Jo Beverley - [Malloren 03] (20 page)

“What a cool head you have. I hope your family is as understanding as you say.”

So did Elf, and cool didn’t exactly describe her feelings. The thought of being pregnant alarmed her. The notion of giving a baby, Fort’s baby, up to strangers horrified her. Why hadn’t she realized before how impossible that would be?

His voice distracted her. “Promise me something.”

“What?”

“If you bear a child, let me know. I have two bastards that I know of, and I keep an eye on them. I don’t think such children benefit from knowing too soon that they are born of a noble family, but I will make sure they have a good start in life.”

She framed his face and found his lips with a kiss, able to feel in their relaxation his gentle mood, almost able to see his features softened by trust and good humor. “I told you you were a kind man.”

“Is it kindness? They might be of use to me one day.” But she felt his lips move in a smile.

“Why do you try so hard to appear heartless?”

“You are a romantic. I am merely trying to be honest.”

“You have a false mirror. Tell me, then, how you see the Earl of Walgrave.”

He shifted her suddenly, rubbing his erection along her cleft. “Rampant with lust.”

Desire stirred in Elf, too, but she asked, “Why do you keep trying to distract me?”

“Because you keep probing at my wounds.”

“What wounds?”

He groaned and silenced her with a kiss. She enjoyed it immensely, and never for a moment forgot the hot invader between her thighs, but when he stopped, she asked, “What wounds?”

“Shut up.” He rolled her under him, spread her thighs, and thrust into her. She stiffened with shock and pain.

He froze, then pulled out of her, shuddering. “You see what I’m like. Even with you.”

She gripped his hair before he could disappear into the dark. “You see what I’m like? Like a terrier, whether I’m after truth or a man.”

Ruthlessly, she pulled him down and straddled him. “I want you.” Fumbling in the dark, she found his erection, and despite a muttered protest that didn’t sound sincere, eased herself carefully around him, loving taking the rigid fullness deep inside, even where she was so sensitive. “Am I doing this right?” she whispered.

A wild laugh ran through him like a wave. “Perfectly. Are you comfortable?”

Elf shifted a bit more, full of him, hips stretched wide over him. “What an extraordinary question. I’m not in pain.”

She moved to try to improve her balance and felt the response in him, tense between her thighs. She remembered their lovemaking when he’d made her talk.

“What wounds?” she asked, gently rocking her hips.

“What?” She didn’t need vision to tell his mind was not on practicalities at all.

She bit her lip on a giggle. “What wounds? Tell me some wounds and I’ll move some more.”

“That’s whoring of the lowest kind.”

“You won’t deflect me that way. What wounds?”

“Don’t. Don’t . . .”

“Tell me. Wounds need to be opened to heal.” In
time to her rocking motion, she chanted, “Tell me, tell me, tell me—”

He seized her, rolled her, pinned her brutally beneath him. “I killed my father,” he said, before using her body for oblivion.

Shaken by his words, ravaged by his wild rhythm, Elf could only move with him helplessly until he collapsed over her, quivering still. She raised a trembling hand to stroke his back, which ran with chilling sweat.

What to say, what to say? He’d killed his father.
He,
not one of her brothers, had fired that shot.

Then she realized he was crying. Helplessly, wracked with it, he wept in her comforting arms, but all the while, she silently cried her own tears.
Oh, don’t do this. How will you feel when you know who I am? How will you bear it? Don’t do this . . .

And yet she had caused it. She had broken down every barrier, never thinking how she would handle what lay caged within.

She thought back again to that terrible night at Rothgar Abbey. Her brothers had all been armed. She was sure one of them could have killed the old earl. Instead, they’d forced him—Rothgar had forced him—into that most heinous crime, patricide.

For the first time she was ashamed of something her family had done.

He lay silent now, surely at a loss. So was she. What could anyone say in this situation? What would Lisette say? Elf assumed a firm and saucy tone. “I’m sure your father deserved to die, then.”

He laughed, very shakily. “Oh, indeed. But so do many. It is not condoned.” He still sprawled between her thighs.

“Clearly no one knows of your crime or you would have been punished.”

“Some know. It will not come out. You are not shocked?”

“No.” She knew the dangers now, but she had to push
a little more to try to fix what she had broken. “Why does it pain you so much?”

“Why?” He seemed limp from sex and grief and was half-smothering her with his big body, but she could bear it. “God knows. Perhaps because he’s the only man I’ve killed. That has to leave a mark.”

She let the silence run, hoping for more.

“Probably because I hated him.” He spoke so quietly she could hardly hear. “I hated, loathed, and feared him, and had all my life. I could tell myself I killed him because he was about to kill others. That’s what my sisters said. But I killed him because I hated him, because I’d wanted to kill him since I was a young child, and I finally had the chance.”

He raised up on his forearms and the words poured out of him. “As a child, I wanted to kill him out of powerless terror. It wasn’t just the beatings, it was his impossible standards. Nothing I did was good enough. Every fault was picked out and waved in front of me, and in front of servants. When he whipped me, he would summon the servants to watch. He said it would break my pride. He, the proudest man in creation.

“But when I was a man, I was free of him. He didn’t seek me out, and I avoided him as if he carried the plague. It was blatant cowardice. I did nothing to help my sisters. Nothing to stop his cruelty to servants and tenants. I was too terrified to interfere with him. And so, in the end, I killed him.”

Shaken herself by these revelations, Elf stroked his damp arms. “He sounds like a monster.”

“He was. But I should have killed him face to face.”

“No, no. You could never do that. Yes, perhaps you should have tried to help those in his power. But perhaps you didn’t know the depth of his cruelty.”

“Because I chose not to know.” His voice had settled to a more normal tone, and he shifted to slide his hand between her thighs.

She seized his wrist. “No.”

“No? I don’t think you found much pleasure in that recent bout.”

“I think I’ve had my hundred guineas, worth.”

“Don’t forget.
I’m
paying
you
.” When she continued to resist, he gave up and pushed into a sitting position. “Perhaps you intend to supplement it with blackmail now.”

She moved to sit beside him. “Even if what you say is true, I have no proof.”

“Thus I am saved from folly.” Though physically they sat side by side, she felt as if he were moving away. “Are you proud of yourself, Lisette?”

Elf pulled the robe around her, shivering, and not entirely with cold. “No. After this, you’ll never want to see me again, will you?”

“I never thought we were contemplating a durable relationship.”

“You asked me to be your mistress.”

“Ah. Yes, you’re right. I regret that I must withdraw the offer.”

She swallowed. “Don’t hate me.”

“I won’t. I don’t. I will just endeavor to forget you.”

Elf pressed her lips together to stop tears. “What if we ever meet again?”

“Lisette,” he said sharply, “you understand what has happened. Leave it be. This has been a strange night, and if we survive, doubtless neither of us will forget it entirely. But I’m sure we will both try.”

She realized she had taken the robe, leaving him naked. She struggled out of it and held it out until it touched his body. “Take it. You must be cold.”

Then he was gone, and his voice came from farther away. “Keep it. Try to get some sleep.”

Swallowing tears he must not hear, Elf curled up in the robe, in the smell of him and sex, and tried to start forgetting.

It had been a long night with little sleep, and Elf must have dozed, for she awoke to loud noises. Struggling to
untangle the robe enough to sit, she heard muttered voices along with bangs.

“Forced something in the keyhole, they have,” someone grunted.

A touch made her start. Fort said, “Hush.”

“Who is it?”

“I don’t know. But not our captors. With luck, they’re my people looking for me.” He sounded relaxed and normal, but in an artificial way.

Or my people, looking for me, she thought. Then she remembered he was naked. She slid off the box and put the robe in his hands.

“I suppose I should wear something,” he said, taking it. “I wish we had the means to share it, though. Your shift will be scanty covering.”

Elf realized a trace of light gleamed around the trapdoor. It wasn’t day yet, but must be past dawn. “Shouldn’t we say something?” she suggested. “After all, if it’s our captors, they know we’re here. If it’s not, they might give up.”

“True. I’ll go and communicate.” She heard scrabbling noises, then his voice. “Hello out there.”

The banging stopped. “Sir?”

Elf was easing up the coffin lid. They were about to be rescued and she
had
to try to keep her identity secret. Probably disaster was inevitable, but if she could put her mask on again, it was just possible that Fort need never know the true identity of his nighttime confidante.

That, at least, would spare him constant reminders of his confessions.

“This is the Earl of Walgrave. A handsome sum to the man who rescues me.”

The lid was heavy, but she managed to support it one-handed as she groped around.

“Beggin’ your pardon, my lord, but is there a lady there with you?”

She found the mask!

“Indeed there is. Are you in search of her?”

Elf eased the lid back down, absorbing the surprise in
Fort’s voice. Oh, he was certainly in for some surprises. Especially as the mask strings had been cut. Damn and blast those Scots.

“Aye, well, in a manner of speaking.” Elf recognized Roberts’s voice. “Is she all right?”

“Yes!” Elf called. “For pity’s sake, release us!”

Her main concern, however, was the mask. Plague on it. They’d cut the left string of the mask within an inch of the edge. With trembling hands, she tried to knot the broken string on to the fragment, but it was hopeless.

Hopeless.

Could she hold it against her face? No, that would look foolish indeed.

Bangs from the trapdoor threatened release at any moment, bringing light and terrible exposure!

Tossing the useless item aside, Elf tugged at her powdered curls, pulling them forward over her face.

“What’s the problem out there?” Fort shouted.

“We’ve a man with us can pick locks, milord, but someone’s jammed a lump of wood in the keyhole. And as the door opens out, it’ll be a hard matter to bash it down.”

“There’s another door down inside. What sort of place is this?”

“It’s a ruined tavern down near the docks, milord. There’s been a fire not long ago, it seems. Took out the nearby buildings and charred this one enough to close it. We’ll try to find the other door.”

Elf heard Fort scrabbling back down the ramp.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“By the box.”

In a moment she felt him at her side. He touched her gently on the hand. “I’ve been a wretch tonight, Lisette. Accept my apologies.”

Elf took his hand, swallowing tears at the thought of what might have been—had they been other people or had she not broken down his walls. “I demanded answers to questions you didn’t want asked.”

He pulled her into an almost brotherly embrace. “Perhaps I was just ready to disgrace myself.”

“I see no disgrace. And I just wanted to heal you. Forgive me.”

“Of course I forgive you.” He rocked her slightly, reminding her of their first embrace of the night, that delicious tender swaying in his arms which had led to other things that could never happen again.

No more, no more sounded like a dirge in her head.

“You’re a kind woman, Lisette.” Faint voices grew louder beyond the door. Any moment now and this would all be over. “Will you give me your real name?”

Elf wanted nothing more, but whispered, “I dare not.” She clung to the remote chance of escaping unidentified. Perhaps then Elf Malloren might find a way to be with Fort Ware.

He cradled her head, tracing her features. “I wonder what it is you fear . . . ?”

But then, with a grating click, the door opened and torchlight flooded in.

When Elf hid her face against his chest, she simply wanted to spare her eyes. She realized immediately that she’d found an excellent position.

“The key was in the lock, my lord. My . . . my goodness.”

Roberts had just managed not to say “my lady.” How much did he know? And what on earth did she look like?

“Find something to cover the lady with,” Fort said crisply. “Come along. One of your coats, and sharpish.”

Elf found herself bundled in a frieze coat which was only slightly musty with sweat. Slipping her arms into the overlong sleeves she kept her head down and wished for a collar to pull up around her face. Then Fort lifted her into his arms and carried her through the door and she could again hide her face against his shoulder.

“I can walk,” she said.

“The ground’s rough here.”

“You have bare feet, too.”

“This seems to be my one chance to be the perfect, gentle knight. Don’t snatch it away.”

Reprieve.

Another few moments of untarnished closeness.

Elf relaxed against him as he climbed rickety stairs and threaded his way through the ruins of the old taproom. The place smelled of stale beer and charred wood, but then fresh air played on her stockinged legs, carrying a hint of the river. Turning her head cautiously, Elf saw gray dawn light through blackened, broken windows. How precious sight was after darkness.