Moonstruck Madness (13 page)

No, this little bit of fluff was quite an enigma—and had caught his interest. She was too cool, too arrogant. She needed to be taught a lesson.

"You're a thief and a liar, and"—he paused, looking her over contemptuously, then added purposefully—"no telling what else."

Sabrina flushed. "I'm not a thief! At least not an ordinary one," she defended herself. "I never take more than I need, and even then I give half to people who need it. And," she finished haughtily, drawing herself up, "you insult me grossly with your other disparaging remarks."

The Duke smiled cynically. "You are quite an actress, but your contrite little excuses won't change the verdict when a rope is tightened about that slim neck of yours." He spoke softly and, reaching out, encircled her throat with his warm hand, his fingers rhythmically smoothing the downy-soft hairs at her nape as he continued, "It would be a pity for such a beautiful woman to choke and gasp as the rope tightened, taking away her breath, her eyes bulging in terror, the blood pounding in her head as she felt her little feet swing in the air, that petal-smooth skin mottled and purple. Not a very pretty sight." His fingers gradually stopped and began to tighten around Sabrina's neck. Her pulse was beating rapidly beneath his big thumb and as it continued to press she began to hear thundering in her ears, and, reaching up, grabbed frantically at his fingers, trying to prise them loose from around her neck.

She stared into his eyes, which had turned almost black with his anger, disbelief on her face when he suddenly loosened his grip and allowed her to breathe. Sabrina took deep breaths of air, her chest moving rapidly as the room stopped swimming.

A cruel smile curved the Duke's mouth. "It wasn't very nice was it? Were you frightened?" He laughed heartlessly. "No, you wouldn't admit to feeling fear, would you, Bonnie Charlie? Defiant to the end, are you? We'll see," he told her enigmatically.

Sabrina controlled the shiver that threatened to shake her and spat back, "I'll never cower at your feet. Do you think you, a white-livered Judas, can dictate to me? You deceive yourself, Your Grace."

Sabrina raised her chin defiantly, the sparkle back in her violet eyes as she continued to ridicule him in her anger and fright.

"Do you really want your friends to know that the brave Duke of Camareigh dueled with a mere woman? That he nearly killed her? Do you really think that they would appreciate learning that the infamous and bloodthirsty Bonnie Charlie, who had been terrorizing them for so long, was in actual fact a woman? No, I don't think they would thank you on that score, Your Grace. They would never be able to hold up their perfumed heads in public again," Sabrina jeered laughingly, feeling the master of the situation.

She returned the Duke's proud stare. "You're in a quandary, for your own self-esteem is at
stake,
and a gentleman's honor and name is everything, isn't it? No, I think you will not turn Bonnie Charlie over to the authorities."

The Duke smiled grimly. "You speak very persuasively in your defense. However, who said I planned to turn a highwayman over to the authorities?" He smiled at the puzzlement on Sabrina's face. "On the other hand, I might turn over to them a thieving wench who broke into my home intent upon mischief.
And along with her, a certain large friend.
Ah, you had forgotten your giant protector I see," he reminded her with a smile of satisfaction. "Yes, he will undoubtedly be hanged, or possibly after a prolonged stay in prison, you will both be deported. Not very pleasant, I assure you. Yes, you should really be quite frightened by the predicament you find yourself in. Either that or you're a fool, which for some reason I don't think you are."

Sabrina's face had whitened at his threatening words and her eyes had grown wide, darkening with fear.

The Duke seemed satisfied with the calculated effect of his words, and sauntering to the door added, "You might think on that, and when you are a bit more communicative and forthcoming with the information I seek, we will have more to say to one another."

Sabrina stared in impotent fury at the closed door, his words sinking into her numbed mind like quicksand. She fell back against the soft pillows and dragged the bedcovers over her shaking shoulders as a hesitant tear found its way from her eye onto her cheek.

What was she going to do? She couldn't seem to think clearly since this had happened. Always in the past she'd had her way. She'd never come up against someone like the Duke before. He was ruthless, mean, vengeful—and intelligent. And, he had caught her.

Sabrina sniffed and wiped away her tears with the back of her hand like a small child, then sat up in dismay as a sudden thought struck her.

Mary! What must she be thinking? She'd been missing countless days now. Poor Mary, she must think she was dead, or captured. And John would be storming about the countryside looking for them, and he would find nothing because they weren't there. They'd left the area and no one knew where they'd gone. How could he possibly find them? And even then, there would be little he could do except get caught himself. This place was like a fortress, and the Duke wasn't one to be caught off guard. No, if they were to escape it was up to her.
But how?

Sabrina rubbed the back of her neck thoughtfully, the movement bringing back the memory of other fingers. Gradually a look of cunning entered her eyes as she remembered further.

The Duke had not been unaware of her as a woman. She instinctively knew this. There had been something about the way his hand had caressed her waist when he'd held her to him and threatened to strangle her. It had been
at variance to the violence of his actions. He had been trying to frighten her, yet he couldn't control the automatic gentleness of his hand at her waist.

His eyes had given him away also. They had softened, just for a moment, maybe with pity, but soften they had, and that surely meant that he felt something besides anger. Sabrina had seen other men's eyes widen when they'd gazed at her face and body, but she'd always disdained it and never encouraged a man—but now—now she would play the game.

Sabrina straightened her slim shoulders resolutely. She would attract this arrogant Duke. She would bring him to his knees before her, and when he was at her mercy, deceived by her honeyed words, she would escape him. She would manage to free Will and they would flee this prison, leaving the beguiled Duke looking the fool.

Sabrina climbed from the bed, feeling a momentary faintness as she stood and walked on wobbly legs to the porcelain bowl placed on the bedside table. Rolling the sleeves of the Duke's shirt above her elbows, she poured icy water into the bowl from a matching pitcher, and splashed the refreshing water on her face. She toweled it dry with a large handkerchief folded next to it, and then began to brush her hair free of tangles, smoothing it back from her face in long waves. It was dull and lifeless from her fever. Sabrina frowned at her reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall. She would demand a bath, wash her hair and get clean linen. She felt her shoulder experimentally; it was stiff and when she moved it she felt a twinge of pain, but it was healing. At least she had been given careful treatment at his hands while she'd been ill; apparently his velvet gloves were off now that she'd recovered.

A frown of uncertainty settled on her face as she realized what she was about to do. She stared at the angry scratch across the back of her hand, remembering vaguely how she had received it. The sense of the danger she had placed herself in intruded realistically into her plans. That
scratch could be
a
minor wound compared to what could happen to her along this course of action. But what else could she do? She had to escape and rescue Will, and they had to get out of the Duke's way before he discovered her true identity—at all costs that must remain a secret. Besides, she would call a halt to the game before it progressed too far. She would play the seductress, take the Duke by surprise, then when he was least suspecting it, attack and the game was hers.

The Duke insolently tapped the giant's cheek with the tip of his sword. "Do be a good fellow and tell me about your escapades. I'm much kinder than my servants, one or two of whom are nursing sore jaws and the thought of revenge against you, my big friend," the Duke said in
a
friendly tone.

Will glared back, one eye black and blue, his lip swollen, and remained silent.

The Duke shrugged. "You will talk eventually, you know. I'm merely trying to make it easier for you." He paused reflectively,
then
added significantly, "And of course it won't be easy for your small female friend. A pity, she is rather pretty, don't you think?"

Will strained ineffectively at the bonds that bound him to the chair. "You touch her and I'll cut you into a thousand pieces," he snarled in rage.

"My, my," the Duke declared. "You've found your tongue at last.
I
seem to have touched a sore point with you."

The Duke walked the small confines of the storage room and, turning abruptly, demanded sharply, "Who is she?"

But the giant remained mute, a venomous look in his clear blue eyes as he met the Duke's stare.

"I’ll find out sooner or later, then . . . well, it will be too late to ask mercy of me."

"You ain't going to do nothing," Will muttered, challenging the surprised look on the Duke's face, "or you'd a done it by now. The soldiers would've been here and taken me and Charlie away by now. But I don't see
no
redcoats, Duke—so I call your bluff."

The Duke gave a reluctant smile, which didn't reach Will's eyes, at the giant's reasoning. "Ah, but you're wrong. Why should I spare you and that hotheaded female friend of yours?" he demanded coldly. "I have a few debts to collect with interest, my big friend, and if that means amusing myself with you two for a while before I kill you— then that is my privilege. Who cares what happens to two vicious criminals who attacked me in my home?"

Will's face reddened with his anger and fear for Sabrina at this man's hands. "What have you done to Charlie?" he demanded, straining against the rope that held him firm.
"If you've hurt her—?"

"She's in good health, for the moment at least, but who can predict the future good fortunes of people in the precarious business you're in? Anything could befall her. Such a pity too, for you seem quite fond of the little vixen." The Duke smiled knowingly. "Of course she is quite a beauty in a wild, untamed fashion. You may have far warmer feelings towards her, eh? Hmmm, it might be interesting to form a closer friendship with her myself," he speculated aloud.

Will's face turned purple with his struggles to free himself. "She's not that kind! She's innocent, and if you lay your fine gentleman's hands on her, I'll cut your heart out and feed it to the crows," Will threatened, following it with further bloodthirsty epithets directed at the Duke's head.

"My, my," the Duke murmured with a thin smile. He moved to the heavy wooden door, but before opening it turned and added softly, "I'll let you think upon my words a bit, and should you decide to break your silence, call out for one of my servants who will be on guard outside of this door, but don't dally too long, my big friend, for I'm not a patient man." With that he left Will alone in the room to ponder his fate.

Lucien poured himself a brandy and stared out into the bleak afternoon light. He hadn't planned to stay here this long, but then he hadn't foreseen this whole, incredible series of events, either.

A woman! Who would have imagined that troublesome highwayman was in actuality a young girl? It was beyond belief. He still felt chagrined at what he'd nearly succeeded in doing. To kill a woman—he'd never thought he'd come to that. But why should he blame himself? How was he to know that Bonnie Charlie was some common female masquerading in men's breeches? She had no right to be doing what she was. He shook his head in puzzlement. The problem was just that—she was no common female. She looked and talked like a well-bred lady. And even if she were not that, how could he turn a woman over to the authorities? Her fate would be doomed and he would have her death on his conscience. No, he must do something, for he couldn't just let the vixen loose.

He would learn her name, find out all there was about her, and that giant friend of hers, and then threaten exposure should she ever ride again as Bonnie Charlie. Yes, that was the thing to do. But how would he get this precious information from that defiant female?

Threaten? He could still remember the feel of her soft neck beneath his fingers. She'd been frightened, but he could not follow that course. Bullying women was not to his taste. He preferred a more subtle approach.

He saw again her small, heart-shaped face with those beautiful violet eyes and ivory-smooth skin, and had to admit that she was an unusual beauty.