Claiming the Courtesan (26 page)

“You are my life! I won’t allow you to go,” he said wildly, tugging her around to him. “Don’t do this,
mo cridhe!
”

She stood unmoving in his bruising grasp and gazed up into his tormented face. “In honor, you can demand nothing of me. You said you’d never force me again. Is your word worth nothing? If you truly have changed from the man who abducted me, you won’t prolong this discussion.”

She was cruel to use his sins as leverage to gain her freedom, just as she was cruel to remind him of that magical night when she’d finally given herself with her whole heart.

His face was ashen as he released her. “So yet again, you desert me with no explanation? At least this time I suppose I’m grateful you told me you’re going.”

“Oh, try and find it in you to forgive me!” she cried, her resolution failing as she reached out to touch his arm.

He flinched away before she made contact. She mourned the spontaneous caresses of only minutes ago.

“Madam, it’s your prerogative to leave. It’s mine to feel what rancor I wish.”

“So…so you won’t compel me to stay with you?” she asked unsteadily. Had she been wicked enough to hope he would?

He shook his head. “My crimes against you are unforgivable. Because of what I did, I endangered your life. I acknowledge I have no right to keep you. I’d…” Her heart contracted in misery as his flat voice broke briefly, revealing the blistering agony beneath his calm facade. “I’d hoped you’d stay of your own will. But clearly that is impossible after all I’ve done.”

His formality reminded her of the self-contained lover in Kensington. The contrast with the man she’d come to know made her want to scream. He’d had a lifetime of stifling his real emotions. She felt like the worst sort of traitor for forcing him back into his frozen insulation.

“I’m sorry, Kylemore,” she said unhappily, loving him, hating herself.

A quickly masked anger darkened his eyes before they took on the hooded expression she’d wanted never to see again.

“So am I, madam.” He stalked toward the door. “We shall leave tomorrow as planned. From Kylemore Castle, I’ll escort you to Whitby.”

A drawn-out farewell would exceed her frail limits. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I do,” he snapped with a resurgence of anger. “I removed you from your home by force. I am obliged to see you return safely.” He bowed coldly in her direction and left the room before she could muster an argument.

Verity’s hand curled over the back of the settle to stop herself from running after him. She didn’t think she’d ever loved him so much.

T
he glen had never looked as beautiful as it did the next morning. The trees had just begun to change color, and on the open hillside, heather glowed rich purple. The breeze blew fresh and strong as the boat slid smoothly through the clear waters of the loch.

Kylemore looked around at the splendor and wished it all to hell.

A few feet away, Verity stood at the rail. She was pale and silent, and she appeared not to have managed much more sleep than he had.

Last night, for the first time since she’d come to him and offered herself so sweetly…

He wrenched the thought to a screaming halt.

Remembering the transcendent splendors of that night only made him want to smash something.

Last night, they had slept separately.

Or, to be more accurate, he’d stretched out on his mean little cot and stared into space, cursing her, loving her,
yearning for her. And knowing he couldn’t do one damned thing about any of it.

No persuasion he could muster canceled her right to freedom. So he’d suffered alone and silent as he’d suffered so many times before.

He should be conditioned to lonely torment. Except this time, he’d been raised from hell to paradise, then just as abruptly flung back into hell.

He’d endure. He always had.

Although right now, the point of it all escaped him.

He reached up to soothe a restless Tannasg, who had never liked water travel. While he rubbed the huge gray’s nose, his eyes sharpened on Verity. For a woman who had done everything in her power to leave this glen, she didn’t look happy.

In fact, she looked downright tragic.

It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.

Yesterday, they’d been together. Today, quite clearly, they weren’t. And he had no idea why.

The last three weeks had been the happiest of his life. He’d even begun, unwisely, to make plans.

Because of that asinine proposal in London—no wonder she’d sent him away with a flea in his ear; he’d been an overweening blockhead—he’d been loath to speak of marriage. His scheme had been to integrate her into his life, accustom her to the idea of staying with him, and coax her into accepting him as her husband.

It was too late for him to change the past, much as he longed to. After the way he’d treated her, he could never hope she’d love him as he loved her. But they shared desire and friendship. He could be satisfied with that. If he must.

A child would be a blessed addition to the life he planned.

A child born legitimately, of course.

He had no great wish to perpetuate the poisoned blood of
the Kinmurries, but a miniature Verity—now, that would be a glorious gift to the world.

How proud he’d be to know she nurtured his seed within her. If she didn’t, it wasn’t for want of trying on his part. His pleasure at the thought of her bearing his child evaporated when he realized he’d never make love to her again.

His pointless dream of a life with her faded like the morning fog that had shrouded their departure. The brutal fact was she didn’t love him.

He could survive on the sops of desire and friendship if he had to. Clearly and rightly, she wasn’t prepared to settle for such a paltry bargain.

His fist bunched against Tannasg’s glossy hide and the horse whickered softly, as if sensing his distress and anger.

By God, he wouldn’t let this happen. He’d bloody well make her stay. When they reached Kylemore, he’d lock her up in the highest tower until she saw sense. Until she promised to marry him and be his duchess and keep the ghosts away forever.

Just as he’d locked her up at the hunting box.

His sigh was heavy. He couldn’t imprison her. He’d already used physical force to keep her with him. He couldn’t do it again.

Honor had never been a particularly hardy plant in the fetid garden of his soul, but somewhere in the last weeks, it had set roots he couldn’t eradicate. After what he’d done to Verity, after what she’d endured before becoming his mistress, he had no right to deny her what she wanted.

But it hurt. It hurt like hell.

Before noon on the second day, they reached Kylemore’s ancestral home. Grimly, he watched the fairy-tale jumble of towers and turrets come into view along the coast.

This was where he’d planned to establish a life with Ver
ity as his unconventional duchess. But all his hopes had since disintegrated to dust.

The wind had blown fair and they’d made good time down to Inverathie, the village that clustered around the castle. Even so, he’d wished the boat could have grown wings and flown. Anything to save him from Verity’s silent, unhappy presence.

Then he’d realized that with every mile they traveled, they were a mile closer to parting. And he’d wished the voyage would never end.

Hamish stepped up to where Kylemore stood at the rail. Behind them, Angus and Andy took the ship into port with the skill of long practice.

“Am I still tae return tae the glen tomorrow, Your Grace?” Hamish asked.

Even his old mentor had gone back to addressing him formally. He’d only been allowed to feel part of humanity for a fleeting moment.

“Yes,” he said. “Take Angus with you. Andy comes with me when I escort
madame
back to Whitby.”

“Whitby?” Hamish frowned in confusion. “The lassie doesnae stay on at Inverathie?”

“Hasn’t she told you?” There was a bite to the question. “You’ve been clucking around her like a mother hen long enough on this voyage to exchange a parcel of confidences.”

He sounded jealous, he knew. But Verity had so carefully avoided him—a difficult feat on this small boat—while she’d readily accepted Hamish’s company.

Hamish eyed him with a disapproval familiar since they’d left the glen. “The lassie hasnae told me anything. Even when I’ve caught her crying.”

Kylemore’s gut twisted with anguish. He couldn’t take much more of this. Yet he must. He still had the long journey overland to Whitby ahead of him. He owed it to her to return her safely to her brother.

“I’m sure the lady’s tears are her own concern,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Hers and yours, Your Grace.”

“You presume too much,” he said coldly.

Hamish’s weathered features expressed a disappointment equal to his disapproval. “Aye, weel, I presume you’re a young fool who doesnae appreciate the bonny treasure he’s about tae lose. And, aye, Your Grace, there’s no need tae put me in my place. I’ll go away now before I presume you right intae the seas for a good dunking.”

Kylemore didn’t bother rebuking the older man for his insolence. Of course he knew the value of what he lost. The painful knowledge threatened to shatter him. But for all his cleverness, he couldn’t work out how to lure Verity back.

As Kylemore escorted Verity down the gangway to the small wharf, he noted a disturbance among the crowd milling around the dock. He paid little heed and concentrated instead on the woman who lightly held his arm.

This was the first time she’d touched him since she’d ended their affair. He resisted the urge to grab those fragile fingers and bundle her away to some place where she’d never escape him. To have her so close yet so unreachable was a punishment harsher than anything he could have devised even at the peak of his vengeful rage.

The hubbub below grew more insistent. The duke’s presence at his family seat was a rare enough occurrence to warrant curiosity from the locals, he supposed. He looked past the curtseying and bowing villagers in his immediate vicinity to see what caused the commotion.

“Are we to set out for Whitby immediately, Your Grace?” Verity asked in a husky voice.

They were the first words she’d addressed to him all day. She sounded as if she’d been crying. Hamish said she
had been. The knot of pain in Kylemore’s belly tightened to agony.

Immediately he forgot the noise on the dock and focused on her. She looked pale and tired and sad, but determined.

He wondered what went on in her head. For a cruelly short interval, they’d been so close that he’d have known immediately.

“Wouldn’t you rather rest here today?”

They were on the quay now. He waited for her to move away. When she didn’t, he couldn’t suppress his relief. She’d kept herself so separate during the last days that even this small concession seemed important.

“I still don’t think it’s necessary for you to accompany me,” she said in a stronger voice.

“Well, I do.”

Once that arrogant assertion would have roused an argument. Now she merely bent her head in silent acquiescence. The hand she’d placed on his sleeve trembled.

All the fight had been knocked out of her. He couldn’t understand it. She’d gotten what she wanted—the chance to leave him. She should be joyfully anticipating a new life. A new life, damn it, free from his interference.

Perhaps she was ill after all. Concern made him frown as he tried to see her face under the brim of her smart chip bonnet. As he bent over her with a protectiveness he knew to his chagrin she didn’t want, he was vaguely aware of someone looming up behind him.

“You bastard!”

A powerful hand grabbed him by the shoulder and swung him around. Kylemore had a moment to register a pair of furious black eyes before a huge fist powered into his face.

“Jesus!” He released Verity and staggered back.

“Better call to Satan, your master!”

Benjamin Ashton punched him in the face again, and this
time he went down against the cobbles in an ungainly stumble. Uproar shook the crowd, but nobody stepped forward to manhandle his assailant or to help him to his feet.

“Ashton…” Kylemore said, trying to sit up. He shook his head to clear it and raised a shaking hand to his bruised jaw to check if it was broken.

Apparently not, although it hurt like the very devil.

“Ben, stop!” Verity screamed from somewhere in the crowd.

“I’ll stop when he’s a dead man,” Ashton snarled. “Get up, you whoreson. Damned if I’ll kick you when you’re down.”

“Ben!” Through the ringing in his ears, Kylemore heard Verity defend him. “Ben, he’s bringing me back to you.”

Unsteadily, Kylemore struggled to his feet and brushed himself off. “Get out of the way, Verity.”

“Aye, get out of the way, Verity,” Ashton said grimly. “I need to teach His Grace a lesson.”

He bunched his fists for another assault. Although Kylemore prepared to defend himself, his heart wasn’t in it. Ashton had every right to pound him to a pulp.

Hell, he hoped the brute killed him.

He shook his head again to bring the world back into kilter. He had trouble focusing his eyes, and his ears buzzed like a thousand angry bees.

In a whirl of claret merino, Verity threw herself in front of him. “Ben, if you want to hurt him, you’ll have to go through me first,” she snapped.

“So he’s hiding behind a lass’s skirts now,” Ben sneered.

“You heard me, Benjamin Ashton,” she said firmly.

“Verity, stand aside,” Kylemore said wearily. The hum in his head gradually subsided, but the side of his face stung like merry hell. “He won’t hurt me.”

“Yes, he will,” she said stubbornly and without moving. “He’ll kill you. You heard him.”

“Verity, there must be a hundred people watching us. Someone will stop him before he does too much damage.”

Now that he was capable of thought, he was actually surprised that no one had stepped in to restrain his assailant before now.

Ah, yes. Relief was on the way.

His bailiff raced up with a couple of estate workers in tow just as Angus and Andy leaped onto the dock. Hamish had observed the whole scene imperviously from the boat.

Kylemore supposed that all that angry Yorkshire muscle intimidated the villagers. A justified reaction, he admitted, blearily eyeing his assailant’s brawny form.

Ashton’s rage remained banked behind his black eyes, but at last he glanced at his sister, who stood as a barrier between him and her kidnapper. “Are you all right, lass? By God, if he’s hurt you, I’ll kill him in truth.”

“Your Grace!” The bailiff arrived, panting in his heavy black coat and old-fashioned knee breeches. “This villain’s rampaging around the estate accusing you of terrible crimes. I’ve warned him you’ll have him in the stocks for slander.”

“Aye, and I’ll see this overbred wastrel hang for rape and kidnap,” Ashton growled. “Verity lass, tell them what he did to you.”

“Ben…” she said unsteadily.

“Go on, tell them. Tell them how he set those great bully boys on me and abducted you at the point of a gun. I’ve had no rest for weeks imagining what you’ve suffered.”

Kylemore braced himself for the scalding condemnation he deserved. If she chose to denounce him, he had no defense.

She lifted her chin in a gesture he found heartbreakingly familiar. Her face was pale and set with proud determination.

“I am the Duke of Kylemore’s mistress and I am with him of my own free will,” she said loudly enough for all around
them to hear. Then softly and in a broken voice, she added, “I’m sorry, Ben.”

Kylemore was moved beyond words to hear her claim him so unequivocally as her lover. How he loved her. He’d do anything for her. Anything. Including let her go if that was what she really wanted. In spite of their estrangement, he took her in his arms. Without hesitation, she leaned into him.

Bewilderment replaced the violence in Ashton’s expression. “Verity lass?”

Kylemore found it in himself to pity the man’s confusion. Benjamin Ashton wasn’t the villain here. He merely protected his sister. It wasn’t his fault the game had become considerably more complicated since that stormy day in Whitby.

Kylemore spoke over the top of Verity’s head, which rested with a trust he couldn’t help but cherish on his chest. “Come up to the house, man. It does your sister’s honor no credit to stand around brawling in the public street.”

Ashton’s “You give nowt for my sister’s honor,” clashed with his bailiff ’s protests. “Your Grace, this lout is a public menace. Surely you want him in custody.”

Kylemore quelled his bailiff ’s objections with a glare. “No, I think not.” He looked around and found what he wanted. “We’ll take your carriage. I’ll send it back for you.”