|
An Excerpt From: DANGEROUS TO LOVE
Copyright ©
VICTORIA DARK, 2006.
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing,
Inc.
Grandquest turned suddenly, as if sensing her behind him. Ari found herself staring into a pair of cold, gray eyes,
deep-set beneath dark brows that curved like an eagle’s wings.
“You
need something, madam?” He frowned, taking in her ragged
cloak.
Using both thumbs to cock it, Ari
brought up her gun.
Overhead, seabirds whirled and cried, or fussed as they
perched on the yards. The wind in the rigging piped a sailor’s chantey. It caught her
hood and whipped it back and her hair floated out. Her cloak flapped
apart, for she could not hold it, She needed both hands to help level the
heavy gun. Beneath the cloak, she wore only a nightgown, for she’d been abed when the
militia had come pounding on the door. Ari shivered as the cold sliced through her as if she
wore nothing at all.
And so did Grandquest’s gaze.
Robert Travellion Fox Grandquest, seventh Earl Grandquest,
studied the young woman before him, her hair an auburn flame whipped by the
wind. God’s truth
but she was a beauty, tall and exquisitely formed. The rag she wore
hid little. Was it a night rail? Torn at the neckline, a dark triangle at
the juncture of her thighs and the dark shadows of her nipples were visible
through the thin lawn fabric. The wind molded the garment to her, outlining
legs as long as a man’s
dreams.
Fox frowned as he studied the rusty red stain over her
thigh and realized it was dried blood. A small, round hole centered the
stain.
This grew stranger and stranger.
Bright spots of color burned on the girl’s pale cheeks,
hinting at fever. But her eyes—thick-lashed
eyes, the same cerulean blue of the sky—were clear and filled with purpose as she met
his gaze steadily.
She meant to kill him.
And from the way she held the pistol, she knew what she
was about.
But why?
Ari was aware that all work on
board the ship had ceased as sailors and stevedores gathered around them.
The big, red-haired man with whom Grandquest had
been speaking edged away from the earl and to the side.
Grandquest gave an
infinitesimal shake of his head, directed at someone behind her, and she
realized she’d left
herself vulnerable from behind—where
were her wits?
Keeping the long barrel pointing at the earl’s heart, she
carefully moved until she felt the taffrail at
her back. Long moments passed as she searched the earl’s eyes, looking for
guilt or remorse.
“I
take it, madam, that you mean to shoot me,” he commented
casually.
He might have been discussing the weather—had the man no
fear?
“Sir,
you do not mistake my intention.”
Ari hadn’t expected this, oh, no.
She had steeled herself against his begging and pleading with her to
spare his life. Instead, the earl seemed completely at his ease. Darkly
handsome. Superbly masculine. He was looking at her not as a man looks at
his executioner, but as a man looks at…at a woman. Merde, no wonder Dolpho
had labeled this Grandquest the most dangerous
man in England—the man had no fear.
Grandquest propped one booted
foot on a keg and rested his forearm on his knee. Except for the seabirds
overhead and her cloak, which flapped in the wind, all action on board the
ship was frozen. More long seconds passed.
“Then
madam,” he drawled, “get on with it, but, pray, do not
bore me to death.”
Fox watched her incredible eyes widen, and the fever roses staining
her cheeks flush cherry red. Damn, she could barely stand, but the gun
never wavered.
“Your
pardon, my lord. I was but allowing you time to make your peace with
God. I thought, in your case, it might take a while.”
Low laughter rippled through the men gathered around
them.
Grandquest’s chiseled mouth softened in the briefest of smiles
and a quicksilver flash lit his thick-lashed, gray eyes. And Ari was again surprised. What manner of devil was this?
A man who could smile at his executioner?
“That
is most considerate of you. And, no doubt, my ragged soul should be
blown to hell.” His
tone softened, “But if you do the deed, you’ll hang. Now, wouldn’t
it be a pity if rope burns should mar such a lovely neck as yours,
and over such a worthless hide as mine?”
Ari straighten, squaring her
shoulders. “I will
not hang.”
Something cold snaked through his stomach as Fox read
the glance she flicked over the side at the deep, gray waters of the
harbor.
“Nor
have I illusions of escaping, but that is not important, Lord Grandquest. I ask only the pleasure of finding you in
hell when I get there.”
He shook his head slowly. “Such venom in one so young. What have I done
to make you hate me so?”
“What
have you done?” Her wonderful eyes were blue fire as she glared at him. “It is no wonder that you can not make peace
for your soul if your sins are so quickly forgotten!”
Fox flinched under her tone. Somehow, she’d expected him to
know why she was here and why she was holding the gun.
Was it because of Peterson? This girl spoke with a
French accent and Peterson’s
wife was an émigré.
His demons raised their heads and smiled at him. Yes, if
this was Peterson’s
wife, he deserved her hate.
“No,
not forgotten.” Fox shook his head to banish the ghost of a
young man laying dead in a London alley. “Never forgotten. But there are so many stains
on my soul, you see, I would know by which I hurt you?”
“Then
you will never know what—”
“At
least,” he interjected, “tell me by what name I should
greet you when you join me in those…warmer regions?” Fox sensed her
gathering her resolve and wanted to keep her talking. He knew it was a
great deal harder to pull a trigger after having a conversation with one’s enemy.
“What
name?” Ari blinked, realizing the
opportunity he offered. She could tell him a false identity, if she could
but think of one. Then her family’s
name would be protected.
But what name?
She had posed as Dolpho’s mistress in London. ‘Tess LeBlanc’ had gone to America
when Dolpho had grown tired of the
actress, or so they had put about.
She had been Mademoiselle le Comtesse
in St. Cyr. To Grandpere, she’d been Arielle.
She had been Ari to Dolpho...Oh, Dolpho, I’m so sorry I left
you cold and alone. I should have stayed. I should have. But I promised you
that I would find this man!
The tall man at the end of her gun watched her closely.
She couldn’t tell
him the truth. The Benoits were thought mad
as it was. She wouldn’t
add murderers and more scandal. Better to leave her identity
a mystery.
Lowering her chin, she promised him darkly, “I shall tell you
my name when I get there.”
Fox focused on the very dangerous young woman before
him, waiting for her attention to slip. But the heavy pistol
had never wavered—were those slender wrists made of
iron?
Then he sensed it. Beneath the thick, sable lashes, the
pupils of her blue eyes widened. Looking into them was much like looking
into the bore of the gun aimed unerringly at his heart.
The knuckle of her forefinger grew white.
CLOSE
WINDOW
|