The Black Rose Read online

  Showing her how the dream was meant to end.

  Grim-faced with his effort at control, Dane urged her once more toward the thing she needed so desperately, stroking her fevered skin until she found another wild, breathless release.

  Around them the long years fell away and suddenly only the old sweet yearning was left, only this pure bright flame of love and desire that bound them inextricably. Past and future forgotten, he felt her shudder and cling tightly to him as if she never meant to let him go.

  It was a promise made by her body, Dane knew, not by heart or mind. But it was a promise he meant to hold her to, the hard-faced man vowed silently, wooing her with his rough fingers, whispering her name like a hungry prayer, over and over, long after her trembling had ceased and she lay languid in his arms, lost in dreams.

  When the restless shifting began again, he cradled her with his hands and drove deep inside her silken heat until their hot breath mingled and their bodies fused into one sleek, straining being.

  All through the long hours of night he loved her, with hands and lips and tongue, urging her on with hushed cries and hoarse groans, in a bonding fierce beyond anything he had ever known.

  For this thing between them was exquisite torment and fierce ecstasy, the most basic and primal of human needs. It was pleasure given and shared, delayed and savored. It was blinding brightness and dark inferno, consuming body and soul before it could finally be satiated in a firestorm of raw sensation.

  When he could once again think rationally, Ravenhurst wondered if Tess was even aware of what had happened between them.

  But it mattered not, he swore.

  For she was his again, bound to him by laws older than those of man and country.

  His, now and forever.

  There would be no going back, for either of them.

  * * * * *

  Long hours later Tess began to stir restlessly. Her eyes fluttered, tightening against the sunlight that spilled through unfamiliar curtains. Something tickled her cheek and she batted it away, tugging at the heavy blankets on her chest.

  The motion sent tendrils of pain through her arms and thighs, a strange, dull ache that radiated from muscles she hadn't known the human body possessed.

  Her eyes flew open, then fixed blankly on the unfamiliar white ceiling overhead.

  Her fingers probed the unfamiliar woolen blanket that covered her. Bandages?

  A cry ripped from her throat, only to be stifled immediately when she saw the hard male thigh slanting along her hip.

  Slowly, she turned, as if in a dream, to see a bronzed body lying beside her, long sable hair curving about an angular, unyielding jaw. White wings gleamed at his temples, unfurrowed now in sleep.

  Dear God, what had he done?

  What had she done? Tess wondered, feeling the unfamiliar ache at thigh and breast once again.

  But now was not the time for questions, not with Lord Ravenhurst lying only inches away, not with an odd tension gathering in her thighs, a strange yearning to know what it would feel like to comb her fingers through the wiry hair above those flat male nipples. To feel his warm muscles bunch and ripple beneath her teasing touch.

  Tess's hand flew to her lips. Desire coursed through her at that dark, erotic image, at the thought of that hard body cushioned by her softness, his bronzed thigh parting her.

  Dear God, was she going mad?

  With trembling fingers, Tess eased back the sheets and inched away from him. Slowly she slipped one foot to the floor and began to slide from the bed.

  She was nearly free when she felt a rigid weight trap her leg. The next moment long, calloused fingers captured her wrist and yanked her sprawling against his chest.

  "Just where in bloody hell do you think you're going?" growled Ravenhurst's dark, sleep-roughened voice.

  Chapter Twenty

  Panting, Tess struggled to wrench free of the viscount's iron grip. But each movement sent pain biting through her wrists and fingers, already raw from the night before. A choked sob burst from her lips as she realized she had no hope of winning against this man.

  Slowly Ravenhurst's hands tightened, dragging her inexorably closer until she was flush against his chest, staring up into a pair of icy lapis eyes.

  "So you meant to slip away, did you?" he growled. "After all that happened between us last night?"

  Wild-eyed, Tess studied him, afraid to listen, afraid even to consider what he meant. "N-nothing happened between us!"

  The cobalt eyes narrowed. "You have beautiful breasts, you know, Tess Leighton. Silken thighs, exquisite hips, and —"

  "Stop," she cried hoarsely. "You are vile —"

  "I really think that under the circumstances I shall be forced to marry you," her captor said lazily, just as if she had not spoken.

  "Marry!" she stormed. "You? I'd as soon marry a — a goat! A snake!"

  Ravenhurst's lips tightened, settling into a hard line as he saw his dreams vanish like so much smoke blown before the wind.

  Again.

  They might have had so much together, he thought bitterly.

  But he had forgotten just how hard she was. How ruthless and selfish.

  "Oh, you'll become my wife, all right," he growled, masking his pain. "That's the only way you'll ever leave this house."

  "You truly are mad, aren't you? You must be so, to think I'd ever consider marrying a — a loathsome reptile like you!"

  Dane's eyes narrowed to dark slits. "Would you rather I billeted a group of officers at Fairleigh? 'Twould be a pity to think of their clumsy, booted feet trampling upon your mother's white garden, of course. Destroying all those fragile blooms —"

  "Damn you for a black-hearted swine! You wouldn't dare!"

  "Oh, but I would dare. And it is entirely within my rights as commissioner of the Military Canal to do so. You see, I mean to tighten your bit, my love, for you've run tame a great deal too long here. And after I've broken you — to my saddle, shall we say? — I have a great many questions that need answering. Yes, marriage will afford me the ideal opportunity to accomplish all those things."

  "You filthy, cold-blooded —"

  Ravenhurst pulled her a fraction closer, until the heat of his naked body threatened to scald her through the thin sheet she clutched to her breast. "Ah, but you did not feel so an hour ago, my dear. Then you were moaning and panting, rubbing yourself against me in total abandon, begging me to take you. Of course I," he added silkily, "being a true gentleman, had no choice but to oblige you."

  Tess's face paled, her eyes emerald pools. "Impossible," she whispered.

  Yet even as she spoke, she had a momentary flash of strong bronze fingers cupping her pale breasts. Tormenting images assailed her, darkness against light, hardness against aching softness.

  She blinked, staring at Ravenhurst's rough, unshaven cheeks, realizing they were the source of the fine scratches that covered her tender skin.

  At her breast. At her neck. At her thighs, where he ...

  No, she had not — he could not—

  Desperately Tess tried to wrench free, afraid of the dark triumph she saw glittering in his eyes.

  "I am desolate to correct you, but you did all that and a great deal more." Ravenhurst's cold eyes never left Tess's face as he shifted slightly, offering her a view of his back. "Those marks are yours, my dear. Love bites left by your sharp little teeth. And there are more on my neck and shoulders. You really couldn't get enough of me last night, it seemed. Yes, in bed you became quite the hot-blooded, abandoned little bitch." His fingers bit into her fragile wrists. "In my bed, that is. For now your passion will flare only for me. No more you'll ride the marsh, no more you'll moan for other men. You're mine now, Tess Leighton, do you hear me?"

  Frozen, speechless with horror, Tess stared back at him, her eyes going dark and bottomless. Dear God, it could not be true. It must be another of his lies ...

  "No lie, Tess," he said harshly, almost as if he had read the denial in her face. "The marks of yo
ur teeth do not lie. Nor does the dull ache I doubt not that you feel right now at your thighs, where you rode me all through the long, stormy night." Dark flames flared deep in his eyes. "A night eminently satisfying to us both, my dear, full of the pleasures we shall know many times after we are wed."

  With an angry cry, Tess flung herself to her feet, managing to rip free of his grasp. Her wild motion swept away the sheet that had been her only covering, revealing the silken expanse of her body to Ravenhurst's smoldering gaze.

  "No and no again!" she cried angrily, oblivious to her nakedness. "A thousand times no, you monster!"

  Fury smoldered across Ravenhurst's face. "I could become a monster, my dear. You are the very one who could drive me to it. Now, come here, Tess," he ordered, an edge of steel to his voice.

  The auburn-haired beauty shot him a fulminating look. "The devil I do!"

  "Don't make me come and get you."

  "I take orders from no one, your bloody lordship. The sooner you realize that, the better!"

  "Now, Tess," the viscount growled. "Unless you care to feel the hard edge of my anger."

  "I care not a jot for anything you might threaten me with, you cur. You are nothing but a degenerate, depraved, detestable —"

  "Determined," Ravenhurst grated, his voice promising vengeance. "Infinitely determined. To have you in my bed. To break you to my bit. To have the answers to my questions."

  "Indeed, my lord?" Tess answered, her voice shrill. "And you may truly do all those things?"

  Ravenhurst's dark brow quirked.

  "Yes, all those things — when pigs fly! When it snows in July!"

  "I shall never know with you, shall I? Where the tricks stop and the truth begins." A vein began to pound at Dane's temple. "Whether you are even capable of speaking the truth. But I'll soon have you speaking a different language, hellcat. The language of skin against skin, tongue upon tongue. By God, your body will not lie to me."

  "You, scum, may take your — your garrulous anatomy and —"

  "Too late, Tess." Slowly Ravenhurst eased the covers back from his waist, fury written on every stark plane of his face. Suddenly his hard body was revealed to Tess, every throbbing, overwhelmingly masculine inch.

  Her heart began to slam against her ribs. "Stop! Don't take another step!"

  But he gave no sign of hearing. Grim-faced, he uncoiled from the bed and began to stalk closer. Against the darkness of his face his eyes smoldered with a thousand tiny flames.

  "Bastard! Black-hearted vermin," Tess cried, taking a step backward.

  "I see I shall have my work cut out for me," Ravenhurst snarled. "And it appears my first task will be to scrub that filthy mouth of yours with soap."

  Ashen-faced, Tess retreated another step, only to feel cold plaster at her back.

  Dane's lips twisted in a cold smile of triumph.

  The air between them trembled, raw with tension.

  Wildly Tess searched the room for some weapon, some avenue of escape. But there was none, and her bloody captor knew it.

  He was nearly within reach now. Color stained Tess's cheeks as her eyes fell upon the bronze breadth of his chest, the mat of dense black hair, the rigid blade of muscle flaring between his legs.

  "S-stop," she cried in a strangled voice.

  "Not just yet, my dear. Not until I've left my mark upon you." His voice hardened. "Not until you beg me not to stop."

  Even as he spoke, Tess felt her body burn and run liquid. Dry-throated, she watched him come closer, stunned by the rippling power of that lean, predatory form.

  But she must not allow him to see her weakness! To do so would betray Jack and the others.

  Suddenly, far below, she heard the fierce pounding of brass against wood.

  "Open up, in the King's name," an angry voice bellowed. "By order of Inspector Hawkins, we're searching this house for smugglers!"

  For one frenzied moment, smoldering lapis eyes met smoky green. Hearts pounding, the two froze, listening to the crash of the door knocker and the angry cries whirling up from the street.

  Ravenhurst was the first to move, bending to tug on his breeches. "Hawkins," he muttered. "The bloody swine!"

  "L-let me go," Tess cried wildly. "There must be a servant's stair."

  "Boarded up," the viscount said flatly. "Too unstable to be used. There's only one way out of this house, and that's down the front staircase — right past Hawkins's men."

  Once again the knocker thundered. "Now, by God!" Hawkins's furious bellow exploded above the din.

  Abruptly Dane's lips curved in a slight smile. So the Inspector himself was present, was he? Yes, perhaps fate had turned friendly once more.

  Before Tess realized what he was about, he had caught her up in his arms and crossed to the bed, where he dumped her in an ignominious heap. "Our business is far from finished, my dear," he said grimly. "Now keep very quiet, so I can get rid of our malodorous visitor."

  Curses tumbled from Tess's lips as she struggled to sit up. "How dare you! You are the very scum of the sea, a monster! The devil himself!"

  The next moment the door closed with a mocking crash, and Tess found herself cursing empty space. Stiff with fury, she listened to the click of a key in the lock, then the thump of bare feet upon the stairs. All the while, she was scanning the sparsely furnished room. But there was nothing to help her, not even a knife or a pair of scissors. Nothing but his cursed bed and a single chair.

  And of course, the half-filled bottle on the side table, she thought bitterly, spirits he had no doubt used to fog her senses during the long night. Frantically, she ran to test the locked door, then tried the smaller door opposite, which revealed a small closet.

  Dear God, what was she to do?

  White-faced, she spun about, in her desperation knocking the bottle onto the wooden floor, where it exploded in a chaos of glass fragments and puddled spirits.

  Far below, a door grated on its hinges. Hawkins snapped out a furious command, which was followed by loud cries and the hammering of feet.

  Tess's frantic eyes swept the room. She couldn't go down, and that left only ...

  Her heart hammering, she ran to the window, sobbing as glass shards cut into her bare feet. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she fought down her pain, knowing she had very little time left.

  Swiftly she tossed back the curtains and tugged open the casement. Yes, just maybe!

  With awkward, trembling fingers, she flung back the covers on the bed, tugged the sheets free, and dragged them to the window. They were now stained with blood from her feet, but she barely noticed. Frantically she knotted the two lengths together, then looped one end around the bedpost nearest the window. Murmuring a prayer, she tossed the other end out through the open casement.

  A wave of disappointment crushed her as she watched the dangling cloth dance in the wind, at least twenty feet above the ground. Damn and blast! Far too short!

  At that moment, heavy feet began to thunder up the staircase.

  Think — think — think!

  Catching her lip between her teeth, Tess scanned the room, the locked outer door, the closet nearby. Dear God, what was she to do next?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Ravenhurst's face was harsh and shuttered as he wrenched open the thick oak door that fronted the street. Before him stood a score of preventive men ringing the house with Amos Hawkins at their center, a heavy, brass-mounted pistol clutched in his beefy fingers.

  "About time ye answered the door, Ravenhurst." Hawkins's colorless eyes flickered over the viscount's naked chest and bare feet. "My, my — it appears we've come at a bad moment. Too bad," he jeered, his lips pulled back in a snarling smile.

  Yes, he would enjoy taking this insolent bastard down a peg or two, Hawkins thought. "Seems my men have sighted a pair of ruffians slipping over yer garden wall. Appeared to be carrying tarred kegs of contraband, so they did. Reckon we'll just have to take a look around."

  Ravenhurst studied Hawkins coldly. "Had any
one trespassed here, I would have known it, Inspector. Now, if you please, you will take your men and —"

  "But I don't please, Ravenhurst. It's searching I've come for, and searching I mean to do. Now, get out of my way!"

  The viscount did not move from the middle of the doorway. Slowly and very deliberately he crossed his arms over his chest. "You make a grave error, Hawkins. There is no one here but myself. Now take yourself off, before you goad me into doing something unpleasant in the extreme."

  "Threatening an officer of the Crown, are ye? Yer lordship?"

  "I might ask the same question of you."

  "Yer jurisdiction begins at one bank of the canal and ends at the other, and ye bloody well know it! But this is Rye, and I give the orders here, so step aside," Hawkins snarled. "Or maybe ye'd enjoy watching my men split that fine door in half with their axes."

  Ravenhurst's eyes hardened. For a moment he considered telling Hawkins precisely what he could do with the handle of one of those axes. Only by dint of fierce self-control was he able to stop himself. For a squabble on his stoop was not the goal Ravenhurst had in mind.

  Careful, he thought. His eyelids lowered as he studied Hawkins lazily. Finally, with an indifferent shrug, he sauntered a step back from the door, a cold, mocking smile on his lips.

  Red-faced with fury, Hawkins pushed past him and strode into the main hall, already snarling orders to his men. At the center of the hall the inspector halted, his colorless eyes flickering over a pair of rare Ming Dynasty blue-and-white vases crowning a Chippendale table.

  A scowl twisted his mottled features. "Search the cellars, Boggs. Lawson, take the garden. The rest of ye spread out and comb this floor. I want nothing missed, do ye hear?"

  Suddenly from high overhead there came a thunderous crash.

  Slowly Hawkins's lips curved into an ugly smile. "I think I'll search the upper floors myself."

  Behind Hawkins, Ravenhurst permitted himself the luxury of a brief smile. Good, very good, he thought. So far all was progressing nicely.