Ben shook his head. ‘They’re old, but no accident.’
She paced away. ‘If he’s to spend another night here, you will need to find a better way to make him secure.’
He glared at the woman. How long did they expect to keep him here? ‘Le Clere won’t pay you. He is not such a fool.’ He hoped.
‘I’ll find something.’ Ben’s voice sounded kindly, less harsh. ‘Up you get, lad. Sit over by the fence.’
Garrick rose to his feet. Silent and grim, Ben tied him to the fence with enough rope to shift his position. Tied up like a wild animal. Like one of his nightmares. He clenched and unclenched his hands, forcing himself to hold back the anger rising in his gullet. He took a deep breath. Then another. Control. Sooner or later they’d make a mistake.
Ben left them on foot, meaning he was headed for somewhere nearby. Were they in league with one of the local farmers? One of his tenants? An interesting and disturbing thought.
Forced into idleness, he watched the wench groom all three horses. The skin-tight breeches hugged the flair of her hips, and her slender thighs above riding boots were the stuff of pleasurable dreams. The full shirt and open waistcoat didn’t hide her narrow waist, but gave no impression of the size of her breasts. Those he’d felt, small and firm, when he’d kissed her.
He shifted, furious and uncomfortable at his body’s arousal. No doubt she knew how incredibly sensual she looked in her boy’s garb. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing he’d noticed. Instead, he closed his eyes to picture her face behind the mask, light eyes, certainly. But what colour hair lay beneath her ridiculous old-fashioned wig? Her eyebrows were fair. But her hair could be anything from red to gold. The sun warmed his skin. A bee bumbled by in a soft drone on air scented with grass and sweet clover.
Having finished with the horses, Eleanor decided to feed her prisoner before Martin returned and they left for the night. A platter of bread, cheese and pickles seemed a somewhat meagre offering for a man who must be used to the finest dining. On the way, she gathered up his now-dry clothes. The Marquess needed to get dressed. The sight of him sprawled on the grass like some Adonis really was too much, especially since he had fallen asleep, leaving her free to peek all she wanted. The way he had watched her from beneath half-lowered lids, while she groomed the horses, had made her feel hot and awkward. She’d been glad when he’d drifted off to sleep.
He looked so peaceful propped against the fence, his head lolling against a naked broad shoulder. Like an angel. A fallen one, with that sensual cast of his lips and the body of a heathen god. And there was just so much of him. Even stretched out on the grass, his male virility was overpowering.
Her breath became shallow as she stood just looking at the rogue. What would they have thought of each other if they had met under different circumstances? In London, perhaps? Would they have met? A proper young lady wouldn’t be introduced to a rake with his reputation.
Whereas a real lady highwayman might well take advantage of a handsome prisoner tied up at her mercy. A little thrill shot through her insides at the image. Dash it. How could she be so wicked? She really wished she’d never started along this path.
She set the plate beside him and the pile of clothes. He must have sensed her presence because he opened one eye, then the other and stretched. ‘You’ll forgive me for not getting up.’
Polite to a fault, even if there was an edge of sarcasm in his voice. ‘I’ll forgive ye. Eat. It’s all you’ll get today.’ She flopped down against the fence. ‘So you thought to trap us with yer talk of gold at the inn?’ she asked as he munched on the bread.
He swallowed and she watched the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple in the strong column of his throat with utter fascination. ‘I wanted my signet ring back,’ he said.
‘Not the watch?’
A glimmer of a smile curved his lips. ‘A gift from a lady with rather flamboyant tastes. You are welcome to it.’ His face sobered. ‘The ring was my father’s.’
The hollow note in his voice made her cringe—she knew how awful she’d feel if she lost her mother’s locket. But he only had himself to blame. If he’d not proved so intractable about the repayment of the mortgage, none of this would have happened.
Something moved at the edge of her vision. By her knee. A spider. Big and black and hairy. Walking up her leg.
She froze. A shudder ran down her spine. Held her rigid.
‘Looks like you’ve made a new friend,’ he said, grinning.
‘Get it off,’ she gasped.
He laughed. ‘It’s only a spider.’
‘Get it off me,’ she said through stiff lips, afraid to breath in case it moved. ‘Please.’ Her voice shrilled.
With a muttered curse, he leaned forward and brushed the horrid thing away with his bound hands. It scuttled into the grass. ‘There. It’s gone.’
Her skin prickled as if it was crawling all over her. Trembles shook her body. Her teeth chattered. ‘I hate them.’
‘It’s gone.’ He tipped her chin with the back of his hand, smiling. ‘I promise you.’ He lifted his arms, dropped them over her head, around her shoulders and drew her on to his lap. ‘You are all right.’ He pressed his lips to her jaw below her mask, let her nuzzle into his shoulder where she drew on his calm, comforted by the steady sound of his heartbeat.
Slowly her trembles dissipated. She felt safe, protected, for the first time in many months. And being held in his arms seemed like the most natural thing in the world. The chills of revulsion lessened. Heat rushed to her face. ‘I’m such an idiot,’ she muttered against silken skin smelling of soap and smoke from the fire, and another scent. Him.
‘We all have our fears,’ he said gently, as if he really understood. He tipped her chin with the back of his bound hands, the sight of the rope making her cringe. And when she met his gaze, his warm brown eyes showed concern. ‘All right now?’ he asked, then frowned. ‘Tears?’ He smoothed her cheek below the mask with his thumb, then bent his head and pressed his lips to the place he had rubbed as if to kiss away her fear. Like an adult with a child. Sweet. Kind.
An ache squeezed her chest. Guilt. And something else she didn’t dare name.
She dropped a kiss of gratitude on his cheek, missed and landed on the corner of his mouth. He angled his head and captured her lips full on, licking and tasting, while his forearm supported her nape. Tingles raced across her breasts. Her insides clenched.
Oh, heavens. At any moment, Martin would return. Yet she didn’t want to stop. Couldn’t stop. Not yet. Soon. She opened her mouth to his questing tongue. And she was lost. Lost in pleasure. Dizzy with the rapid beat of her heart. The lack of air. Sensations rippled though her body, pleasurable little thrills, warmth, and languid melting.
Her hands clung to his sun-warmed shoulders. Satin skin, firm muscles rippled beneath her fingers. Pure strength. Lovely wicked flutters deep between her thighs held her enthralled.
She lay her hand flat against the haze of beard on his jaw. He broke the kiss, turned his head, the roughened skin grazing her palm, and licked the base of her thumb, hot and wet, followed instantly by cool. A shiver of delight danced across her breasts.
She moaned at the sensual onslaught.
This is wrong, a little voice whispered. You will never be the same again. Get up now.
He shifted his weight and eased her on to the ground, cushioning her shoulders with his forearm. She opened her thighs at the nudge of his knee and a sweet burst of pleasure fired in her core.
‘Untie me, chérie. Vite. Quickly. Free my hands.’
Eleanor stared at him blankly.
‘Cut