Ruthless (28 page)

Marcus's meaty hand caught the edge of her hood and hauled her back. “I don't think so,” he said.

“You can't get away with it, Harriman,” Rohan said.

“Lord Tolliver to you,” he said stiffly. “And I certainly can. If anyone finds out you're in this country you'll be executed as a traitor. And who's going to believe a scoundrel like Reading when it's his word against a peer of the realm?”

“The title's stolen,” Reading said. “It belongs to Elinor's son.”

Marcus had a thick arm around her throat, choking her, and she struggled, fighting him.
Elinor's son,
he said, and she knew, with sudden blind, crazy certainty, that she was carrying a son. Rohan's son.

She felt a surge of fury, and she slammed her elbow into his soft stomach. Marcus grunted in pain, but his
hold didn't loosen. She struggled, kicking back at him, and his grip tightened until she felt the blackness beginning to close in. She reached up to claw at his hands, raking her fingernails into his skin, but he was impervious.

“Don't be a fool,” Rohan said in his lazy, elegant drawl. “You really can't hope this will work. If you hurt her I'll disembowel you while you watch, and Reading will help me. I'll be on my way back to France before they even find your body. But I'm prepared to treat you like the gentleman you profess to be.” His voice dripped contempt. “You do fancy yourself a gentleman, do you not? I'm willing to fight you for her. Surely you wouldn't refuse a challenge.”

“So you can skewer me like you did that poor fat bastard?” Marcus laughed. “I'm no fool—I'm a better swordsman than Sir Christopher Spatts, but I'm no match for the likes of you. I…”

The sound of that hated name shocked her, her response so visceral that she kicked back, somehow managed to connect with something sensitive. He let out a yelp of pain, releasing her, and she scrambled away, running toward Rohan, needing him.

But Charles moved in front of her, grabbing her arms and pulling her out of the way, and Rohan's hard blue eyes didn't even glance at her. “You'll fight me, Harriman,” he said. “Or I'll kill you anyway. This way you have a chance.”

There was silence from the end of the ancient hallway. And then Marcus spoke, his voice full of bravado. “I'm afraid I don't have a sword.”

“Charles, be good enough to lend this man your sword,” Rohan said lazily. There was murder in his eyes, deliberation in his movements. “And then remove your sister-in-law.”

Charles withdrew his sword, still managing a restraining hold on Elinor, and handed it to Rohan, who tested it. “A good blade, Harriman. More than you deserve.”

“Come with me, Elinor,” Charles said, pulling her away.

She tried to fight him. “No,” she cried. “What if something happens—”

“Something will happen,” Rohan said without looking in her direction. “Your false husband will die. Leave now.” His voice was like ice.

“No,” she cried. Not wanting to leave him, terrified that Marcus might win. And then there was a part of her, a dark, ruthless part, wanting to see Harriman's blood spilled.

“If you stay here you'll distract me and that could cause my death,” Rohan said calmly, not even glancing at her. She had no choice.

Charles pulled her out of the underground hallway, and in comparison the overcast day was blindingly bright. She had managed to twist her ankle in some part of her flight and simply not noticed, but Charles put his arm around her, supporting her until they reached a place to stop. She rested against one of the many overturned stones, looking up at Charles in despair.

“What if he kills him?” she said in a choked voice.

“He will,” Charles said.

“No, I mean…Marcus. What if he hurts him?”

“Not a chance in hell.” He looked at her with his twisted smile. “You haven't had to listen to him for the last week. The man was dead from the moment he dared a look at you.” Before she had time to digest this he continued. “And I'm sorry, but I'm your brother-in-law. I'm afraid neither Lydia nor I could stomach the notion of Etienne.”

She managed a brief smile. “To tell you the truth, neither could I.” She tried to rise, but her ankle twisted beneath her and she was forced to sit again. “Are you certain Rohan won't be hurt? And what did Marcus mean about…the man he killed.”

“Sir Christopher Spatts,” Charles said with a note of grimness. “I have no earthly idea why he did that. He came down into the…er…one of the rooms being used for the Revels, singled out Sir Christopher and threw a glass of wine in his face. The man was no match for him—I've never seen Rohan more vicious or more deadly.”

A faint smile touched Elinor's lips. “Good,” she said softly, managing to startle her new brother-in-law.

He didn't ask, however. “I'm afraid Rohan didn't think this through. You'll have to take Marcus's carriage back…”

“No,” she said with a shudder. She looked back at the entrance to the ruins. “Should it be taking this long?”

Reading shrugged. “That depends.”

“On what?” she tried to keep from shrieking.

“On his opponent's skill. And just how Rohan wants to make him suffer. I imagine he'll want to make it slow and painful.”

“I'll be patient,” Elinor said grimly.

“You're a bloodthirsty creature, aren't you?” Charles said.

“On occasion.”

Charles shook his head with a faint laugh. “You two are a better match than I would have thought.”

They began the slow walk back to the horses, Elinor leaning on Charles's arm. Her panicked flight into the ruins had taken what seemed like moments, but the walk back felt endless. She kept looking behind her, desperate for a sight of Rohan.

They finally reached the horses. The sun had moved lower in the sky, the wind had died down, and overhead she could hear the wheeling and cawing of the seabirds as they soared above the cliffs.

When she looked back, Rohan had emerged from the underground cavern and was shrugging back into his coat. She waited, her fury building as she watched him saunter down the pathway to where they were waiting.

He was in one piece, unharmed, and he didn't look at her, merely handed the sword back to Reading.

“What are you doing here?”
Elinor demanded, her voice shaking with tightly controlled rage.

He glanced at her, and a faint smile curved his mouth. “I believe I was saving your life.”

She ignored the treacherous softening that his smile always seemed to start. “Why?
‘A one night's tup isn't worth a lifetime of support.'
It should hardly be
worth a trip across the channel.” She might have almost laughed at the look of dawning horror on his face. “Fortunately it appears that I have inherited my father's estate after all, so you won't be obliged to pay for your momentary weakness.”

He didn't move for a moment. And then he simply turned and started walking toward his horse.

Furious, she said, “Is that it? You seduce me, insult me, and then you simply walk away when I throw your appalling behavior in your face.”

He paused, then turned. He looked tired, and there was blood on his sleeve. Not his blood, she knew. The blood of her enemy, and she felt a secret joy. “I don't believe there's anything I can say.”

He didn't want her. It hit her with crushing misery. It didn't matter that he'd come all this way to save her life, the truth was he truly didn't want her.

She made a strange, gulping noise. He would leave, and she could wail to her heart's content. In the meantime she would be stoic, calm. She would show no weakness.

The sob somehow escaped, and she tried to cover it with a cough. She was so caught up in trying to control her own misery that she didn't realize Charles Reading was suddenly at a discreet distance, and Rohan was standing in front of her.

“What do you want from me, Elinor?” he demanded, his voice rough.

“Nothing…you can ever give me…” She choked
back another sob. “It's all right, I understand. You don't want me, and why should you? But I don't understand why you killed Sir Christopher, and why you came all this way, when you really don't care…”

“Stop it!” His voice was sharp.

“No!” she said, her voice unfortunately close to a wail. “You're a miserable rotten pig and I hate you.”

“Of course you do,” he said grimly. “You have every reason to and you've always been a most reasonable female.”

“Well, I do,” she said uncertainly. Her face was wet now, damn it. “So just go away.”

“I was attempting to do exactly that,” he pointed out.

“Well, who's stopping you?”

“You are.”

“This has been…an extremely difficult day,” she said, trying to control her voice. “I've been married, kissed by my brother—” she allowed herself a shudder “—almost murdered, saved from a nasty death, and you just stand there saying nothing.”

“What would you have me say, child?”

“I'm not a child!”
she shrieked, stamping her foot like a two-year-old.

A faint smile quirked his mouth. “I'll ask you again, what is it you want from me? Would you have me grovel? That would hardly be punishment enough. I was cruel and stupid and a coward, three things I most despise. I scarcely deserve to get the one thing I need most in this world. What is it you want?”

I want you to love me,
she wanted to cry. She wiped
her tears away. “I'll have you know I don't usually cry. This has just been a bit…trying.”

“Indeed,” he said politely. “Are you going to answer my question?”

“It doesn't matter,” she said. “You don't want me, and I'll be just fine on my own.”

He stared at her, and some of the grim tension began to leave his body. It was more than a faint smile by now. “Why, poppet, whatever gave you the impression that I don't want you? I must point out that in this country there's a price on my head, and I came after you anyway. I'd have to be mad not to love you, and for all my sins, I've never been considered mad.”

She stared at him. “You love me?” she asked in disbelief.

“More than life itself,” he said simply, and took her in his arms. There was a light behind his hard blue eyes, one that danced. “Mind you, no more wickedness. I've given up my allegiance to the Heavenly Host, and I intend to be the most staid, honorable gentleman. You'll have to marry me now.”

She stared up at him. “And what if I think you're doing this out of a misguided sense of decency?”

“Oh, any sense of decency I possess is most definitely misguided,” he said cheerfully. “I never do anything unless I want to.”

“And what if I don't want to?”

“Look at it this way, poppet. You can spend the rest of your life making me suffer.” And he kissed her.

It was rapture, astonishing, bewildering, and his hold on her was so tight it felt as if he'd never release
her. She sank against him, letting go of the last of her anger, the last of her fears, the last of her sorrow. She slid her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and kissed him back. He was hers, and she was his.

“I think we'd best get going,” Charles Reading interrupted them.

Rohan moved his mouth to Elinor's ear, biting it lightly, and a shiver of delight swept down her body.

“Did I tell you, dear Charles, that you are most definitely de trop?” he murmured against her skin.

“Not as de trop as the king's men should anyone discover you're here. Come on, you two. The yacht's waiting for us in Bournemouth. The sooner we're out of here the better.”

Rohan threw back his head and laughed. “He's right,” he said. “Come, my love. That is, if you'll have me, miserable bastard that I am.” There was just the slightest look of uncertainty in his hard blue eyes. It was probably the only time she would ever see it, and she would treasure it for the rest of her life.

“Oh, I'll have you, my lord,” she said in a dulcet tone. “After all, it's better than rats.”