up.’
Polite to a fault, even if there was an edge of sarcasm in his voice. ‘I’ll forgive ye. Eat. It’s all you’ll get today.’ She flopped down against the fence. ‘So you thought to trap us with yer talk of gold at the inn?’ she asked as he munched on the bread.
He swallowed and she watched the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple in the strong column of his throat with utter fascination. ‘I wanted my signet ring back,’ he said.
‘Not the watch?’
A glimmer of a smile curved his lips. ‘A gift from a lady with rather flamboyant tastes. You are welcome to it.’ His face sobered. ‘The ring was my father’s.’
The hollow note in his voice made her cringe—she knew how awful she’d feel if she lost her mother’s locket. But he only had himself to blame. If he’d not proved so intractable about the repayment of the mortgage, none of this would have happened.
Something moved at the edge of her vision. By her knee. A spider. Big and black and hairy. Walking up her leg.
She froze. A shudder ran down her spine. Held her rigid.
‘Looks like you’ve made a new friend,’ he said, grinning.
‘Get it off,’ she gasped.
He laughed. ‘It’s only a spider.’
‘Get it off me,’ she said through stiff lips, afraid to breath in case it moved. ‘Please.’ Her voice shrilled.
With a muttered curse, he leaned forward and brushed the horrid thing away with his bound hands. It scuttled into the grass. ‘There. It’s gone.’
Her skin prickled as if it was crawling all over her. Trembles shook her body. Her teeth chattered. ‘I hate them.’
‘It’s gone.’ He tipped her chin with the back of his hand, smiling. ‘I promise you.’ He lifted his arms, dropped them over her head, around her shoulders and drew her on to his lap. ‘You are all right.’ He pressed his lips to her jaw below her mask, let her nuzzle into his shoulder where she drew on his calm, comforted by the steady sound of his heartbeat.
Slowly her trembles dissipated. She felt safe, protected, for the first time in many months. And being held in his arms seemed like the most natural thing in the world. The chills of revulsion lessened. Heat rushed to her face. ‘I’m such an idiot,’ she muttered against silken skin smelling of soap and smoke from the fire, and another scent. Him.
‘We all have our fears,’ he said gently, as if he really understood. He tipped her chin with the back of his bound hands, the sight of the rope making her cringe. And when she met his gaze, his warm brown eyes showed concern. ‘All right now?’ he asked, then frowned. ‘Tears?’ He smoothed her cheek below the mask with his thumb, then bent his head and pressed his lips to the place he had rubbed as if to kiss away her fear. Like an adult with a child. Sweet. Kind.
An ache squeezed her chest. Guilt. And something else she didn’t dare name.
She dropped a kiss of gratitude on his cheek, missed and landed on the corner of his mouth. He angled his head and captured her lips full on, licking and tasting, while his forearm supported her nape. Tingles raced across her breasts. Her insides clenched.
Oh, heavens. At any moment, Martin would return. Yet she didn’t want to stop. Couldn’t stop. Not yet. Soon. She opened her mouth to his questing tongue. And she was lost. Lost in pleasure. Dizzy with the rapid beat of her heart. The lack of air. Sensations rippled though her body, pleasurable little thrills, warmth, and languid melting.
Her hands clung to his sun-warmed shoulders. Satin skin, firm muscles rippled beneath her fingers. Pure strength. Lovely wicked flutters deep between her thighs held her enthralled.
She lay her hand flat against the haze of beard on his jaw. He broke the kiss, turned his head, the roughened skin grazing her palm, and licked the base of her thumb, hot and wet, followed instantly by cool. A shiver of delight danced across her breasts.
She moaned at the sensual onslaught.
This is wrong, a little voice whispered. You will never be the same again. Get up now.
He shifted his weight and eased her on to the ground, cushioning her shoulders with his forearm. She opened her thighs at the nudge of his knee and a sweet burst of pleasure fired in her core.
‘Untie me, chérie. Vite. Quickly. Free my hands.’
Eleanor stared at him blankly.
‘Cut the rope,’ he pleaded, his breathing ragged and shallow, his voice hoarse. ‘Set me free. I’ll do nothing to hurt you.’ His soft, accented voice was an urgent enticing whisper in her ear. His thigh ground against her, pushing between her legs, creating hot surges of sweet agony.
‘A promise you will keep, my lord.’
Ah, no. Martin. Face scalding, she slipped under the loop of the Marquess’s arms and rose to her feet, breathing hard. What had she been thinking?
Martin cocked his rifle with a loud threatening click and the Marquess struggled to a sitting position.
Bewilderingly, her mind seemed to be full of molasses, thick and syrupy and deadly. He’d comforted her and she’d dissolved like butter in hot milk. Mute with embarrassment, she stared at Martin weighed down by a necklace of iron chain and shackles. He levelled his rifle.
The Marquess stiffened, as if bracing for…Oh God. Martin was going to fire. ‘Put the gun down,’ she yelled. ‘He is unarmed and bound. No harm was done.’
Martin held her stare for a long moment, then grimaced. He let the rifle fall to his side, but his body remained stiff, his movements jerky as he set the rifle against the fence. He pulled the Marquess to his feet. ‘Back to the barn for yer lordship.’
‘Take your hands off me,’ the Marquess said, steadying himself on his feet, his face as flushed as hers felt.
Was he ashamed of their kiss? And why did it matter? Once this was over, she’d never see him again. A pain she couldn’t fathom filled her heart. Oh, God, what was wrong with her? Kissing him like a wanton, all the while knowing Martin would return at any moment. She had lost her mind.
He’d been so kind about the spider, not laughing the way her brothers always had at her stupid female fear, that she’d forgotten they were enemies. And now Martin looked ready to commit murder. Something she would not allow. She picked up the Marquess’s clothes and the rest of the food and followed them into the cool depths of the barn.
Martin fixed the iron chain to the ring in the wall and fastened the shackle to the Marquess’s ankle before cutting the ropes free.
‘That’ll hold you,’ Martin said.
The Marquess glanced up from inspecting his chain. ‘Your accommodations leave much to be desired.’ The lazy drawl seemed at odds with the revulsion she glimpsed in his eyes. ‘Why not shoot me and have done? I’ll be damned if you’ll get any money.’
Bravado, she thought. And yet…
‘We’ll see,’ Martin said, stepping back.
‘Leave
