Jo Beverley - [Malloren 03] (19 page)

“Are you sure?” she teased. “You promised me memorable.”

“I promised you hell, too, but this wasn’t quite what I had in mind.” He held her closer and kissed her cheek. “Are you all right? You must still be sore.”

“A little. I’m fine.” That tender kiss almost broke her. She almost said,
I love you
.

“Not even slightly tempted to throw a fit of the vapors?”

“What good would it do?”

“You’re a woman in a million, Lisette.”

“Are you saying women are less able to bear shocks and hardship than men?” She was teasing, but was also serious.

“Don’t tell me you’re one of these women who think there’s no differences between the sexes!”

“Oh, I acknowledge some differences.” She felt bold enough to touch his now-soft genitals. “Just not all.”

He seized her hand and pulled it up for a kiss. “Don’t play with hellfire, sweetheart, or you won’t be able to walk in the morning.” He rubbed their joined hands
against her cheek, then stilled. “What happened to your mask?”

Oh, dear heaven.
“They cut it off.”

“I’m glad.” He traced her face as if he could see with his fingers. She did hope not. “We’re both almost as naked as the day we were born. It’s honest. I could become quite fond of this place.”

Elf pushed away. “Don’t be silly. We have to escape.” That reminded her that she had to be home before morning to avoid complete disaster.

He helped her disentangle herself, and soon they stood in the coffin holding hands, each the other’s only reality.

“You speak excellent English,” he remarked.

Oh, Gemini!

Thinking back, Elf realized that from the moment of capture she had instinctively spoken in her native tongue. They’d been whispering most of the time and clearly he hadn’t recognized her voice yet.

In such danger, it shouldn’t matter, and yet they’d found something precious here, a fellowship brought on by shared peril. She couldn’t bear to damage it with their family problems.

“Merci,”
she said, continuing in accented English. “I ’ave been well taught, I think.”

“You’ve been well taught, yes, but which language, sweetheart? I suspect that
in extremis
people speak their native tongue.” His fingers found her cheek, and then he kissed her lightly on the lips. “Keep your secrets for now, Lisette,” he said in French. “The first thing is to get out of here.”

Elf sent a prayer of thanks, though that “for now” held a warning.

Unfortunately, that meant that after tonight, Lisette would have to disappear. She’d only planned for this adventure to last one night, but now she could hardly bear for it to end.

What would happen if she confessed the truth? Could he understand? Could he put aside his malice and hate?
This man, the man she’d come to know tonight, had no connection with such evil emotions.

He released her hand and she heard him move. “The floor is flagstones.”

Pushing aside wistful dreams, Elf scrambled out of her end of the coffin, extending every sense in a search for information. “I hate this darkness. Even a scrap of night sky through a window would be something.”

“Or noise. If this is an inn, it’s a strangely silent one.”

“It is the middle of the night.”

“Even so.”

Elf stood and one of her stockings fell down, reminding her that she was in a disgraceful state of undress. She groped in the box for the garter, and his body bumped into hers.

“Sorry.”

She reached for balance and touched something soft.

Soft? Round?

She snatched her hand back. It was his intimate parts! For some reason, touching them accidentally seemed scandalous, when touching them deliberately had not.

He chuckled, and a moment later his groping hand found hers and guided it back toward him.

To cloth.

He put something into her arms and she recognized the monk’s robe.

“Don’t you need it? I have my shift.”

“In the dark, I don’t need a stitch. Put it on.”

The thought of him wandering around stark naked did strange things to Elf’s equilibrium. She fought it by pulling the habit over her head.

It settled around her, warm and concealing. She moved back to try to find her garter and promptly tripped over the hem.

“It’s far too long.”

He found her in the dark and fumbled for the hem. “Pox, so it is. And there’s no knife here that I know of. If we had the cord we might be able to tie it up.”

She slipped out of it and passed it back. “I’ll make do.”

He moved away but she heard no sounds of cloth against skin. “Are you not wearing it?”

“Why bother?” She could hear the laughter in his voice.

“So I don’t contact your private parts again by accident?”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“Well, I would!”

“My apologies, Miss Delicacy and Decorum.” Now she heard sounds. “There. I’m decently covered.”

“Thank you.” Elf heard her ridiculously tight-lipped tone, but couldn’t help it. She really couldn’t cope with the image of him sauntering around naked.

“And you?” he asked.

“What?”

“Are you decently covered?”

Reminded, she hastily found the scrap of ribbon and lace and firmly rearranged her stocking. Then she tied the neck of her shift so it no longer sagged half down her chest. Again she winced at how she must have appeared to their captors.

“Insofar as possible,” she mumbled.

If only she’d been less wicked and worn a cotton shift and stockings for this adventure. But no. She had to wear the finest silk and ridiculous lacy stockings. Exploring herself, she discovered the shift had been torn at some point in her capture, and a triangular flap now exposed part of her side.

Oh for a pin!

She put such concerns aside and set to work, exploring their pitch-dark prison inch by inch.

“I wonder why they bothered with this robe at all?” he said, clearly farther away in the room.

“Perhaps they needed it to carry you. Someone carried me over his shoulder, but you’d be too heavy.”

“Probably. One puzzle solved. The rest, of course, is
still dense mystery. What do they want? Damme. I’ve no memory of the event. What happened?”

“I have no recollection, either. I woke up as they seized me. There were some noises. Perhaps a fight.”

“I hope it was me.” After a moment, he said, “I doubt it, though. Apart from my head, I’ve no bruises that I can tell, and my hands haven’t hit anything recently.”

He sounded aggrieved. Elf rolled her eyes at the way the male mind worked. “I hardly think that matters,” she pointed out, “but I’m sorry about your head. Does it hurt a lot?”

“Yes.” Was he terse because of pain or because he hadn’t earned more honorable wounds?

She suppressed a sigh. “We need to escape before they do whatever they have planned for us,” she reminded him. “Could you please apply your mind to that?”

“Lisette, you obviously have no idea how disconcerting it is for a man to go to sleep in his own bed and awake a prisoner with no blow struck!” When she said nothing, he added, “Oh, very well. Let’s explore.”

Elf continued to grope forward, having to suppress a giggle at his peevishness. “I suppose you wanted to be a knight in shining armor. Or perhaps a dragon slayer?”

“You’re too fanciful. I just wish I’d broken some bones.”

“Ugh. How horrid.”

She heard a
clunk
as he moved something on the other side of the room.

“Ugh, how realistic. What do you think happens when that romantic knight in shining armor slams his lance into his opponent’s body?”

Absorbed in this distracting conversation, Elf bumped into a barrier. Feeling side to side, she said, “There’s a cask here. Big. From the size and smell, it’s probably beer.”

“And I’ve found some smaller ones. Probably wine but”—she heard tapping—“empty, I think. So, Lisette, if we win free and face our enemy, do you want me to
be a gentle, perfect knight? Or do you want me to break some bones?”

“I’ll doubtless join you in breaking bones.” She tapped the cask in front of her. “This is empty, too. Staved in, in fact. Do you think—”

“Ah.”

“What?” She turned toward his voice, though it served no purpose since she couldn’t see.

“I’ve found the door. It is, of course, locked in some way.” She heard some soft thumps. “Solid, plague take it. It’s hard to imagine breaking it open with our bare hands.”

Elf liked that “our.” For this moment they were not Ware and Malloren, lord and lady. They were just two people with a common cause. Almost like Adam and Eve, she thought, naked in the Garden of Eden.

“Are you still wearing your robe?” she asked.

“Yes. I may not be concerned by modesty, but it’s damned chilly. Are you sure you don’t want it?”

He was right. Despite the season, the cellar was chill and dank. Her stockinged feet and bare arms already shivered with cold, and the rest of her was not far behind. “No, thank you,” she said, absurdly touched by his gallantry.

And perhaps, she thought, leaning back against the barrel to rub her arms, she had things to smile about. They were alive when but a few minutes before, they’d expected death. For the moment, they had shed their pasts—their rank, their families, their feud—along with their normal clothes.

In a strange way, she felt closer to Fortitude Harleigh Ware here, prisoners in the dark, than even when making love.

“Anything else?” he asked, prompting her to continue her exploration.

Her foot touched a wooden bucket, empty. He reported some rags and rope. “Not enough to be of any use,” he said, “even if I could think of a use for it. This is a damnably efficient prison.”

Then Elf came to the ramp. “Of course,” she said. “They always roll beer casks down a ramp. That’s how they slid in our box.”

He came to join her, reaching out so his hand brushed hers before taking it. She couldn’t resist going into his arms.

He rubbed her shoulders. “You’re cold.”

“It can’t be helped.”

“It’s another reason to get out of here. How long before your complaisant relative becomes alarmed?”

So he was thinking of scandal, too. “Morning, I suppose.”

“And then what will happen?”

“I have no idea.” Wanting to be as honest as she could, she added, “She might hesitate to complain to the authorities, but not for long.”

He kissed her gently on her brow. “Then we’d best try to escape before morning. I’m going to climb the ramp.”

She heard scrabbling sounds and then a rattle. “Fastened on the outside, of course, and almost as sturdy as the door. We could try to pry it open, but we’d still need a tool of some kind to have any chance.”

He arrived back beside her, and they found one another again in the dark.

“Scared?” he asked.

Surprisingly, she had to think about it. “Yes, though not as much as I would be if I were alone. Are you? Scared.”

“Yes.” His hand rubbed comfortingly on her back, and she did the same to him. “Should I not admit it? Here in the dark, it seems ridiculous to posture. I don’t want to die just yet, and certainly not with such lack of dignity at the hands of ruffians.”

This approached interesting matters. “Do you think it’s your Scottish friends who have captured us?”

His hand paused for a moment. “Perhaps.”

“But why? And if they wanted to kill me, why sneak into an earl’s house at night to steal us both away?” She prayed for an honest answer.

“I have no idea, which is worrying enough—”

“Especially since they are your colleagues,” she snapped.

“Sheathe your claws, little cat. I honestly have no idea what is behind this. For the moment, we are on the same side, and our pressing need is to escape. I’m afraid that means crawling about the floor in search of some overlooked tool.”

He would have moved away, but she held on to the rough wool of his habit. “I want to know everything that is going on.”

“It wouldn’t help.”

“How can you know that?”

“You’re just being curious, in typical female fashion.”

“Curious! My life is in danger—”

“And you are delaying things by a pointless argument.” He freed himself and moved away.

“Female fashion, indeed.” Elf settled to her knees and started to work her way around the room. Her shift ripped further, so, muttering a curse, she knotted it near her waist. If a light appeared now and exposed her like this, she’d die of shame. “If you didn’t know what was going on,” she protested, “you’d be full of questions, too.”

“I
don’t
know what’s going on. For example, I don’t even know who you are, though there’s something damnably familiar about your voice when you speak English. Why not start with your true name?”

Elf almost told him, longing to prick his bubble. She managed to resist.

“Who I am is not important.” She reached tentatively beneath the huge cask—heaven only knows what might be there. As it turned out her fingers found only chips of broken flagstone.

“Then what’s going on is equally unimportant,” he said. “I’ve found a short stick—a broken broom handle, I think—but I can’t see what good it will do us.”

They took refuge in grumpy silence broken only by the scrabble of their search.

Gradually Elf realized how absurd their behavior was and offered an olive branch. “It would be annoying,” she said, having found nothing remotely like a tool, “to discover that axes and scythes are hanging from the ceiling.”

She stood up, rearranged her shift, and headed back toward the box. And stubbed her toe against a rock, falling forward to bang her knees on it.

At her cry, he said, “What? What’s the matter?”

“I just stubbed my toe.” She sat to rub at various painful spots, then explored the obstacle. She’d thought it a raised flagstone, but it was many inches thick with metal handles attached. It was clearly no use to them, though.

“I hate this darkness,” she said as she scrambled to her feet. “Do you keep rubbing your eyes, hoping to clear your vision?”

“Yes. Do you have moments of fear that you really are blind?”

“I would if I were alone. Have you found anything?”

“No. Come and sit on our coffin.”

She felt her way forward carefully, already beginning to grow more skillful with her other senses. A dull thump told her he’d replaced the lid and when she got there and sat on it, his robe came around her shoulders.

Which meant that when he put his arm around her and pulled her close, she settled against his naked body. She didn’t complain. The warm cloth was comforting, and he’d wrapped it lengthwise around both of them.

“What now?” she asked.

“We have to decide whether to attack that door at the top of the ramp. I think it opens outward and the lock might be weak. It’s possible I can batter it down, though I’m not sure. I can’t run at it. Since there’s about three feet of headroom up there, I can hardly even swing at it.”

“Anyway, you’d hurt yourself.”

“For you, fair lady, anything.”

She laughed, snuggling closer. “It really does offend you, doesn’t it, not to be able to make a grand gesture?”

“Assuredly. It offends me even more, though, to just sit here waiting for something to happen.”

During the search, Elf had been thinking about her people. Perhaps they were searching for her now. Perhaps they’d seen the capture but been unable to act immediately. But in that case, surely they would have planned a rescue.

Then she remembered that to them she was just some doxy hired by the Mallorens to seduce the earl.

“Do you think anyone is guarding that door?” she asked.

“It depends on so many factors. If it’s important to hold us for a purpose, then yes, they’d post a guard and he’d already know we were up and active. If they just wanted to get rid of us for a while, then they might not. Clearly this place can hold us for many hours.”

“Why would they want to do that?” Again she was begging him to be honest with her and tell her something of the plot.

“There could be reasons, but it wouldn’t be safe for you to know.”

At his tone, she remembered that Lisette had claimed not to have heard anything of importance at Vauxhall. The gallant man was trying to protect her. It made her smile in a way that would look very silly if anyone had been able to see.

“If there’s no one guarding us,” she suggested, “we could make a noise. Call for help.”

“By my estimation, it’s about three in the morning and this building, whatever it is, is deserted. Who’d hear?”

“Let’s try anyway.” Elf leaped down off the box. “I’ll use the stick to bang on the door. You rattle the trapdoor.”

“Impetuous Lisette.” She heard him move. “Do you regret seducing me?”

“Seducing you?” Elf froze. “I most certainly did not!”

“Did you not? When a gentleman has no intention of dalliance, yet finds himself implored into pleasuring a lady, what else would you call it?”

Implored!
“You seduced me on that boat, my lord.” Elf groped to the door, found the stick, then banged out her anger on the oak.

“Alas. I’m ‘my lord’ again.” He rattled the door at the top of the ramp.
“Help! Ho!
If I seduced you, Lisette, I was singularly inept.”

“Were you?” She belabored the wood. “You caused me to rethink my decision.”

“Ah. You restore my faith in myself.
Ho, there! Help! In the cellar! One hundred guineas reward to anyone who releases us!”

“A hundred? How niggardly.
Help!
” Elf screamed.
“One thousand guineas to my rescuer! Help!”

“Picayune.
Ten thousand guineas to free me from this rash, extravagant wench!
”

“I fear you are a man of limited resources.
Help! To me! A hundred thousand guineas to save me from this dastardly rapscallion!
”

“Why do I think you expect me to pay your debts?
A rescue! A rescue! My earldom for a rescue!
”

Silence fell, then Elf recalled the laughter in his last cries, and realized that the sounds of it continued. He was whooping. Oh, but she wished she could see him helpless with laughter.

It still shook his voice as he said, “A hundred thousand, indeed. You wicked, intemperate creature. Ah
well, if no one’s heard us by now, there is no one to hear.”

Elf dropped the stick and leaned against the door. “But then . . . Will they just leave us here? Surely we can’t starve to death within London.”

“I’m sure it’s possible, but I won’t let it come to that.”

“Will you not? You admit to being a poor sort of hero.”

“And you are showing signs of being a sharp-tongued shrew! Desist. There are faint chinks in this door, and surely in daylight someone will have to be around. We’ll think of something.”

“I’m sorry.” Elf fumbled back toward the box. “I’m not used to being so helpless.”

“And you think I am? You clearly have no notion what it means to be an earl.”

More than ever, Elf wanted to tell the truth, but the risk of weakening this camaraderie was just too great. “Daylight
will
be better, even if it’s just the smallest chink. It’s the dark that frets at me.”

He sat beside her and gathered her into his arms, then pulled her down to lie half over him, on top of the box, the robe over them both. “Close your eyes and think of going to sleep.”

“You think I can sleep here?”

“No. But with your eyes closed, the dark won’t be so disturbing.”

It
was
better, and she even felt warm and comfortable in his arms. She feared he couldn’t be too comfortable on top of the rough wood, though.

“You’re very kind, Fort.”

“Am I? That would surprise many.”

“Why do you say that?”

His hand soothed her back, but she thought he wouldn’t reply. “I haven’t been kind recently.”

Cocooned together, they’d created a time for confidences. Elf wondered if she should permit it, for he would never talk this way to Elf Malloren. But she
wanted to know him, to understand him, and she suspected that he needed to talk.

“Why haven’t you been kind?” she asked. “It seems in your nature.”

“Does it? I’m not sure I remember what my nature is. Yes, perhaps I used to be kind, if it didn’t cause me too much trouble.”

“I think you’re too harsh on yourself. You’ve been good to me.”

“Men are often good to women they want to have sex with.”

“Aha!” Elf sat up straddling him, even though she couldn’t see a thing. “You admit you wanted it!”

He chuckled. “Yes. I wanted it. To be precise, I wanted
you.
God knows why.”

“You can be very rude.”

“I thought you said I was so good to you.”

“You have the remarkable ability to be both good and rude at the same time.”

“Are you talking about my nature or my sexual prowess?” But then he reached out, found her, and pulled her down on top of him, twitching the robe back over them. “I’m cold.”

“You’re . . . you’re wanting again.” She could hardly mistake the evidence.

“Rampant with lust would be a good term, yes. Don’t worry, though, I’m not desperate.”

Elf adjusted her position so as not to press on him. “Why do you want me, then?” she asked, letting her hand wander over his chest.

“Ah, the universal question. Perhaps, Lisette, I just hadn’t had a woman in a while.”

“Hadn’t?” she teased. “That can’t explain the last time.”

He slapped her bottom. “Minx. That was a mad expression of relief at being alive.”

“Very well. Why do you want me now?”

“Danger makes some men great.”

“Great?” she said with a chuckle. “What interesting
words you use. Why hadn’t you made love in a while? I’m sure you don’t lack opportunity.”

“Perhaps I grew tired of the incessant chatter of women.”

He was doing his best to push her away with words, but Elf burned with the need to understand this man. “I’m sure you can pay a whore to be silent.”

He pulled her close, hands hard on her buttocks. “I’m sure you’re too clever for the silly innocent you play. And yet you were an innocent. Care to elucidate the conundrum, Lisette?”

Pressed tight to him, she could feel him growing bigger and harder between her thighs. He’d brought new weapons to bear in the attempt to shut her up.

A Malloren is not so easily silenced.

“My family is not mealymouthed,” she said. “Why hadn’t you had a woman?”

He shifted and pulled her head down for a silencing kiss. Elf kissed him back, turning it from weapon into pleasure until his hand gentled and she felt the tension drain out of him. When their lips parted, however, she whispered, “Why hadn’t you had a woman?”

She had to choke back a scream at the way his hands tightened on her shoulders, but then they eased. “Because,” he said softly, “I was hurting them.”

“Hurting?” She wished she could see his expression.

“As I just hurt you.” He rubbed at the places he’d bruised.

“You hadn’t hurt me, until now.”

“With you, it seems to be different. That’s why. Why I agreed to make love to you.”

Elf settled down, head snuggled between his neck and shoulder. “I’m glad.”

“What?”

“That I’m different.”

“At least you’re not the type who likes bites and bruises.”

“Do any women?”

“Ah! At last a touch of innocence. Yes, some women like pain with sex. Some men like it, too.”

She shifted to kiss his jaw. “But not you.”

He moved so he could kiss her lips. “No, not me. So if you have a taste for the rougher kinds of love, you’d better find another provider.”

She turned her head away. “You may not like to bruise, but you don’t hesitate to lash out with words!”

He lay still for a moment, then his hand touched her hair. “I’m sorry, but I told you I was not kind.”

“I don’t think it’s your nature. Why are you so . . . so bitter?”

She’d asked the basic question, and as silence ran, she thought he wouldn’t answer.

“I had a shock,” he said at last. “It made me angry.”

It told her little, but was a tremendous admission on his part. She caressed his chest. “I’m sorry for your pain.”

“Pain? Yes, I suppose that describes it.”

“A death?” she asked, risking a probing question.

She wanted him to tell her the root of his bitterness. Perhaps he had never spoken of it to anyone. She knew her brothers, particularly Bryght and Rothgar, found it hard to talk of their strongest emotions.

“Clever Lisette. Yes, a death.”

He fell silent again and she waited, not sure how far she could push him.

“My father.”

Elf tried not to react. It had taken so long for those two words to come out that she knew it had been hard for him.

“It can be very painful to lose a parent,” she said. “My father died when I was young.”

“How young?”

How much did he know of the Mallorens? Just in case, she added a couple of years. “I was nine.”

“Almost too young to remember.”

“Yes. I wish we had more of him. More pictures. More letters. He dictated letters to us all as he lay dying,
but they’re rather severe. Advice. Admonitions. I’m told he was a fun-loving man.”

“I suppose death is a sobering experience. So, you have brothers and sisters?”

“Yes. And you, my lord?”

“You must call me Fort, you know, or I’ll never tell you my secrets.”

The teasing note made her smile. It also told her that she’d broken through, that he would talk to her. Her qualms returned, but she pushed them away. It would do him good to talk. “Fort, then.”

“I have two sisters and one brother.”

“And your mother? Is she still alive?”

“She died when I was quite young.”

“But at least you have your brother and sisters.”

“We are not very close.”

Elf wanted to protest. Chastity loved Fort, as did the other sister, Verity. They would support him and assist him in anything, but he hardly seemed to realize it. Just because he thought he had failed them, he thought they could not love him.

“That’s sad,” she said.

“So, you are close to your family?”

“Yes, very close.”

“You’re fortunate.”

“I think so, though it means they all feel entitled to interfere in my life.”

“Really? I had the impression that you were inadequately supervised.”

Elf knew she was drifting too close to the whirlpool of truth, but she couldn’t resist being as honest as she could. “It’s just that I am away from them at the moment.”

“Ah, yes. And staying with your agreeable friend.”

“You’re not to sneer at her. She is not in favor of my actions.”

“Then she should stop them.”

“Perhaps I am unstoppable.”

“Certainly I have found you so. To my delight.” He
held her a little closer. “It would please me immensely, Lisette, if you would become my mistress. I like you, and I certainly seem to have no complications about my honest lust for your body.”

“I wish I could,” Elf said. “But once my family found out they would object.”

“You misled me then.” He sounded a little annoyed, as well he might. “Have you thought what they will do if you’re with child? It’s not inevitable, but it’s possible.”

Elf had thought. Indeed she had. “They would be upset, but they’d help me. I’d bear the child discreetly, and it would be raised by suitable foster parents. It is not an unusual situation.”