Defiant Captive Read online

  Before she could move, he slipped from the horse and turned to pull her roughly down after him so that she stumbled into his arms. Angrily, he jerked her along to the spot where the two lovers had so lately trysted.

  "Does this spot suit you? Of course, it has the advantage of being time tested."

  Alexandra's heart hammered as she envisioned the frozen image of the sylvan lovers, their bodies naked, urgent, and plunging. Was this the joining of man and woman then? Was this what the madman planned for her?

  Suddenly, Alexandra saw herself stretched out beneath her captor's muscular body, pillowing his hard length between her thighs as she met his powerful thrusts, branded indelibly with the fire of his passion.

  Fear and rage jolted through her at the image.

  "Yes," he murmured darkly, "let us turn back the pages of time. Let me teach you what torment is."

  Wildly, Alexandra fought against the narrowing prison of his arms. "Cur! If I had a knife, I would truly teach you the meaning of slow torment!" Again and again she lashed out at his chest but without the slightest apparent effect.

  "How fortunate for me, then, that I have no knife for you to steal! Only a different sort of blade — one that leaps gladly to do battle with you now."

  His face came closer with each heartbeat. The hard, angled planes hovered over her, singeing her with his heat before he crushed his lips against her open mouth, slanting her head between his unyielding hands so that she would meet the total force of his invading tongue.

  For long minutes he did not release her — not until she ceased struggling, not until she was giddy from lack of air. When his fingers lifted at last, Alexandra wrenched away, gasping as her aching lungs rushed to replenish themselves.

  Hawkesworth studied his flushed captive coldly, tangling his fingers in her hair as he forced her face up to meet his harsh gaze. "I am glad to see that young Briggs's faithlessness pains you not. Perhaps I should have turned him off the day I found him here with you. I guess even then I knew it was entirely your doing." Then, as his captive stiffened, Hawkesworth tightened his hands hold, pulling her head back roughly. "You promised me one day you'd teach me the meaning of the word torment. Now it's my turn to repay the favor."

  He watched her face turn pale, and his eyes narrowed as he remembered coming upon his wife as she seduced the young groom in this same spot three years before. Just as he had then, Hawke felt a murderous surge of anger swell over him. The blood drained from his face, and he brought his fingers to his wife's neck.

  For a moment his vision turned black, and he fought the impulse to tighten his grip until she fell to her knees and begged him for her life.

  But the woman in his arms begged for nothing, only swung her balled fists vainly toward his face. "Oh — let me go, you great lackwit!"

  A vein beat heavily in Hawke's forehead. So she still defied him, did she? "God damn you, Isobel — Alexandra — whatever you style yourself these days." His fingers twisted in her red-gold mane, and through a haze of fury he heard her bite back a moan of pain.

  For the merest instant fear flashed through Alexandra's widened eyes, and then her lips tightened. "Do you sink so quickly to your wife's level?" she cried, her sea-green eyes snapping in fury. "If you are so easily brought to your knees, then you are as contemptible as she!"

  Hawke blinked before her fiery glare, maddened by her mocking contempt. His long fingers slipped around her neck.

  So she meant to bring him to his knees, did she?

  With a growl of fury he flung her down upon the mossy ground. By God, they would see who yielded first!

  But Alexandra was quicker. With a little sob she pushed herself upright and began to run blindly, parting the willow fronds in her headlong flight. And that was where he caught her, there beneath the canopy of drifting fronds by the side of the silver stream, his hard hands capturing the tail of her shirt and reeling her in like an exotic burnished trout.

  Vainly, Alexandra strained against him, until without warning the fine old cambric split from neck to waist and slipped off into his hand. Released, she fled sightlessly forward, only to feel his iron grip at her ankle. An instant later she sprawled face-down in the mud at the stream's edge.

  "Savage!" she sputtered. "No gentleman would hold a lady thus, against her will!"

  "What would you know about matters pertaining to ladies, Isobel?" Even as he spoke, Hawke's iron fingers slid up her twisting body. All the while, her straining fists met empty air, as useless as buzzing mosquitoes, her frenzied movements only serving to smear wet clay over her ivory skin.

  "You wouldn't know a lady if you saw one, damn your eyes!" Wildly, she pressed against the wet earth, forcing her way to her knees but even then unable to escape his cruel touch.

  "Now who is on her knees, love? But perhaps this is your preference?" Hawke's long fingers bit into the tender hollow of her stomach, slamming her back against his thighs. "Nothing would suit me better."

  Pinioned between his rigid thighs, Alexandra gasped to feel the searing length of his manhood. Would this humiliation never end?

  "Is this what it takes to give you pleasure?" he snarled, mud-slick fingers capturing a rose-tipped breast.

  "Filthy rodent!" she countered, thrashing wildly. "Nothing you can do will ever give me pleasure!"

  Hawke spat out a mocking laugh. "Something more in the traditional style then? Too bad — I'm certain you could have taught me a thing or two about this position." His breath was like fire against her neck when he began to press her down, pinning her slim body beneath his crushing weight.

  Blaze and bedamned! Trapped! Alexandra twisted in helpless fury. But maybe not ...

  Desperately, she rolled sideways, turning to aim a blow at that place where her father had told her a man — even the strongest man — was always vulnerable. Even as she struck out, however, her tormenter parried her knee with his own.

  "You do not catch me twice with the same trick, my love" — the endearment was a curse on his lips — "as I warned you the last time you tried that." Relentlessly, he trapped her plunging body, capturing her beneath the solid, rippling length of his thighs. "But now it comes to me — perhaps it is the fighting itself you most enjoy."

  "Give me a pistol and I'll show you a fight, by God!"

  "First knives, now pistols! 'Tis a bloodthirsty bitch you've become, Isobel. But today it won't be my blood that's spilt, nor yours — though I've contemplated that possibility often enough in the last months." His large mud-stained fist pressed her cruelly against the wet bank, while his eyes forged over her, opaque like smoke, missing no detail of her nearly naked form. "You see, in Spain I learned what it takes to kill a fellow human, and it's far more than you might think — as well as far less." His mouth twisted into a cold smile. "Remember that, my dear. And be glad that today's not for dying, only for the little death — the release that comes from desire burned away to its ashes."

  "You're the Devil's own henchman! Nay, the very Fiend himself!" Alexandra screamed, struggling impotently beneath his massive body.

  "Pretty words, my dear," he said tightly, catching her fists in his palms and forcing them down on each side of her head until his face was only inches from hers. "Very pretty words from the one who made me what I am. I wonder, will you still be so smug after I've had you a thousand times and a thousand different ways? After I've thrown you away without a second glance, like yesterday's rubbish?"

  "It will take more than a miserable swine like you to break me — Your Grace!" Alexandra added in reckless fury.

  One sable eyebrow climbed assessingly. " 'Your Grace,' is it now? Your timing is exquisite, as always. But don't let your hopes grow. I don't mean to cast you off for quite a while yet. When I do, however, I promise to leave you with excellent references for your next provider."

  Suddenly, his fingers twisted at her makeshift belt, forcing the knot free and tearing the rope from her waist.

  Dear God, Alexandra thought. He cannot do this! How can I
reach him?

  His face a taut mask, her captor dragged her upright and pushed her backward until she felt bark cut into her side. Without a word he caught her wrists and forced them around the tree trunk, careless of the pain he caused as he secured them with the rope.

  Despite her angry attempt to squeeze them back, tears began to slip from the corner of Alexandra's eyes.

  Not even this did Hawke notice. He was already striding up the grassy slope, his fluent curses carried down to her on the wind. "Damned bloody horse! Where's he gone?"

  A shrill whistle rent the air, then another.

  Bound to the tree, Alexandra shivered as the cool wind played across her chest, forcing her to excruciating awareness of her nakedness. Scarlet with shame, she struggled against her bonds, but they held fast. Her humiliation was complete when the baggy breeches, released from their makeshift belt, began to slide down her slim hips. No matter how she twisted, she could not halt their progress.

  What was the black swine about now? She had her answer a moment later when she heard a questioning neigh followed by the muffled drumming of hooves.

  "Bloody time you came back, Aladdin!"

  Before Alexandra's dazed eyes swam the image of a bronze mane tossing in the wind. A moment later, she felt hands at her back, freeing her wrists from their restraints. Awkwardly, she stumbled away from the tree, rubbing her rope-burned skin. Her captor's silver-gray eyes raked over her body, missing no detail.

  A tangle of white came sailing through the air, and Alexandra caught the fine fabric by reflex. Her eyebrows rose in sharp slants when she saw the remains of the cambric shirt in her hands. "What maggot have you taken into your twisted brain now?" she demanded, clutching the shirt to her chest.

  "For now, it pleases me to see you dress. I find I have no desire to feel a layer of slime between us when I mount you," he said brutally.

  Alexandra choked at his coarseness, shrugging on the tattered shirt while her thoughts whirled at this sudden reprieve. Abruptly, her captor tossed the rope toward her, and she grabbed it before he could change his mind. With trembling fingers she looped a knot at her waist and tucked in the shreds of her shirt. Then she straightened warily and thrust her tangled hair over her shoulder.

  "You were not always so quick to cover your nakedness," Hawke said softly, menacingly.

  Before Alexandra quite knew what he was about, he had grasped her hand and pulled her to a line of rocks a little way up the hillside, where Aladdin was waiting patiently. Roughly, he forced her before him, onto the rough stones, and tossed her onto Aladdin's back. A moment later, she felt his hard thighs brace her hips.

  "Wh-where are you taking me?" she rasped through dry lips.

  "You ask too damned many questions. You always have, come to think of it. Haven't you learned that too much thinking is bad for the female brain?"

  Alexandra snorted. " 'Tis a trait no one could fault you for! You think not with your brain but with your—" With a little gagging sound she caught herself, horrified by what she had been about to say.

  "Come — don't stop now, Isobel," Hawkesworth said silkily. "This begins to grow interesting. Exactly what part of my anatomy were you about to describe? My stomach? I've a fondness for good food, certainly, but not to an inordinate degree. My mouth? I enjoy spirits well enough, I suppose. But perhaps you were referring to my —"

  "Stop!" Alexandra shrieked, dragging her hands across her ears.

  "Shaft? Manroot?" He ground the words out relentlessly against her ear. "My —"

  "Filthy coarse beast!" she cried, twisting away from his mocking laughter.

  "How very amusing you have become, my dear! I could almost believe that you're afraid of me." His arm was like a steel band around her waist as he spurred Aladdin forward across the thick grass. "Of course, we both know that is impossible."

  Alexandra was too angry to speak. It was pointless anyway, for he twisted whatever she said. She sat stiffly before him, hating the rough pressure of his thighs against her hips, hating the long fingers that gripped her stomach.

  Hating most of all her painful awareness of those things.

  She would find some way to escape, she vowed. But before she did, she would teach this braying ass a lesson he would not soon forget!

  The hot afternoon sun poured down as they rode beside the winding stream. They crossed another coppice of beech trees and climbed steadily until Hawkeswish burst upon them in all its splendor. The weathered gray stone was stained with the run-off of centuries of rain, while one section of the towers and parapets had cracked and fallen to the roof. Somehow, the effect only added to the power of the great house.

  Strong and proud, the stones seemed to say, we bend with the ravages of time but never break.

  Just like its master, Alexandra thought bitterly. But then, the Duke of Hawkesworth had been born to every privilege. How could he be anything but strong and successful?

  The perfectly raked pebbles of the circular drive clattered beneath Aladdin's hooves. How manicured the lawns and drive! Alexandra thought. Even in Madras, with a veritable army of Indian servants at her disposal, the grounds of Government House had never looked so immaculate.

  Yes, she decided unwillingly, immaculate was the only word to describe Hawkeswish, and probably it was fear of the duke that kept the servants so vigilant.

  When they were still some yards from the house, the carved oak doors opened upon a short, black-suited figure. For a moment the man's face creased with shock, but almost immediately careful impassivity settled in its place.

  Alexandra's heart began to pound. "Help me, for God's sake!" she implored of the motionless figure at the top of the steps. "You must! I am not his wife! Indeed, I have only just arrived from India. My father—" She stopped abruptly. Her father's name would carry no weight in England.

  "Your father was a blackguard, a bigamist, and a gamester, I'm afraid," the duke finished dryly.

  Furiously, Alexandra clawed at the fingers gripping her waist and somehow managed to pry them free. She hurled herself from the horse and stumbled toward the servant. "Help me, please, I beg of you!" she cried, throwing herself on her knees before the stunned man and catching his arm in a desperate grasp. "If you have even a shred of Christian decency —"

  Black eyes flashed at her, and an expression of unmistakable dislike tightened the servant's narrow lips. "Your Grace will not be wishful to make a scene," the man said icily, looking down with distaste at the fingers clutching his sleeve. "Now, if Your Grace would be so kind as to release me."

  He pulled himself straighter and looked up at the duke, rigidly ignoring the woman kneeling before him. "May I say how delighted we are to see you back, Your Grace?" he said tightly. Not in any way did he acknowledge the fingers still gripping his forearm. "I shall fetch Briggs immediately."

  "I rather fancy Briggs is unavailable just now."

  "Your Grace?" Once again surprise sharpened the well-trained steward's features.

  "No matter. Any one of the grooms will do." Hawke jumped down, and immediately the steward moved to take charge of Aladdin, jerking his arm from Alexandra's grasp. "We will require the Venetian Chamber to be readied."

  "Very good, Your Grace. I shall send Shadwell to you directly. Does Jeffers follow?"

  "Not until tomorrow, I expect."

  "Are you both mad?" Alexandra cried wildly, still kneeling upon the marble steps. "Have I come to a country of madmen?"

  The steward stood rigid, his eyes trained somewhere above the duke's head.

  Suddenly, long tapered fingers gripped Alexandra's arm like a manacle and pulled her stumbling to her feet. When she looked across at the duke, she read a warning in his hard silver eyes.

  "And you may take yourself to the Devil, Your Grace!" she flashed back, her eyes snapping with blue-green fire.

  "You must be weary, my dear. I fear you have overtaxed yourself. Let me help you upstairs." Hawkesworth began to haul her up the broad marble steps. "We will be in the Long Gal
lery, Davies."

  "Very well, Your Grace."

  Stumbling in her captor's hated grip, Alexandra saw nothing, heard nothing, felt nothing. It is all a dream, she told herself. In a moment I must wake up.

  But the steps were high, and the pain in her ankle was very real — as real as the cruel bite of the iron fingers upon her arm.

  For the first time Alexandra realized she would find no ally in her escape. Her grim jailer had seen to that.

  With a sick feeling she faced the possibility that there might be no escaping him.

  Chapter Ten

  Even as the terrifying thought flashed into Alexandra's mind, her proud spirit rebelled: She would never give in — never! Somehow, she would find a way to free herself from this lunatic.

  Relentlessly, he towed her over the threshold and into the great house. She was dimly aware of a dark-beamed ceiling, a massive oak staircase, and polished wooden walls hung with ancient tapestries that shone like jewels in the late afternoon sun.

  She grimaced as pain shot through her ankle. The beast was nearly dragging her!

  "Hurry up! In a minute you'll have all the time you need to contemplate the treasures of my house, Isobel," Hawke said curtly.

  She did not answer, saving her energy for the steep flight of steps ahead. As she had feared, she was gasping with pain by the time they reached the top. Still the hateful duke pressed her forward, hauling her down a carpeted corridor into a long room lined with casement windows.

  Down the length of the room he dragged her, their feet thundering across the polished wood floor. He did not rest until they stood before a huge portrait at the room's far end.

  "There," the Duke of Hawkesworth said coldly, pushing her closer to the gilt-framed painting. "Now you may give me your opinion of my latest acquisition. Very good, is it not?"

  Exhausted, Alexandra raised her head and looked up.

  And stared into her own face.

  Her indrawn breath grated sharply in her ears. It was impossible!

  And yet ...

  Red-gold hair fell in thick coils around a pale face lit by half-closed aquamarine eyes. Sensual rose lips curved up in a seductive smile. But it was not her own face, Alexandra saw. The nostrils were too wide and flared, and the brow was rather smaller than her own.