Captive Hearts Read online

  The new arrival’s face appeared gray in the dim fire light, his blond hair hanging about his face, lank and damp with sweat. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve and turned. Matthew recognized the man from Katherine’s drawings immediately.

  “I wouldn’t ’ave expected it of ye. I can take care of meself.”

  “The girl—ye’ve taken care of ’er.”

  “Aye, she’ll not be troublin’ us again.” He slapped the smaller man on the back. “’Tis time for us to leave before the fire is seen and ’elp arrives.”

  For a moment, shock held Matthew frozen as the men’s footsteps receded. “No.” The word reverberated through his skull. She couldn’t be dead. He wouldn’t believe it until he saw her body. Held it in his arms. He ran to the ladder. He barely noticed how the thin structure shook beneath his weight, his attention focused on the window above.

  Smoke billowed out of the opening making his eyes sting and his throat to seize up, despite the kerchief tied about the lower half of his face. He gulped what little air he could and dove head first through the window. The air was a little clearer close to the floor, and he was able to get a few shallow breaths, without coughing. The floor felt warm to the touch, the air dry and hot. Sweat beaded his forehead and had his shirt sticking to his back. Matthew stayed low to the floor and looked into the first room on the left. Thick hazy smoke filled the chamber. Two men were bound to the bed posts at the bottom bed. Matthew crawled quickly to the one closest to him. The man’s shirt was blood stained, his complexion grayish-white.

  Matthew briefly touched his throat to check for a pulse.

  Finding the man dead he moved on to the other.

  His hands a reddish purple, the man had twisted around trying to free himself from the ropes until they had dug into his arms and cut off his circulation. His eyes were open but the gag that bit into either side of his mouth was sopping wet with saliva keeping him from shouting. Matthew recognized him as Jess Thornton, one of his crewmen.

  Jess’s breathing was labored as though he had been fighting the ropes for some time and had exhausted himself. Reaching into his boot, Matthew brought forth a knife. He cut loose the kerchief and ropes.

  “My wife—did you see her?”

  Jess shook his arms as though they pained him and clenched his fingers into fists as he worked the blood back into his extremities. “No, sir, but I ’eard ’im callin’ to ’er and talking to ’er further down the ’all. The bastard shot Willy.”

  “There’s a ladder just outside the window at the end of the hall. Can you make it without me?”

  “Aye, sir. ’e didn’t shoot ’er. I’d of ’eard the shot. She

  may still be alive, Cap’in. I think I ’eard her calling out down the ’all, so she ’as to be close.”

  “If she is, I’ll find her. Get out as quickly as you can and stay close to the ladder. I may need you to hold it for us.” “I can stay and ’elp you find ’er, Cap’in.”

  “If I have to carry her out, I’ll need you manning the ladder. I don’t know how much time we have.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  They both paused at the thickening smoke in the hallway.

  He slapped the man’s shoulder to urge him on. “Go.

  I’ll be right behind you with Katherine.” The air, like hot tar against his face, tasted oily. He crawled down the hall into hell.

  ****

  Sweat rolled in rivulets down Katherine’s spine and she tugged at the lacings of her gown loosening the bodice. Curls clung uncomfortably to her forehead and neck. Exhaustion dragged at her. Her hip and shoulder ached from throwing her weight against the door. The smell of smoke, acrid and bitter, tickled her throat with every breath she drew, making her cough.

  Her throat, nose, and eyes burnt. She felt light headed.

  Settling on the floor where the air seemed clearer, she rested for a moment. Her movements clumsy, she used the hem of her petticoat to wipe her face and stem the irritating running of her eyes and nose.

  A need to close her eyes and rest tempted her. She could do so if she could quiet the cough that plagued her.

  Had Matthew and his men escaped? She prayed so.

  Tears of emotion joined those that ran down her face. She was grateful for those moments they had shared earlier.

  There had been no discord between them to mar the experience. She wished Matthew was here in the dark with her holding her and at the same time, she was glad he wasn’t. He had so much more life to live, a life without her, just as she had been telling him. But she hadn’t really believed it.

  She had been waiting, hoping, for some miracle to prevent their separation. And now, just as her memory had returned giving her a reason to hope, it was all going

  to end. It was so unfair. And she was waiting again, waiting to die. Her family had died trying to protect her and she was lying down and letting life slip away. She should be grasping at every moment left to her.

  She forced herself to her feet though her limbs felt weak and uncooperative. Her lungs burnt with every breath. She threw herself against the door again and again. Her ears rang and she bent at the waist and almost wretched as forceful coughing seized her. She braced a hand upon the door. The wood gave way unexpectedly, and she fell sideways. Her elbow connected with the door facing and pain lanced up her arm. She writhed on the floor in pain, coughing and gasping for air.

  Matthew’s pale blue eyes above a blue kerchief stained with smoke came within her view. Her arms went around him and for a precious moment, she held on. “I knew you’d come,” she croaked.

  “We have to go, now, Katherine.” He pulled away from her. “Can you crawl?”

  “Yes,” the word came out a whisper and she nodded.

  She rolled over onto her knees like a sow bug finding its feet. The world spun then righted itself leaving her feeling nauseous and woozy. Matthew half guided, half dragged her to the bedroom door.

  The flocked wallpaper burnt in spots. The flames danced gleefully against the ceiling. They had surely been dropped into hell. They inched their way down the passageway. Her skin felt hot and dry stretched taut by the heat. The window beckoned only a few feet away, the curtains burning to ash whipped and flew through the air above their heads.

  She watched in amazement as Matthew plunged a hand into the flames and jerked the fabric from the window then slung it away. He looped a leg over the window facing, reached back to grasp her arm, and dragged her to her feet.

  “Just a few more feet, sweetheart, and we’ll be clear.

  Come to me, Katherine.”

  Her limbs felt sluggish, and his image appeared blurred around the edges. She pushed up the wall to her feet and would have crawled head first out the window had he not reached in to drag her leg over the edge of the

  window frame. Her feet couldn’t find purchase on the narrow rungs for though her mind told them what to do, she lacked the coordination.

  She looked up as a rumbling like thunder sounded from behind her. A wall of fire rolled like a ball straight toward her. Startled, she jerked, losing her balance, and pitched sideways off the ladder. She came up short with a jerk, Matthew’s hand clamped around her wrist. Glass splintered and fell around them like shards of frozen rain.

  It nipped and sliced at them as the ladder slid sideways along the wall of the house. Flames leaped up from the hem of her dress and she screamed. Her feet were boiling.

  She looked up into her husband’s face just as he released her hand and she fell into oblivion.

  ****

  Jess caught Katherine, her weight knocking him to the ground. Matthew saw the man roll to his knees and beat at the burning fabric that encircled her ankles. The ladder swayed like a willow branch, the fire beneath him burning the wood. One of the rungs broke with a loud crack and the flimsy structure gave way. He fell. Swinging his arms in an instinctive attempt to stay upright, he landed flat on his back in one of the evergreens. He couldn’t breathe and a thousand rough wooden points thrust i
nto his ribs. Stunned, it took him a moment to roll out of the bush and attempt to stand. He tumbled face down on the ground gasping for air, coughing up some of the smoke he had breathed, and aching with a multitude of cuts and burns. He forced himself to his feet, concern for Katherine driving him.

  Once upright, he staggered toward Jess.

  “’Twas her shoes that were burning, Cap’in. I don’t think she’s burnt bad. Just a blister or two on her ankles.” Matthew tugged loose the kerchief from his face. His hand throbbed as though he’d been using it to pitch hot tar. Falling to his knees beside Katherine he used the cloth to wipe away some of the oily soot staining her face.

  She lay so still fear raced through his veins, and his heart surged in his chest. He pressed an ear to her breast and found the steady beat of her heart.

  “She’s swallowed a lot of smoke, Cap’in. Might take

  her a time to come around.”

  He knew he had done all he could and slumped to the ground beside his wife.

  “Go see where the rest of the men might be. I’d like to know if they all got out of the house, Jess.”

  “Aye, Cap’in.”

  Matthew lay back into the cold damp grass, too exhausted to move.

  ****

  Matthew watched as two men stirred the ashes and smothered the last sparks left burning with buckets of water. Over half the stately house Katherine called home was a burned out shell, and the rest was smoke damaged and uninhabitable. He turned to look over his shoulder at his wife.

  Awakening after a day-long sleep, she had insisted on seeing what was left of her home. He had argued against it, but she had been adamant. Concerned about the stress, arguing put upon her smoke strained throat, he had given into her, against his better judgment.

  Bundled in blankets, Katherine looked like a child perched in the doorway of the coach. Her forehead and cheeks appeared a feverish pink, as though she had been out in the sun too long. The added color would have been becoming had her features not looked so drawn, her eyes and cheekbones so prominent. He moved to stand beside her and extended a bandage-wrapped hand .

  ”It can be built back, Katherine.” She shook her head. “There would be no purpose.” Her voice was a wispy croak.

  He frowned at the sound and wondered how long it would take her voice to return to its normal timber. “Are you warm enough?”

  She offered him a faint smile and nodded.

  “Are you ready to return to the inn now?” Grief etched lines around her mouth, but no tears fell. She looked one last time at the house and gave a brief nod. He motioned to the two men who stood nearby and they climbed atop the coach. Four others, heavily armed, moved to make room for them. After everything that had happened, he was taking no chances.

  Ignoring twinges of pain, he grasped her arm to steady her as she rose to take her seat inside the conveyance. She spread the blankets over them both to share the warmth. Leaning lightly against him she fell silent, her gaze directed on the passing scenery.

  “’Twas Edward who had my parents and brother killed.”

  She spoke with such certainty he studied her expression for some clue as from where such an idea might have come.

  “How do you know?”

  “I remember what happened that night. I remember seeing Edward there among the men—taking his turn.” He stared at her; the image her words evoked brought a hollow feeling to the pit of his stomach.

  Her features remained composed.

  “No one will believe me, and I have no proof, just my word. And we both know how much credence they will give that.”

  “We’ll think of something. There has to be a way.” He slipped an arm around her and drew her against his side.

  “Lord Harcourt may have some suggestions. We’ll contact him as soon as we arrive in London.”

  “His name is Jaime Stone.”

  “The man from last night?”

  She nodded. “He was the man who tried to strangle me that night.”

  His arm tightened around her. “His was the face you drew. I recognized him last night from your drawings, but there was nothing I could do.”

  “I believe you did enough.” She placed a hand against his chest, her head finding a place in the hollow of his shoulder. “Your hands—“

  “Are much better this morning.” He attempted to distract her. “If you feel up to it, when we reach the inn, I’ll let you take the out the stitches the doctor put in my arm. They’re itching like the devil.” She nodded.

  Matthew pressed a bandaged hand to her cheek. He was finding the injury more and more inconvenient. Thus far, the only benefit had been Katherine helping him dress before their sojourn to the house, something he had

  found most pleasurable even though neither of them had been in any condition to act upon it. Caring for one another, offering each other comfort, came easily between them. Sharing a life or death experience, he believed, had cut through all barriers between them.

  “He expected me to die so he told me his name. He told me about Edward. It was the shock of it and the smoke filled dark, like being trapped beneath the coach seat once again, that brought the memories back to me.”

  “You’ll be doubly dangerous to him now—and to Edward. If Jaime Stone can be caught, he could be a witness against Edward.”

  “But would he speak against him when he would condemn himself as well?”

  “He’ll be condemned anyway for his part in the women’s deaths in London. He’ll have nothing to gain or to lose—if he can be caught.”

  “How do you think that might be accomplished?” He shook his head, though an idea had formed, an idea too dangerous to be entertained. He wouldn’t see her placed in any more danger than she was right at this moment.

  “We’ll speak with Lord Harcourt when we reach London and decide what can be done.” She nodded and nestled against his side once more.

  The coach’s sway rocked them against one another and reminded Matthew of their trip from the church on their wedding day. The pressure of her breast against his ribs had affected him then, just as it was doing now, despite the ache and soreness of bruised and abused muscles.

  “I was not raped.”

  He had wondered when or if she would broach the subject.

  “I know.”

  She drew back to look up at him.

  “Since the first time we made love.”

  “Why did you not say something?” There was an accusation in her tone.

  “Do you not remember my saying that there were things we needed to discuss as soon as the trouble at Willingham’s was dealt with?”

  She nodded.

  “When I came upstairs, you were gone.” For the first time, her expression held a hint of guilt.

  “We had consummated our marriage, Katherine. Did you really believe I would allow you just to walk away?”

  “It was never my intention to trap you in a marriage you did not want, Matthew.”

  Anger thrust through the barrier of his control. Was she once again trying to wiggle off the hook? He’d be damned if he’d let her. “Have you heard any complaints pass my lips?” He grasped her chin and turned her face to him, his gaze delving into her hers. “I wanted you and you wanted me.”

  Color flooded her cheeks making them appear berry red. “I cannot prove my innocence any more than I can prove Edward’s guilt.”

  “Innocent or not, my intention was to take you, Katherine. I knew in the moment that I joined my body with yours what I was doing. Did you really expect me to leave you behind when I sailed for Charleston after what had happened between us?”

  “Any other man would have ignored it and gone.” When would she concede that he might be different from the father she kept expecting him to behave like.

  “I’m not any other man.”

  “I know.”

  Those two softly spoken words took the angry wind right out of his sails.

  He kissed her, hungry for the taste of her, the touch of her tongu
e against his, the feel of her naked and responsive in his arms. A wave of possessive heat rose up inside him. He wanted to rip the gown from her, lay her back against the leather seat and bury himself between her thighs to claim her, to be held within her. To renew the bond he felt between them.

  When he broke the kiss, he was breathing as hard as she. He rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes, seeking to control the passion that had slipped its bonds and left him aching. “That day in the crow’s nest—I wanted to tear those ridiculous breeches from you and take you then and there.”

  “You were so out of sorts I would never have guessed.” Her prim English tones had him chuckling. She

  rubbed her cheek against his, her breath moist upon his ear. “I have had similar thoughts about you, Matthew.” His breath left him as the blood pooled in his groin.

  The touch of her fingers upon the buttons of his pants had him biting back a groan of excitement. For the first time, he gave the men riding atop the coach a thought and fumbled clumsily at the leather shade on the window managing to close it just as her hand closed around him.

  He swallowed against the rising tide of pleasure her touch evoked, his heart beating harshly in his chest.

  Her eyes looked dark, a sleepy look of desire relaxing the pain sharpened contours of her face. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “I am always amazed at how hard you are, yet so soft.” She stretched upward to touch her lips to his and he turned his mouth full on against hers, his lips and tongue as hungry for her as the rest of him.

  He spread his legs wider as she fondled him and caught back another groan. Her untutored, gentle exploration left him gasping. “Let me come inside you, Katherine,” he urged his voice a husky murmur.

  Shy, uncertain, she struggled to lift her skirts, retain her grip on the blanket, and straddle his lap all at the same time. He smothered the sound of his mirth against her shoulder. He felt like a clumsy lad again, fumbling his way beneath the skirts of his first love as he tried to help her. He caught the answering gleam of her smile as she pulled back to kiss him.

  Passion overpowered his laughter and he cupped her buttocks with his bandaged hands and slid lower against the seat to better align their bodies. The moment she sank down upon him, merged with him, their breathing seemed to catch, hold, and then find a corresponding rhythm. She tilted her hips forward then back, catching the sway of the coach, pushing him deep then sliding away. The pleasure of it was maddening. The joyous, generous, sharing of the act gave him a feeling of acceptance, of mutual possession.