Defiant Captive Read online

  All was quiet save for the rustle of the grass and the answering whisper of the leaves. With a sigh of fatigue she leaned back against a broad oak, paused for a moment, then moved to explore the valley before her.

  It was then that she saw a gnarled beech tree halfway down the slope, where twisted roots emerged and then plunged back into the earth. Almost afraid to believe her eyes, she fled down the hill until the great trunk loomed before her, twisted and nearly hollow where it had split and reformed decades before.

  Exhausted, she sank to her feet, then curled up into a ball and drew back into the shadowed cave.

  * * * * *

  Two hours later, after slipping quietly down the grassy slope, the Duke of Hawkesworth came upon his elusive quarry curled like a woodland animal, a sprinkling of red primroses and wild orchids at her feet. He had come alone, unwilling for any of his staff to witness what would follow.

  Luck had been with him, or he would have missed her. The rising of the moon had sent a bar of light through the branches of the beech tree, so that he noticed her pale arms and one slim ankle.

  He caught his breath at the picture she made, a silver nymph nestled in the tree's dark bower. She did not look frightened now, Hawke thought. She looked neither proud nor venal, but otherworldly and infinitely fragile. She looked, in fact, as though she belonged in this place of enchantment, and Hawke felt his heart twist painfully.

  With savage force he stamped out the dangerous beginnings of tenderness. It was midnight — time for Titania to wake, Hawke told himself coldly.

  Chapter Twelve

  Something smooth and solid prodded Alexandra's outstretched leg. She stirred restlessly, mumbling a sleepy protest. Almost immediately, her dark eyes flew open.

  She concealed her fear well, Hawke thought grudgingly. Only the slim fingers twisting in the cloth at her shoulder betrayed her.

  "Get up," he ordered.

  Alexandra swept the last traces of sleep from her mind and fought to control her fear. "Go to hell!"

  Hawke did not argue. He reached down and caught the length of cloth at her shoulder, tore it from her chest, and jerked her cruelly to her knees before him. His eyes were silver fire branding her very soul, and all the while he forced her relentlessly closer, reining her in by the ragged edge of her sari.

  "Offspring of a snake!" she cried hoarsely, fighting to hold the length of fabric around her. "I'll see you hang for this!"

  And then she was slammed against the hard wall of his chest, his fingers digging into her shoulders. Wildly, she fought him until her teeth found his hand, and she bit down with all her strength.

  With a savage curse, Hawke released her. Immediately, Alexandra scrambled away, stumbling over the roots that caught at her feet. Even as she moaned with pain, she clawed her way up the slope.

  But she didn't go far. His booted foot slashed out and caught her ankle, knocking her forward against the ground and driving the breath from her lungs. Gasping, she watched a curve of polished black leather descend before her face. When she tried to rise, his boot fell upon her hair, grinding down the fragile strands to hold her captive. As she twisted helplessly, his boot inched closer to her scalp, until even the slightest motion caused her savage pain.

  "Stop!" she screamed, watching the taut fabric of his breeches descend before her, the throbbing evidence of his male power clearly outlined before her frightened eyes.

  Slowly, he slipped to his knee beside her, all the while keeping his boot pressed against her tangled mane so that she could not look away. "You'll pay dearly for that, Isobel," he vowed, reaching a bloodied hand up toward the white linen at his neck. With cold deliberation he loosened the folds and tugged the cloth free.

  Before she understood his intent, hard fingers trapped her wrists in the neckcloth and tethered them to a gnarled root above her head. Alexandra's heart pounded like thunder in her ears as a wave of fear crashed over her. "I beg of you," she rasped, "do not do this terrible thing! You are wrong about me — so wrong. Stop now, before you destroy us both with your recklessness!"

  "Too late," Hawke answered hoarsely, for the fire was already snaking through his groin. "It was too late the first moment I laid eyes on you."

  Alexandra felt the last shreds of her pride shattered by the trace of smoky madness in his gray eyes. "Listen to me. Please!"

  Impatiently, Hawke ripped a piece from her skirt and wrenched it across her mouth, gagging her. "No more talk," he said flatly.

  Wild with fear, she thrashed beneath his boot, tears slipping down her cheeks. A heavy thigh fell across her flailing legs, anchoring her to the grassy slope.

  "Stop fighting me," he warned. "You only make this harder for both of us."

  Her protest was caught by the folds of velvet at her mouth, and she twisted in vain against the knots cutting into her wrists. She was helpless before his unleashed fury, and they both knew it. She shuddered, tossing wildly when he began to strip the velvet from her body.

  "You really are afraid," Hawke whispered, still half disbelieving. "How could I have failed to see it sooner?" Relentless fingers tugged at her skirt, peeling away the heavy folds to free the silver beauty of her skin to his fevered gaze. "You should thank me for this service, Isobel, for I shall free us both this night."

  Alexandra closed her ears to his words, knowing the awful certainty of what was before her. Darkness licked at her eyes, and she struggled for breath, feeling hysteria creep over her.

  His silver eyes raked over her flushed face and heaving chest. "Yes, by God, even wrapped in that curtain, you contrive to look magnificent," he muttered. With a curse he swept his fingers along her trembling length. He forced his knee between her thighs as he sank down to taste the hollow at her throat. "And your pulse is as ragged as mine," he muttered roughly. His warm breath taunted her ear as his tongue measured her ragged pulse. "Yes, burn for me!" he said grimly. "Since it's you who bequeathed me this hell, it's only right you join me there."

  Black waves of panic washed over Alexandra, and she felt her hold on reason crumbling. His lips were like fire, searing her raw skin. Suddenly, she felt a new sensation, a strange tension that gripped her body, warring with her fear.

  She shivered as his teeth nipped her neck, then trailed relentlessly lower, leaving a damp trail of fire across her shoulder. Against her will, from somewhere deep within her came an answering restlessness, an unfamiliar stirring of blood and nerve and muscle.

  In that fiery moment the last traces of Alexandra's childhood fell away. Innocence gave way to awareness, and her healthy young body began to respond to his relentless, driving need.

  Suddenly, little flames leaped to life wherever his mouth branded her skin. She was a candle melting beneath his flame, she realized in horror, racked by angry sobs beneath the gag.

  Hawke's fingers hooked around the loose fabric at her waist. Impatiently, he lifted her hips and swept the rest of the concealing cloth away. The sash about her waist was next to go. His fingers traced a dark bruise upon her thigh; then he rose to his knees to look down at her, so naked and fragile, painted by moonlight.

  By God, she looked innocent, Hawke thought, lost in a blaze of desire. She who was the breath of depravity!

  His eyes raked her ivory skin, her full peach-tipped breasts, her red-gold hair flung like a precious silk tapestry against the green carpet. No wonder he could never drive her image from his mind through the long years of her absence! She could drown a man with her satin skin, with her exquisite taste, with the sweet yielding sounds that tumbled from her lips.

  The grove was silent around them. Over the slope the wind sighed softly, carrying the sounds of bleating sheep and the tinkling of little bells, but neither person beneath the gnarled beech seemed to notice.

  "Yes, love," he rasped, "this is the beginning. Tonight I break you. Tonight you will lie beneath me and give me whatever I ask."

  Never! Alexandra thought wildly, but his hand closed over her furled nipple, and then his mouth took i
ts place, tugging powerfully, urging her to aching hardness with his teeth. He used her expertly with his hands and lips, forging a breathless, exquisite torment, until she was reckless and urgent, her blood on fire. Her eyes closed and her head twisted helplessly as wave after wave of raw molten pleasure buffeted her. She felt him shudder in the same instant that her traitorous body answered his dark call.

  Triumph leaped through Hawkesworth as he heard her choking moan. Impatiently, he rose to strip jacket, shirt, and breeches from his heated skin.

  Terrified, Alexandra felt the brand of his taut flesh and the rasp of sable fur at his chest. Gently rounded clumps of moss tickled the tender skin of her back and buttocks where he pressed her into the damp ground. Her small hands twisted against their bonds, desperate to shove him away, knowing he would soon fill her with the hot pulsing muscle that pressed against her thighs even now.

  Hawke's breath was labored and his face hard and hungry as he tasted the curving line of her furled nipples and her taut belly, his unshaved jaw rough against her sensitive skin. "Your body, at least, is honest. It tells me what all I need to know, madam," he whispered. When his heated breath fluttered against the dusky curls that crowned her thighs, Alexandra wrenched wildly at her bonds, desperate to escape this unthinkable invasion. But escape was impossible.

  Hawke felt the thundering of her heart beneath his arm when he parted her and found her damp heat. "Here's my first answer," he said huskily. With excruciating slowness his fingers invaded her velvet darkness.

  Wildly, Alexandra arched away from his touch and twisted her body, trying vainly to dislodge his taut, muscled weight. The bonds at her wrists cut deep as she cried out her rage against the cloth over her mouth.

  "Now I mean to have a second." Skillfully, he stroked her, building a fire that raged within the deepest recesses of her straining body. "Your fire — give it to me now!" he said roughly, pushing her relentlessly, filling her with his driving touch. "There will be no more holding back between us. 'Tis the Devil's own fire you feel, but tonight it will break this cursed spell that holds us both."

  Sobbing, Alexandra tossed helplessly beneath him, her mind fighting his fiery assault at the same time that her body spun out of control. She arched her back as velvet waves of pleasure crashed over her. As if from a great distance, she heard a strangled cry and realized too late that it came from her own throat.

  And then she was swept past pride or thought of any sort. The maid struggled and finally gave way to the woman, as her world shattered into a vortex of quicksilver.

  "Sweet Jesus," Hawke muttered. Then with a hoarse groan he slid to his elbows and entered her. As if in a dream, he heard her gasp. He felt her stretch to receive his swollen manhood and struggle to fit herself to its throbbing length. His mind and body on fire, he did not wonder at her tightness but plunged on toward her hot, honeyed darkness.

  His blood was pounding in his ears and his body screamed for release when he met the fragile barrier and swept fiercely past it. By then he was beyond stopping, beyond thought of any sort.

  A searing blade of pain ripped through Alexandra. Wild-eyed, she cried out in shock and pain, but the sound was trapped by the gag at her lips. Blindly, she wrenched against the massive body that pinioned her, arching her back and bucking, desperate to dislodge his weight.

  Anything to be free of the pain and shame of this invasion!

  But her jerky, frenzied movements only flayed the tender skin at her bound wrists and in the end forced Hawkesworth over the edge.

  With a harsh cry he tightened and drove one last time, exploding deep within the narrow recess, filling the woman beneath him with his warm seed. Not until long moments later, when he lay spent against her shuddering body, did he hear her dry, choking sobs.

  Slowly his head lifted. For the first time he saw cold tears glistening on her cheeks.

  Deep lines furrowed the translucent skin of her brow.

  A trail of crimson stained the velvet at her mouth.

  Only then did the Duke of Hawkesworth realize that pain and not frenzied passion had twisted the body of the woman beneath him.

  Not the sullied curves of a seductress named Isobel but the unwilling body of a maiden who had never before known a man's intimate caress.

  The pale, violated body of a stranger named Alexandra.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Through the chaos of his whirling thoughts Hawke heard her terrified cry come back to haunt him.

  You are wrong about me! Stop now before you destroy us both with your recklessness!

  Too late! his mind sang back in answer, and the words coursed in his blood, in the tremors that still shook him.

  Too late the first moment I laid eyes on you.

  Around them the wind stirred restlessly, raking through the leaves overhead, while a jackdaw cried plaintively somewhere in the distance.

  What had he done? Hawke thought, sick with revulsion. How could he have made such a terrible mistake?

  Because of his colossal arrogance, of course. And because of his savage obsession with Isobel.

  The slim body beneath his tensed, and Hawke realized his weight must be adding to the pain she already felt. Slowly, he pushed himself to his elbows, horrified to see drops of blood upon the velvet that bound her mouth.

  The same color as the blood that must now dot her thighs, he thought, sick at the realization of what he'd done. I'll make it up to her, he vowed. Somehow, I'll find a way.

  His fingers trembling, Hawke untied the gag and carefully lifted it from her mouth. Even then, she did not move or look at him, her face a white mask as she stared blindly toward the hill. Her whole body was rigid, in shock from his cruel assault. Only her huge frightened eyes revealed her inner torment.

  With a touch of infinite gentleness, the Duke of Hawkesworth reached down to smooth a wayward strand of reddish-gold hair from her cheek.

  His captive recoiled as if he had struck her, and low, racking sobs escaped from her taut lips. When he saw dark blotches where her teeth had bit into her lips, Hawke flinched. With a curse he slid to the ground beside her and cradled her face unsteadily, forcing her to look at him. Dear God, how could he have done this mad thing?

  "Who in God's name are you?" he whispered, his mind still rebelling against the enormity of his blunder.

  Suddenly, Alexandra began to laugh, but the sound emerged as stiff, ragged sobs that shook her whole body. She tried to hold herself rigid, hating the sight of this madman who had violated her without remorse. Her mind yearned for darkness, afraid to think, afraid to face the awful truth of what had just occurred. Even when the salt of her tears began to sting her bloodied lips, she did not move to wipe the cold drops away.

  "Go ... away," she whispered raggedly. "Just l-leave me alone. You've g-got what you wanted." She curled into a ball, her arms circling her knees protectively.

  Protection? It was far too late for protection, she thought wildly. Her beautiful blue-green eyes were wide with hysteria as she tried to fight free of the hands cradling her face.

  But she could not. Hawke's thumbs skimmed over the faint traces of blood where her teeth had gashed her lips. When he saw her tense and recoil, his hands dropped. What could he do or say now that would not bring her more pain? he wondered grimly.

  "N-now are you satisfied?" she sobbed. "Dear God, what sort of man are you to do such a thing?"

  A muscle leaped at Hawke's jaw. What sort of monster, indeed? Had he finally lost his mind? She'd tried to warn him, time and again, but he wouldn't listen.

  His face was harsh with revulsion and self-disgust as he looked down at her. "The worst sort of fool, it appears."

  Caught in the dark grip of a nightmare, Alexandra shuddered uncontrollably, praying that now, at least, he would let her go. Praying that she would sink into numbness and forget the horror of the last days. All around her, beads of dew flashed like diamonds in the moonlight, their beauty unnoticed.

  With leaden fingers, Hawke freed her wrist
s, frowning at the raw welts that emerged from beneath the cloth. He slipped to his knees beside her, running shaky fingers through his dark hair, still unable to take in the irreparable harm he had done.

  "My God, what have I done?" he breathed.

  His hoarse cry finally shocked Alexandra from her dark tunnel of pain. Anger slashed through her, keen as a Moghul blade, and her proud Maitland blood roiled, crying out for vengeance. "You've ruined me, that's what you've done! Destroyed my l-life with your cursed obsession! I hope the thought gives you all the pleasure you hoped for!" she rasped, straining to cover her nakedness with her trembling hands.

  "Your pain gives me no pleasure, I assure you," Hawke said roughly. "My God, I don't even know your name."

  "It can make no difference now," Alexandra answered bitterly.

  "No? There are things to be considered, arrangements to be made — God knows, a thousand problems to be faced!"

  And yet even as Hawke spoke, a hard voice taunted him. Don't be a bloody fool, it warned. Women are all the same. She was the one who came hurtling toward him out of the London fog. She was the one who had driven him to this madness, jeering at him, taunting him with every breath.

  But Hawke knew the cold excuses were false, that the mistake was his and his alone.

  "Oh, yes," his white-faced captive cried, "I forget that you are the great and august Duke of Hawkesworth! Of course, you can sweep all this under the carpet with a flick of your finger! 'Davies, see that the wench is cleaned and taken care of,' " she said mockingly. " 'Give her a few shillings and some of my wife's old clothes. That should keep her happy.' Well, I'll take nothing from you, Your Bloody Grace, not one damned thing, for you disgust me! 'Tis you who are the real cripple!"

  The insult struck home with sickening force. The duke reared up, his face a blaze of fury. "You take a risk, woman! Pray explain how you came to be wandering the London streets alone. No decent female would go careering about without an escort. You could only expect the worst in such a case!"