Claiming the Courtesan (19 page)

As he followed the jagged ridge, he wished it had been otherwise. He wished he’d been another man, one worthy of the woman he pursued. But he was the same wretched miscreant he’d always been. Redemption, expiation and absolution were utterly beyond his reach.

But, God be his witness, if he found her in one piece, he was at least willing to try to reform.

He was fording a stream at the top of a waterfall when he looked ahead to see her picking her way through scree on the other side. For one brilliant moment, blazing relief transfixed him, and he just stared speechlessly at her.

She had her back to him as she threaded her way through the field of rocks. The falling torrent muffled the sound of his approach as he spurred Tannasg toward her. When she finally turned, he was close enough to see her gray eyes darken in shock, then terror.

When had he come to this? When had a matter of simple physical desire degenerated into this nightmare of fear and coercion?

“No!” She flung herself into an awkward run across the rough gravel.

He chased her, ignoring the dangers of the uneven surface. Tannasg snorted in protest at such cavalier treatment, but his loyal heart responded and he bounded forward gallantly.

No power on earth could keep Kylemore from catching her now. She was his. He’d die before he let her go.

“Verity!” he shouted after her retreating figure.

She only tried more frantically to get away.

“Verity, you’ll hurt yourself! Stop!”

She was now trapped on a jutting point with a sheer drop
on either side. Kylemore’s massive gray horse blocked her exit. There was nowhere for her to go.

“Leave me alone!” she panted, backing away. The fear and hatred he heard in her voice cut him to the heart.

“I can’t,” he said with perfect honesty and piercing regret.

“I’m not coming with you,” she said bravely, although she must have known her bid for freedom was over. She raised her chin and glared at him as she’d once glared at him across Sir Eldreth’s drawing room.

He almost laughed, in spite of the moment’s gravity. Break her? He might just as well try to catch the moon and bring it down to earth.

Even if he managed such an unlikely feat, he’d merely set the moon before her for her delight. His passion for this one woman was his eternal fate.

He dismounted swiftly and took a stride toward her. Tannasg was perfectly trained and stayed where he was.

“Verity, it’s over. Give up. You’ll never find your way through these mountains.” Trying to sound unthreatening, he stretched his hand out. “Come to me.”

She shook her tousled, dark head. She looked tired, dirty, wet, bedraggled. And heart-stoppingly beautiful. The bizarre assortment of clothes she’d stolen from the house hung too large on her and added to her air of fragility.

“No.” She was frighteningly near the edge, and he didn’t want to startle her into any sudden move.

He made his voice soft and coaxing. “Come to me, Verity.”

“I haven’t gone through all this for nothing,” she said bitterly.

“I promise I won’t hurt you.” He risked another step. She was almost within reach.

She laughed scornfully. “I know what your promises are worth.”

“Verity,” he said and lunged across the last distance to grab her.

She jerked away, and his hand slid uselessly on the smooth skin of her arm. She screamed as she toppled over the edge.

“J
esus, no!”

Was it a prayer or a curse? Kylemore didn’t know. Verity’s scream rang in his ears as he flung himself to his knees and crawled to the edge of the cliff. Every second seemed to stretch into an hour. Every falling stone echoed like a thunderclap.

“Thank God,” he whispered as he peered over the ledge.

She clung to the precarious slope about a dozen feet down. The cliff didn’t fall away in a sheer drop, but the stony surface was unstable and she could slide to the base of the ravine any time in a deadly tumble of rocks.

“Hold on.” He looked directly into her terrified eyes, desperate to instill what strength he could.

“Of course I’ll hold on!” she snapped back.

This reaction was so purely her, so utterly true to the woman he’d come to know, that he almost smiled. She fought her fear the only way she could. With anger. He understood the response. But unspoken terror flattened her lush lips, and her
arms strained against the rocks. His own terror coiled like a cobra in his belly. If she let go, nothing would save her.

He fought to keep his voice steady. “I haven’t got a rope. But if I throw you my coat, you can use it to climb up.”

He lifted himself up far enough to strip off his coat with trembling hands. All the time, he held her gaze, as if he kept her on that rockface through sheer mental power alone.

“Hurry, Kylemore.” This time her voice held no bravado.

“Don’t look down,” he said urgently. “Look at me.”

She closed her eyes, as if gathering her will. When she opened them again, they focused unwaveringly on him.

“Trust me. I’ll get you out of this,” he told her.

Let it be true, oh, let it be true,
his heart pleaded.

He reached out as far as he could and threw the long coat, holding tightly to one sleeve. Even with his arm fully extended, the garment still landed a good four feet above Verity. He swore under his breath and cast again.

It was no good. The coat was too short.

“Verity, Hamish should be here soon. Can you hold on? If I climb down to you, the whole hill will likely go flying.” A small rockfall near her left hand confirmed what he said.

“I can’t be sure.”

Her reply was a thread of sound. He saw in her face that she didn’t expect to survive.

If sheer determination alone could get her out of this, by God and all His angels, he’d get her out of it. He studied the uneven rocks between the coat and her. “Wait.”

He surged to his feet and ran back to Tannasg.

“Steady, boy,” he whispered.

The thoroughbred sensed his desperation and sidled nervously under his hands as he removed the saddle. With deftness born of necessity, Kylemore dismantled the saddle and swiftly buckled the straps together.

The task still took too long. With every second’s delay, the possibility of her tumbling to her death increased.

“Verity?” he called.

Was she still there?

“Yes. Hurry!” He could tell she was near the end of her endurance. Few would have contained their panic so long.

With a yank, he tested the makeshift length. He desperately hoped it would reach her. And that his improvised rope held. And that she’d have the strength to grasp it when he threw it.

Desperate hope was all he had. How would he survive if he didn’t bring her safely through this?

He couldn’t dwell on failure. He
would
rescue her.

Breathing hoarsely, he dashed back to the edge and collapsed to his knees. God be praised, she was still there.

But she was tiring. Her hands, in their filthy ragged bandages, had clenched into claws, and even at that distance, he heard her rapid and uneven breathing.

Verity looked up when he appeared above her and managed a shaky smile. Not for the first time, her courage humbled him.

“Did you have a sudden inspiration?” She still strove to sound composed, but the words emerged on a gasp.

“I hope so,” he said fervently. “Hell, I hope so.”

Fumbling with the weight and length, he swung the awkward combination of leathers down. It landed just above her.

The slap of leather on the rough surface created another rockfall. Kylemore’s belly knotted in dread as he realized the hillside was about to subside.

“Reach for it, Verity,” he begged. Then an entreaty that came from the depths of his being. “Reach, my love.”

Live, my love.

Her silver eyes, glittering with fear and despair, widened at the unprecedented endearment. Then he saw her realize
that to grab the straps, she had to let go of the hollow in the rock face that supported her.

“Come on, Verity. You’ll be all right.” He hoped to the bottom of his worthless soul that he was right. Asking her to chance her safety was the greatest risk he’d ever taken in his misbegotten life. “It isn’t far.”

Her beautiful face, streaked with dirt and tearstains, turned up toward him, and he saw her swallow. Her expression was rigid with fear. “I can’t do it.”

“Yes, you can.” He injected certainty into his voice. “Don’t fail me now. You’ve never given up before.” He tried to tell her with his eyes how he believed in her.

She bit her lip and nodded. He held his breath as she let go and stretched upward. The shift in weight sent rivers of stones slithering past her.

“Only a little further,” he urged. His knuckles whitened on the leathers as he prepared to take her weight.

She grunted with effort and pushed herself up. With a sharp cry he felt to his boots, she lurched up and snatched the line.

Not a moment too soon. The cliff around her collapsed in a deafening roar.

“Kylemore!” she screamed while the world around her turned to chaos. “Kylemore, help me!”

“I’ve got you.” He leaned back as her full weight dragged painfully on his arms. For a long moment, she swung free. Then she fell back against the rock face.

“Hold on. I’ll pull you,” he said after the worst of his paralyzing horror had passed. His muscles strained to support her and the leather creaked in protest.

Slowly, unsteadily but, thank God, surely, he hauled her upward inch by inch. A few times, ledges or hollows disintegrated under the weight of a hand or a foot, but having brought her so far, he wasn’t letting her fall now.

Finally, he hauled her over the rim. His arms and legs felt like they were on fire. He was too damned relieved to care.

With a groan, he crumpled to his knees and wrenched her into his arms.

“Never do that to me again,” he gritted out and pressed her face into his chest with hands that shook uncontrollably.

Dear heaven, he smelled good. Warm. Alive. The special scent of Kylemore. Sobbing, Verity buried her nose in his filthy shirt and closed her eyes while reality slowly returned.

She wasn’t lying crushed and broken at the foot of the ravine. Instead, she was with Kylemore.

She tried to regret the failure of her desperate escape attempt, but all she felt was overwhelming gratitude that she hadn’t plunged to her death. Overwhelming gratitude and shaming joy to be with him. She’d thought never to see him again. The pain of leaving him had weighted every step out of the valley.

Curling her arms around him, she burrowed into his embrace. Her heart pounded with the remnants of terror, and she couldn’t dam her weak tears.

She cried in reaction to her ordeal. She also cried because she’d fought so hard and long against this surrender. Her hands clenched in the linen covering his powerful back.

In spite of all her efforts, every trial she’d endured, she was still Kylemore’s captive. As the heat of his shuddering body surrounded her, she realized she’d never be free. Even if he let her go, she was his forever.

“Shh,
mo cridhe.
Shh. It’s all right,” he murmured. He stroked her tangled hair, soothing her convulsive sobs. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you. Nothing’s going to hurt you.”

Except you,
she whispered silently.

But even that insight couldn’t make her pull away.

She’d expected him to be furious with her, as he’d been furious in Whitby. Instead, he just offered endless comfort. She told herself his fleeting kindness meant nothing, but she couldn’t stop her aching heart opening to his every word.

She didn’t know how long they stayed like that, kneeling on the stony ground like survivors of a shipwreck. With her face pressed against his chest, she listened as gradually his heartbeat slowed.

He’d been so calm, so sure when he’d hauled her up that hillside. But now she knew he’d been terrified too.

“Your Grace?” Hamish’s question sliced into their silent communion, a communion full of gratitude and relief and emotions she’d never dare to name.

With surprise, she raised her head. She’d been so lost in Kylemore’s embrace that she hadn’t even heard the horse approach.

The older man had dismounted and stood several feet away, watching them. She couldn’t mistake the relief in his lined face.

“Och, thanks be tae the Lord. You’ve found her.”

“Yes, Hamish.”

She waited for Kylemore to say more, perhaps boast of his heroics. Only his valor, strength and cleverness had saved her.

But he merely said, “Find the others. I’ll bring
madame.
We can all go home.”

Home, yes. The isolated house did feel like home now. How easy everything became once she ceased to struggle against the inevitable. She could float calmly and joyfully to her doom.

Gently, Kylemore untangled himself from her and stood up. It was just another sign of her ruin that she missed his warmth the moment he left her. The world seemed a cold place when she didn’t rest in his arms.

He spoke softly from his great height down to where she knelt before him like a supplicant. “I know you’re frightened of horses, Verity. But if I take you up before me, I promise no harm will come to you.”

Oh, if only it were true,
she thought painfully.

She accepted his hand and rose stiffly to her feet. Her body hurt in a thousand places, and she couldn’t suppress a deep groan. She was battered and bruised and still humiliatingly teary.

Her silent docility must have worried him, because he looked at her searchingly. “Are you injured, Verity?”

“No.”

She was shaking and felt alarmingly light-headed. She began to sway.

Stupid, really. She had more self-control than this. But she couldn’t stop the way everything around her approached, then receded, in bleary waves.

From far away, she heard Kylemore swear softly and savagely. Then he snatched her up in his arms and carried her across to the huge thoroughbred he always rode. She was too distraught even to protest at getting on the beast. In a daze, she felt Kylemore pass her across to Hamish.

“Whisht, lassie. We’ll soon have ye home.”

She suddenly welcomed Hamish’s lilting Scottish burr. She’d always found it dauntingly alien before.

Vaguely, she was aware that the duke reassembled the saddle and placed it on Tannasg’s back. Then, very carefully, Hamish handed her up to Kylemore. Tenderly he tucked her in front of him on the massive horse. His arms encircled her with a confidence that promised to keep all hazards at bay.

Poor, foolish Verity to credit such sentimental pap,
she thought without any great emotion.

Silently, they made their way back to the house she thought she’d left behind forever.

Verity propped herself up against the pillows in the large bed where she’d fought so many skirmishes with the Duke of Kylemore. Skirmishes she’d invariably lost. A fire blazed in the grate, banishing any chill from the room.

Everyone had treated her with exaggerated care since their return. A long, hot bath perfumed with rose oil had eased her strained muscles. Then Morag and Kirsty had helped her change into a plain white nightgown; the scandalous creations Kylemore had ordered still lay unworn in the armoire against the wall. Exclaiming their sympathy in musical Gaelic, the maids had salved her scratches and bandaged her torn hands before leaving her to sleep off her ordeal.

What Verity would have liked most of all was one of Kylemore’s massages, but she hadn’t seen him since he’d carried her up the stairs and set her on the bed so gently that she’d felt like a fragile princess.

Now, and with a heart lighter than she’d ever expected, she admitted defeat. When the duke came to her tonight, he wouldn’t find her defiant or unwilling. The woman who had fought his every caress was lost somewhere in the mountains.

Verity had changed. She was no longer Kylemore’s intransigent captive. Or even the complacent mistress he’d kept in such style in London.

She wished she knew what was left.

Was anything left?

Her nervous fingers pleated the sheet over her knees. Kylemore had been concerned and considerate after he saved her life. But now he’d had time to remember that she’d run away yet again.

Was his temper seething? Heaven help her, the last time she’d deserted him, he’d kidnapped her, brought her to this hideaway and forced his way into her bed.

Oh, Verity, that can’t be a tiny thrill at the idea of him forcing his way into your bed once again, can it?

The door opened, saving her from examining this unwelcome thought too closely. Kylemore stood in the entrance, wearing his customary wardrobe of white shirt and breeches.

He paused, studying her. Trying to contain his rage, she supposed. Her gaze fluttered downward, then some force stronger than her apprehension made her raise her eyes.

It was as if she’d never really seen him before.

Hungrily, she traced the straight shoulders. The lean, beautiful body. The narrow hips. The long, powerful legs.

He was truly a man to take a woman’s breath away.

Her gaze moved across his chest and up the strong neck to his face. Shadows still lingered there. Her attention sharpened on the strikingly autocratic features.

Tonight, perhaps because her own barriers were so perilously low, she saw more than just the endless drive to dominate and possess.