Captive Hearts Page 21

  He had kissed her there, and it had felt so good she had wanted to writhe with the pleasure of it. Her face felt hot with the memory, and her heart beat like a caged bird against the bars of her ribs, even as her body thrummed to life with the feelings he could so easily inspire. These minutes they spent together were exciting, fulfilling and the most precious she would ever know. He was so very, very precious to her.

  She turned as he set her shoes on the floor in front of her. He offered her a hand as she slipped her feet into them.

  His shirt hung open to the waist. The thick mat of dark hair on his chest, beckoned her to touch. His hair hung down his back and across his shoulders. She watched as he retrieved a partially filled teacup from the rug before the hearth and drank from it. The dark shadow of his beard colored the underside of his jaw. Just to look at him made her want him.

  She stepped close and began to button his shirt.

  Matthew cupped her elbow as he watched her.

  “You must check the men, they will be missing you.

  And I must clean up here and return everything to the kitchen. ’Twill be dawn soon.”

  When he remained silent, she looked up to find his pale blue eyes fixed on her, and the look in their depths stole her breath. He bent his head, and she rose on tiptoe to meet his lips with her own. The kiss was soft and sweet and so tender, tears pricked her eyes. When it ended, she leaned against him and felt the weight of his arm holding her securely.

  “Do you want anything more to eat?”

  “No, I am satisfied, for the moment.” She drew a deep breath and stepped away from him.

  She was well aware he wasn’t talking about food. There would be a reckoning between them once they returned to London. A painful reckoning. She saw no way for the outcome to be a happy one for either of them.

  She could not change the fact that she had been raped. She could not change the fact that her reputation was in tatters. That would follow her even to Charleston, should she go with him. She would become a social burden to him, an albatross hanging about his neck. She wouldn’t be able to bear that. She would slowly die inside seeing his resentment build as he had to defend her honor again and again. Even if he should learn to love her, the strain of that burden would eventually sour his feelings for her. It was just too much to expect of any man.

  She had to hold tight to the moments they had right now. They would have to be enough. But even as she thought it, she couldn’t ignore the aching hunger for his love that gnawed at her, nor her fervent wish that things could be different.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Katherine fastened a dark blue ribbon around her long braided tail of auburn hair and brushed it back over her shoulder. She bent to retrieve the food basket, relieved Matthew had insisted on taking the heavy kettle back to the kitchen on his way downstairs. Reluctant to blow out the candle dimly lighting the room, Katherine left it on the nightstand.

  She had just entered the kitchen when Franklin appeared in the doorway.

  “Might I have another cup of tea, m’lady?”

  “Certainly, Franklin, but ‘twill take me a moment to brew it.”

  A shout from the front of the house had her tensing, and him swiveling to face the door.

  A shout came from upstairs. “The stables are on fire.” A glass panel in the door shattered spraying Katherine with shards of glass. Oily liquid splashed across the floor onto her feet followed by a trail of fire that ignited the kitchen curtains then raced toward her.

  Katherine squeaked in fear as she leaped back away from the flames.

  Shielding his face from the heat with his forearm, Franklin jerked the curtains from the window. Grabbing a shovel from the hearth, he beat at the flames.

  The smell of burning lamp oil rose strong in the room. Katherine grabbed a heavy tin of flour and threw it on the liquid to try to soak it up.

  “Get out a ’ere,” Franklin shouted as he beat at the fire like a man possessed.

  A cloth covering the worktable in the center of the room caught fire with a quick swoosh, and the basket she had just placed there, began to smolder.

  As the flames crept closer, she backed up the servant’s stairs. Hot air blew up the stairwell like an open oven door. The yellow-orange glow of the fire reflected on

  the walls down below. She turned and ran down the hallway toward the other end of the house. She had to warn the men on the second floor of the danger and urge them to go down the front stairs to safety.

  ****

  The sound of glass shattering came from other parts of the house. Matthew jerked the blazing curtains from the library window and stomped on them to muffle the flames. The fire finally out, he went to the door to see who was shouting. The mirror in the hallway reflected the angry amber haze of a fire on the curved staircase that led to the second floor. The men had stripped their jackets off and were using them to beat at the flames. “Webster,” he shouted to one of the men. “Why are you not going for water?”

  The man turned, his face half covered by a beard.

  “The kitchen’s aflame as well. They’re burning the ’ouse from around us.”

  Matthew turned to look down the hall to find flames curled around the kitchen door leading out into the hall.

  “Webster, gather the men on this floor. We need to get out and take cover.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  He ran down the hall to the kitchen. Heat blasted him in the face. Franklin was still battling the blaze with a wet towel. Flames undulated up the back wall of the room to the ceiling in a fluid dance that was almost beautiful.

  “Get out, man,” he shouted above the roar of the conflagration.

  “Did Lady Katherine make it down the front stairs?” Franklin shouted back.

  Shock punched the air from Matthew’s lungs. His wife was trapped on the second floor.

  ****

  Katherine heard the unmistakable sound of a shot and she stopped at the corner of the U-shaped corridor to peek around the turn. Cold air blew directly at her from an open window at the end of the hall. A man stepped from one of the bedrooms into the pale light of an oil lamp, his face in shadow. She opened her mouth to call out to him just as he turned and looked down the hall at

  her. The dull light etched his jaw line, cheekbones and brow ridge leaving the rest in shadow. His features appeared grotesque, mask-like, his mouth a gaping hungry maul, his eye sockets empty of light and life.

  Looking past the trick of light, recognition struck her. The hard line of his jaw softened as he smiled gleefully. He raised a flintlock pistol, and she ducked for cover.

  Panic raced through her. She ran back the way she had come, stopping by a lamp just long enough to extinguish it, her legs shaking with reaction, her breathing ragged. Darkness swallowed her and for a moment, she couldn’t breathe. She pressed back against a doorway hoping the it would cover her should he come around the corner firing. Her fingers fumbled against the wood, and she found the doorknob. She slipped inside the room and closed the door softly. She searched the area beneath the knob for the key to lock the door. It was gone.

  Had he killed the men who were guarding the upper story windows? She wondered where the others might be.

  Where was Matthew?

  The darkness, cloying and cold, embraced her. She closed her eyes against it.

  “’Twill do no good to ’ide,” a voice said from outside in the hall.

  She jerked and caught her breath.

  “The fire is spreadin’ at both ends of the ’ouse, Katherine. ’Twould be better to allow me a clear shot than to burn to death with the men down the ’all.” Her stomach clenched with dread. Had he injured them? Tied them up? Or could he have already killed them and was using them to draw her out? She had to find a weapon.

  She shivered, clammy and cold with shock. Katherine shuffled to the right, and slid her hand along the wall.

  Her knee came in painful contact with something, and she ran her hand over the surface of the piece
of furniture.

  It was a cabinet. She was in her brother’s room. That knowledge alone eased her fear. She drew a deep breath and rested her cheek against the cool wood. She opened the doors and ran her hands over the surface within. It was empty, just as she had known it would be. She had taken all the firearms in the house to the dining room

  below and loaded them herself. Biting her lip to still its trembling, Katherine stepped away from the cupboard.

  The desk was close beside it. She held her hands straight out before her. Her fingertips brushed more wood, and she felt the rounded back of the chair that stood before the desk. The tools Johnny had used to repair the weapons might offer her something with which to defend herself.

  She froze as a sound came from outside in the hall. A slender sliver of light appeared along the bottom of the door then moved away. He had lit the lamp. A heavy crash startled her, and she jerked. The sound of breaking glass came from the room next door. A strange glow pulsated from just outside the heavily draped windows across the room to offer her a small amount of light.

  She ran careful hands over the desk top. Assorted tools lay scattered across the surface, but none she could use as a weapon. A rod used to load a pistol rolled away from her. The sound of it striking the floor reverberated through the room. She scooped it up from the floor and prayed he had not heard it.

  The muffled sound of shouting came from downstairs accompanied by the faint smell of smoke. The fire downstairs was spreading upward. She had to get out of this room.

  The thread of light appeared from beneath the door once again. “I’ve set the second story alight, Katherine.

  ’Twill reach ye soon.”

  He was mad. He was setting the whole house ablaze in order to kill her. Her eyes darted to the window where light flickered and glowed. Dear God, he had set the room next door on fire. Did he know where she was? Had he heard the rod fall?

  The door opened. She froze. There was nowhere to hide.

  ****

  Matthew eased the window open just wide enough to slide through then dropped in a crouch behind the cultivated bushes lining the side of the house. Smoke rolled out the next window, covering his progress, and urging him to cough. He paused long enough to cover the lower half of his face with a handkerchief. Bending at the waist, he ran a hand along the exterior wall and made his

  way around the back of the house. Heat from the flames engulfing the kitchen drove him from the cover of the brush. He threw up a hand to protect his face from the hot shower of sparks that exploded with the loud pop of shattering glass. He looked up at the second floor. Several rooms on the second story were ablaze, but others were, as yet, untouched by the inferno.

  He had to get up there and find Katherine.

  ****

  Katherine squeezed herself in between the desk and the gun cabinet and pulled the open door back in front of her. She gripped the pistol rod tightly and raised it in a stabbing position. She’d go for his eyes should he move the door. She couldn’t see the man, but marked his progress by the light of the lamp he carried. “The fire is spreadin’ closer, Katherine. Let me end it for ye. ’Twill be easier than burnin’ to death.” For a moment, she thought he might have seen her, and she tensed, preparing for him to jerk the door out of the way and grab her.

  She felt the pressure of his steps through the bottom of her feet as he crossed the rug. He paused to stand on the other side of the cabinet door. She pressed back against the side of the armoire. The rustle of her clothing sounded loud.

  He shouted and heaved the lamp down on the hardwood floor at the base of the bed. Fire leaped to the cloth draperies that hung to the floor and swept up one heavy ornate post. She clamped a hand over her mouth as a scream of rage and fear ripped up her throat. He was destroying her home, the last thing she had of her family.

  Tears trailed down her cheeks.

  Despite the building heat, she forced herself to wait as his heavy tread crossed to the door and moved away down the hall. She shoved the cabinet door out of the way, and immediately had to throw a hand up to shield her face. Flames raced along the canopy and leaped to the curtains at the window.

  Fearful of being heard, she ran to the door and peeked out. From the glow of the burning rooms, the hall looked empty. Smoke hung in the hallway like fog. The heat was building. Her gown felt uncomfortably tight

  against her skin already growing damp with sweat.

  Crouching low, she hugged the wall and hurried down the passageway, pausing at each doorway, until she reached the corner. Easing forward, she poked her head around the turn. A hand shot out grabbing her hair. Jerked forward so quickly, she lost her footing. She landed on her hip and cried out in pain.

  Eye level to the man’s crotch she punched upward with the steel rod she held tight in her fist and felt the give of tender flesh beneath the point. The man gave a bellow part pain, part rage and slapped her across the face. Tiny points of light exploded in her vision.

  “You bloody bitch!” He jerked her hair so hard she thought he might tear it from her head.

  On her back between his spread thighs, she kicked up with her foot landing a solid blow to his groin.

  Clutching himself, he fell across her, driving the air from her lungs. Wild with panic, she shoved and clawed her way free. He grabbed her skirt and she jerked the fabric, tearing it away.

  Her vision blurred. Ears ringing, she limped against the pain of her bruised hip and staggered down the hall away from him. The smoke soon forced her to her knees, and she crawled through an open door. The room was hot, the floor warm beneath her hands. She curled behind the bed and paused to try to clear her head. Nausea rolled over her, and she fought against the urge to heave.

  The staggering thump of his steps sounded from the hall. He bellowed her name. Katherine groped in the dim light for somewhere to hide. The open door of a dressing room beckoned her and she scurried inside. It was empty and smelled musty from disuse. Afraid she wouldn’t be able to breathe, she hesitated to close the door.

  She jerked with a squeak of surprise as the door slammed shut with such force her ears popped. Panicked, she climbed to her feet and shoved against the portal with all her strength, hurting her shoulder and hip. Darkness, ink black and stuffy pressed against her. When she heard the jiggling sound of a key turning in the lock, she beat against the wood with her fists and screamed in frustration and fear.

  She heard his voice muffled and hoarse, close against

  the door. “Ye’ll die, bitch. Not the way I wanted, but ye’ll be dead just the same. No one will find ye now. I’d have preferred to have a taste of ye first, like I did yer mum.

  But this will do.”

  Waiting for the fire to reach her in the locked dressing room frightened Katherine more than facing anything he might do to her. At least outside of the room, she’d have a chance to escape, to possibly survive. “You sniveling coward. You haven’t even the courage to face me.” “Courage ’asn’t anythin’ to do with it,” he said through the door, his tone a snarl. When he continued, he sounded almost amiable. “’Tis time we’re both short of, m’

  lady. The fire’s nearly ’ere. It shouldn’t be long now. ’Tis the sound of you chokin’ on the smoke ’twould please me.

  ’Twould sound like your mother when I choked the life from ’er.”

  Rage and fear collide inside her, and Katherine swallowed against the emotions. “If I am to die, I would like to know who my killer is.”

  “Me name is Jaime Stone.”

  “No, not you. Who is the man in charge of you? Who sent you to kill my family?”

  “’Twas yer Uncle who ordered the deed. Ye were there, ye saw him. And ye don’t remember a thing.” Her legs gave way, and the darkness beat against her face. Her heart throbbed in her throat and against her temples. She slid down the door until the hard surface of the floor rushed up to meet her. One scene after another flashed through her mind, a kaleidoscope of color and emotion, sickening and painful as he
r mind ripped aside the protective curtain it had drawn over the memories.

  She remembered Edward kneeling between her mother’s thighs, her nude body like alabaster in the flickering flames of the coach lanterns. He had been fastening his breeches as she stood at the coach door. He had raped her mother along with the other men, and she had seen it—heard her mother begging him to stop and asking why over and over.

  The sound of something being dragged across the floor on the other side of the door brought her back to the present.

  “’e should ’ave let me take care of ye and saved us all the trouble and worry ye’ve caused. Ye’ll not be causing anymore.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Matthew took cover behind a clump of brush and watched the two men who stood at the base of the ladder braced against the side of the house. Had there been one, he’d have taken the chance in overpowering him. As it was, the two were well armed with both pistols and knives.

  The smaller man paced restlessly around the base of the ladder going beneath it in a circle. Every few moments he looked up at the window above, his body tense.

  Smoke drifted out of the open portal in wisps and puffs, growing thicker with each passing moment.

  Anxious frustration niggled its way up his spine to tighten the muscles in his neck and shoulders.

  “If ’e fries, the old man will ’ave our ’ead.”

  “Jaime knows what ’e’s about. This ain’t the first

  ’ouse ’e’s burnt.”

  A man’s head appeared out the window and he swung a leg over the sill and searched for the first rung with his foot. The two men below braced the ladder, as with stiff movements, the third man descended on the rickety structure.

  “’Tis ’bout time. I didn’t relish comin’ in after ye, boy,” the slighter built man greeted him as he reached solid footing.