

 
"
Mademoiselle
! Stay inside!" Mosley instructed her as he nobly positioned himself in front of his assailants to protect this lovely maid from harm.

 
Rozalyn disregarded the groom's instructions. Boldly, she marched up to one of the masked men who looked more than a little familiar. Harvey Duncan's plump physique and short stature gave him away.

 
An impish smile pursed her lips as she fished into her purse and then tucked several coins into Harvey's vest pocket. "You truly should find a more respectable occupation,
monsieur
," she chastised in a tone laced more with amusement than irritation.

 
"Rozalyn!" Harvey gasped when he recognized the lady's soft, throaty voice. "What the devil are you doin' in this coach? It ain't yers. You know we never would have stopped it if it was."