Ravished Page 6

  “Bloody hell.” Gideon’s voice was husky now, betraying some new emotion that Harriet could not identify. “If you had any sense, you would run from me as fast as you possibly could.”

  “I do not think I could run a single step,” Harriet whispered in bemused wonder. She looked up at him through her lashes and gently touched his scarred cheek.

  Gideon flinched at the feel of her fingers. Then his eyes narrowed. “Just as well. I am suddenly not in the mood to let you escape me.”

  He lowered his head again and his mouth moved on hers with astonishing tenderness, easing apart her lips until she realized with shock that he wanted inside. Hesitantly, she obeyed the silent command.

  When his tongue surged into her warmth with stunning intimacy, she moaned softly and sagged against him. Never had a man kissed her in this manner.

  “You are very delicate,” he finally said against her lips. “Very soft. But there is strength in you.” Gideon slid his hands around Harriet’s waist.

  She shivered as he grasped her firmly and lifted her up high against his chest. He held her effortlessly off the stone floor. Her booted feet dangled in midair. She was forced to steady herself by clinging to his broad shoulders.

  “Kiss me,” he ordered in a deep, dark voice that sent a delicious chill down Harriet’s spine.

  Without stopping to think, she wrapped her arms around his neck and brushed her mouth shyly across his. Was this what it meant to be ravished? she wondered. Perhaps it was just this heady mix of emotion and desire that had encouraged poor Deirdre Rushton to surrender to Gideon all those years ago. If so, Harriet decided, she could now understand that young woman’s recklessness.

  “Ah, my sweet Miss Pomeroy,” Gideon muttered, “can it be that you truly do not find my features any more offensive than those of your precious fossil skulls?”

  “There is nothing in the least offensive about you, my lord, as I am certain you are well aware.” Harriet moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. She felt dazed with the emotions that were surging within her. She touched his ravaged face lightly and smiled tremulously. “You are magnificent. Rather like your horse.”

  Gideon looked startled for an instant. His eyes blazed. And then his expression hardened. He set her slowly on her feet. “Well, then, Miss Harriet Pomeroy?” There was an unmistakable challenge in the words.

  “Well, what, my lord?” Harriet managed breathlessly. It was true she had virtually no experience of this sort of thing, but all her womanly instincts were assuring her that Gideon had been as powerfully affected by that kiss as she had been. She did not understand why he had suddenly gone all cold and dangerous.

  “You have a decision to make. You may either take off your gown and lie down on the stone floor of this cave so that we can finish what we have started or you may run back toward the beach and safety. I suggest you make your choice quickly, as my own mood is somewhat unpredictable at the moment. I must tell you that I find you a very tempting little morsel.”

  Harriet felt as if he had thrown a bucket of icy seawater over her head. She stared at Gideon, her sensual euphoria vanishing in the face of the obvious threat. He was serious. He was actually warning her that if she did not get out of this cavern right now he might ravish her on the spot.

  It was her own fault, she realized in belated dismay. She had responded much too readily to his kiss. He was bound to think the worst of her.

  Harriet’s face flamed with humiliation and not a little primitive female fear. She scooped up her lamp and fled toward the safety of the passage that led to the beach.

  Gideon followed, but Harriet did not once look back. She was too afraid that she would see the taunting laughter of the beast in his golden eyes.

  Chapter Four

  CRANE WAS SWEATING. There was a small fire on the library hearth to ward off the chill of the rain-drenched day, but Gideon knew that was not what was causing his steward to mop his brow.

  Gideon casually turned a page in the ledger that lay open on the desk. There was little doubt but that he was being systematically cheated. Gideon knew he had no one to blame but himself. He had paid too little attention to the Hardcastle estates here in Upper Biddleton and he had, predictably enough, paid the price.

  Gideon glanced down another long column of figures. It appeared that Crane, whom he had hired a year ago to manage his local estates, had raised the rents on many of the cottages. Crane had not bothered to pass the increase along to his employer, however. The steward had most likely pocketed the difference.

  It was a common tale, of course, although not for Gideon. Many large landowners, entranced with the joys of life in London, left the management of their estates entirely to their stewards. As long as the money flowed freely, few examined the books closely. It was considered unfashionable to have an exact knowledge of just how much one was worth.

  Gideon, however, was not interested in Town life or in being fashionable. In fact, for the past few years he had been interested in little else except his family’s lands and he normally kept a very close watch on everything connected with them.

  Except in Upper Biddleton.

  Gideon had deliberately ignored the Hardcastle estates here in Upper Biddleton. It was difficult to take a great deal of personal interest in a place he hated. It was here that everything had gone wrong six years earlier.

  Five years ago when his father had reluctantly turned responsibility for the far-flung Hardcastle estates over to him, Gideon had seized the opportunity. He had deliberately buried himself in the task of running his family’s lands.

  Work had become the drug he used to dampen the gnawing pain his loss of honor had caused him. He moved regularly from one estate to another, working tirelessly to repair cottages, introduce new farming techniques, and investigate the possibility of increasing mining and fishing production.

  He hired only the best stewards and paid them well so that they would not be tempted to cheat. He went over the books personally. He listened to the suggestions and complaints of his tenants. He cultivated the company of engineers and inventors who could teach him new scientific methods for making the lands more productive.

  But not here in Upper Biddleton.

  As far as Gideon had been concerned, the Hardcastle lands in the vicinity of Upper Biddleton could rot.

  By rights he should have sold them off long ago. He would have done so had it not been for the fact that his father would have been upset. The Upper Biddleton lands had belonged to the Earls of Hardcastle for five generations. They were the oldest of the family holdings and had served as the family seat until the scandal.

  Gideon knew he could not sell them, so he had done the next best thing. He had ignored them.

  As much as he hated these lands, Gideon discovered now that he hated being cheated even more. He looked up with a cool smile and found Crane watching him anxiously. The man was well named, Gideon reflected Tall, loose-limbed, and thin, Crane looked rather like a large, long-legged bird.

  “Well, Crane, it appears everything is quite in order.” Gideon closed the ledger, aware of the steward’s air of instant relief. “Very neatly kept accounts. Excellent job.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Crane nervously ran a hand over his balding head. He appeared to relax somewhat in his chair. His bright birdlike eyes darted between the ledger and Gideon’s scarred jaw. “I do my best, my lord. I only wish you had given us some notice of your arrival so that we could all have been better prepared.”

  Gideon was well aware that the household had been thrown into chaos by his unexpected appearance. The housekeeper was frantically hiring staff from the village to help her get Blackthorne Hall in order.

  Out in the hall Gideon could hear people scurrying up and down the stairs. Provisions were being ordered. Dust covers were being yanked off furniture that had not been used in years. The smell of freshly applied polish seeped into the library.

  There was not much that could be done on short notice for the gardens. Bleak
and windswept, they reflected the neglect they had received under Crane’s stewardship. His mother had always loved her gardens at Blackthorne Hall, Gideon reflected.

  “My butler, Owl, who accompanies me everywhere, will be arriving this afternoon. He will take charge of the staff.” Gideon watched Crane’s eyes flit nervously to his scar. Few people could manage to politely ignore Gideon’s ravaged face until they had gotten accustomed to the sight. Many people never got used to it.

  Deirdre, for example, had found Gideon’s face repulsive. She was not the only one. How unfortunate, people often said, that the earl’s second son had not been as handsome and refined as the first.

  Everyone had felt extremely sorry for the Earl of Hardcastle when he had lost his firstborn son and found himself obliged to make due with a less than satisfactory heir. Gideon privately doubted that any man could have followed successfully in Randal’s footsteps.

  Randal had been the ideal son and heir, all any parent could wish for.

  Just ask anyone.

  Randal had been ten years older than Gideon, their parents’ only child for years. His mother had doted on him and the earl had been proud of the handsome, cultivated, athletic, honorable young man who would be the next Earl of Hardcastle.

  Randal had been groomed for the earldom from the cradle and he had met everyone’s expectations. He had thrived in his role. His friends were legion, his athletic prowess respected, his honor unquestioned.

  He had even been a fairly decent older brother, Gideon reflected. Not that he and Randal had been very close. The difference in their ages had resulted in a relationship between them that had resembled that of an uncle and a nephew.

  Gideon had struggled to imitate his brother for years until he had finally realized it was impossible to copy Randal’s natural style and flair. If Randal had lived, Gideon would no doubt have managed several of the Hardcastle estates for him. Randal had preferred life in Town to the work of overseeing his family lands.

  Gideon had grieved when his brother had died. Not that anyone had noticed. Everyone had been too busy consoling his parents, who were inconsolable. Especially his mother. Many had feared the Countess of Hardcastle would never recover from her melancholy. And the earl had made it clear that his remaining heir could never compare to the one he had lost.

  Crane cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but will you be staying in the vicinity for more than a few days? The housekeeper is concerned about laying in a proper amount of provisions and hiring sufficient staff, you see.”

  Gideon leaned back in his chair. He knew very well why Crane was asking about the length of his employer’s stay. The steward was undoubtedly wondering if he should postpone a few plans of his own. Gideon did not know yet if Crane was involved with the thieves, as Harriet suspected, but he was taking no chances. He decided to make it plain that there was no point putting off any midnight rendezvous in the cliff caves.

  “You may tell her to plan for an extended stay,” Gideon said. “It has been some time since I spent any time here in Upper Biddleton and I find the sea air extremely pleasant. I expect I shall spend the spring here.”

  Crane’s mouth fell open. He worked to close it. “The spring, my lord? The entire spring?”

  “And perhaps the summer. As I recall, the seaside was always at its best in the summer. Odd. I had not realized how much I missed my family’s lands here in Upper Biddleton.”

  “I see.” Crane ran his finger around his high collar. “We are, of course, extremely pleased that you have found time in your busy schedule to visit.”

  “Plenty of time,” Gideon assured him. He sat forward, picked up the ledger, and handed it to Crane. “You may go now. I have spent quite enough of the day on your excellently kept accounts. I find such petty details extremely tiresome.”

  Crane snatched up the ledger and smiled weakly as he got hastily to his feet. He passed his yellowed handkerchief over his damp forehead one last time. “Yes, my lord. I understand. Very few gentlemen are interested in that sort of thing.”

  “Precisely. That is why we hire men such as yourself. Good day, Mr. Crane.”

  “Good day, my lord.” Crane hurried to the door and let himself out of the library.

  Gideon waited, his gaze on the steady rain outside the window, until the door closed behind the steward. Then he rose and walked around the desk to the small table where the housekeeper had earlier placed a pot of tea.

  Gideon poured himself a cup of the strong brew and sipped it slowly. He was in a strange mood and he knew it was because he was back at Hardcastle after so many years of self-imposed exile.

  He had made none of the estates his permanent home. He did not feel comfortable at any of them. Instead he moved regularly from one to the other on the pretext of wanting to keep close watch on the lands. But the truth was, he simply needed to keep on the move. He needed to keep busy.

  He knew who was to blame for disrupting the relentless round of mind-numbing duties he had assumed five years earlier.

  Once again he recalled the scene in the cavern that morning. He pictured Harriet Pomeroy’s face when he had withdrawn a fortune in gems from the sack of hidden loot. There had not been so much as a flicker of genuine interest in her eyes, let alone the lust he would have expected. Most women would have been riveted by the sight of a diamond and gold necklace.

  Harriet’s excitement had been reserved for a chunk of stone that contained a fossil tooth.

  And for his kiss, Gideon reminded himself. A wave of heat seized him again, just as it had in the cavern. She had responded to his kiss with the same enthusiasm and sense of wonder that she had exhibited for that damn moldering tooth.

  Gideon smiled wryly. He could not decide if he should be flattered or crushed at discovering that he compared favorably with an old fossil.

  He started toward the window and paused when he caught sight of himself in the mirror that hung over the hearth. Normally he did not spend much time gazing at his own reflection. It was hardly an edifying sight.

  But this afternoon he found himself deeply curious and not a little baffled by just what Harriet saw when she looked at him. Whatever it was, it had not put her off kissing him. And he knew she had not manufactured that sweet, innocent ardor. It had been utterly genuine.

  No, for some unfathomable reason, she had not been repulsed by his face. It was his deliberate and ungentlemanly threat to strip her naked and take her there on the floor of the cave that had finally succeeded in making her wary.

  Gideon winced at the recollection of his own outrageous behavior. Sometimes he could not help himself. Something within him occasionally drove him to live up to the worst that was expected of him.

  Yet in his own way, he had been trying to warn her off, to protect her, although she probably did not comprehend that.

  Because he had wanted her. Very badly.

  He had probably been a fool to send her into full flight. He should have taken what she had to offer, and the hell with playing the gentleman. No one believed him to be one, so why, after all these years, was he still bothering to play the role in his own graceless fashion?

  Gideon could not answer that question to his satisfaction. He called himself a fool one more time and then he forced himself to turn to more important matters. He had a ring of thieves that needed to be apprehended. If he did not attend to the business soon, Harriet would probably try her hand at the job.

  At the very least, she would no doubt start nagging him to get on with the job.

  The following evening Harriet surveyed the crowd of local country gentry who had gathered for the weekly assembly ball. She and Aunt Effie had been faithfully attending the assemblies for several months now with Felicity in tow. Harriet found them unutterably boring, for the most part.

  It had been Aunt Effie’s idea to give Felicity as much of a social polish as possible in the event the long-hoped-for invitation to London came from Aunt Adelaide. The local assemblies were the only opportunity p
rovided locally to practice such fine arts as the proper use of the fan. Felicity had a talent for such skills.

  Harriet always found her own fan to be a nuisance. It was always in the way.

  Tonight’s affair was no different from previous such events. Harriet understood the reason Aunt Effie insisted on attending, but she privately was not convinced Felicity was going to pick up a great deal of social polish here in Upper Biddleton.

  There was no waltzing, for example. Everyone knew the waltz was now all the rage in London. But here in Upper Biddleton couples were still limited to dancing the cotillion and the quadrille and assorted country dances. The waltz was viewed as shocking by the local ladies of society.

  “Quite a good crowd tonight, don’t you think?” Aunt Effie fanned herself while she cast an assessing eye around the room. “And Felicity is looking quite the best of them all. She will no doubt dance every dance, as usual.”

  “No doubt,” Harriet agreed. She was seated next to her aunt watching the dancers and she was already sneaking glances at the small watch pinned to her rather staid gown. She tried not to be obvious about it, however. Getting Felicity launched was an all-important task and she was as determined as Aunt Effie to be ready should Felicity’s big chance arise.

  “I must remind her to exhibit a bit less enthusiasm on the dance floor,” Aunt Effie continued with a tiny frown. “One does not show quite so much emotion in Town. It is not done.”

  “You know how much Felicity enjoys dancing.”

  “All the same,” Aunt Effie said, “she must start practicing a more restrained expression.”

  Harriet sighed inwardly and hoped the refreshments would be served soon. So far she had not danced once, which was not unusual, and she was looking forward to a break in the monotony. The tea and sandwiches served at the local assemblies were not particularly inspiring, but they did provide a small diversion.

  “Gracious, here comes Mr. Venable,” Aunt Effie murmured. “Best prepare yourself, my dear.”