Andrea Kane (2 page)

“Yes!” Ariana sat up straighten “Yes, I can hear you!”

A moment later the hedges parted and a towering figure emerged. “And now?” a deep-timbered baritone boomed into the night.

Ariana swallowed. “I can hear you. I can also see you. I’m sitting about ten paces to the left of where you stand.”

The dark silhouette paused, then moved toward her with long, pantherlike strides. He stopped, so close to her that the powerful muscles of his thighs were practically touching her face. Involuntarily, she shifted, the movement causing a shaft of pain to shoot through her ankle. She grimaced, fear mingling with physical anguish as, abruptly, she became aware of how precarious her situation was. She was alone, injured, unable to protect herself, in a secluded, private maze with a massive and forbidding stranger. What in God’s name had she gotten herself into this time?

Hindered by the fog, Ariana was unable to see anything above the solid columns of her rescuer’s thighs. Nonetheless, she could feel the intimidating force of his scrutiny. Instinctively, she tucked her skirts around her, wishing he would identify himself or declare his intentions. She felt totally vulnerable, defenseless. And bewildered. Surely he had stared long enough. Why didn’t he say something?

“Thank you for answering my plea,” she managed in a deceptively calm voice.

The thigh muscles rippled, then flexed, and the next thing Ariana knew she was gazing into burning cobalt eyes and the hardest, most starkly handsome face she had ever seen.

“Are you hurt?”

Mutely, she nodded.

“What happened?”

Ariana licked her lips nervously. Squatting so close beside her, his expression and tone rock-hard, her rescuer seemed more formidable than ever.

“I saw the most breathtaking owl,” she began. “He had white feathers as pure as snowflakes and moved as gracefully as a Thoroughbred.” Warming to her subject, Ariana’s eyes sparkled with exhilaration. “Then he called out to me. Naturally, I had no choice but to follow. He led me into this maze. I became lost. I fell. My ankle …” Abruptly she stopped, realizing she’d been rambling. Staring up through the veiled layers of night, she studied the man’s unreadable features.

For a long moment he was silent, his eyes boring into her. “Don’t you know how unsafe it is for a beautiful woman to go for a midnight stroll, alone, on so expansive an estate as this?” he questioned at last. “Why, the mist could swallow up so ethereal a creature as you. … And never set you free.”

Ariana felt gooseflesh break out on her arms.

He said nothing more, but his brazen stare consumed her from head to toe, as if memorizing every inch of her. Then, without warning, he reached for the hem of her gown, tugging it upward.

Ariana froze, recoiling automatically, crying out at the resulting pain she caused herself.

His hand paused in its purpose, his pensive gaze returning to hers. “Don’t be frightened, misty angel,” he murmured. “I have no intention of harming you.” He glanced down at her injury. “But your ankle is badly sprained and needs to be tended to.”

Ariana nodded, feeling foolish. This was what she had wanted, was it not? To be found, given assistance?

He bent his dark head over her leg, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Tell me if I hurt you.”

Ariana nodded again, candidly surveying him as he examined the swelling. He was striking, yet frighteningly feral; tall and broad-shouldered, with black hair that framed a hard and arrogant face. His features were severely masculine, his nose straight, his jaw square, his lips chiseled and full. His brows and lashes were thick and dark, highlighting the blazing blue of his eyes. It was the harsh lines around his eyes, Ariana guessed, that made him appear dangerous, as if he were capable of extreme cruelty if threatened.

Ariana shivered.

“Are you in pain?” His tone was gruff, but his touch was gentle.

“No,” she whispered, stunned that she’d forgotten her injury entirely—despite the fact that he had been probing it for the past few minutes. “I’m not in pain.”

A slow, knowing smile curved his lips and Ariana was shocked by the transformation it made. When he smiled, he was magnificent.

“What’s the matter, misty angel?” he queried, reaching out to lift her chin. “Are you still afraid of me?” Ever so lightly, he trailed his thumb along the pulse in her neck.

Ariana shivered, shook her head. “No. I’m not afraid of you.”

“Then you are the first.”

She recoiled from the severity of his tone, a harshness that was totally refuted by the gentleness of his touch. Added to that was her own confusing, quivering awareness of his blatantly sensual caress, a caress that left tingles of pleasure in its path. But in the end, it was the tenderness, as unintentional as it was palpable, that struck a chord within her, gave her the courage to continue. “If others are afraid, it could only be because you haven’t gifted them with your smile,” she blurted out.

He looked startled.

“Are we far from the manor?” she asked anxiously, remembering, in the unsettling silence, how long she’d been missing and how angry Baxter would be.

The ruthlessness returned, hardening the man’s expression. “Yes. You’ve wandered quite a distance. It will take some time to get back.”

“I don’t think I can walk.”

“You won’t even attempt it.” It was a command, not a suggestion.

“Then how …”

She never finished her question. In one motion he slid his hands beneath her and stood, lifting Ariana effortlessly in his arms.

She gasped, clutching his shoulders for support, feeling the hard wall of his chest against her body. Once again she was face-to-face with those incredible, penetrating cobalt eyes … eyes that reached to the very depths of her being.

“Still not afraid?” he taunted softly, his breath warm on her skin.

Slowly, Ariana relaxed her hands, flattening her palms upon his shoulders. “I’m still not afraid,” she replied, stunned to realize it was true. For some inherent reason, she knew this man would not use his enormous strength against her.

He blinked, drinking in the flawless features so close to his: the pert, upturned nose and glowing alabaster skin, the soft sensual mouth, the huge, innocent eyes as turquoise as Osborne Bay at the height of summer. She trusted him. That was a mistake. But in this case it was irrelevant. For she was not the reason he had returned tonight, so no harm would befall her.

The harm he intended was for Baxter Caldwell.

Ariana felt the imperceptible tightening of his hold mere seconds before he turned on his heel and stalked off into the fog, clasping her to his chest.

“I don’t know you,” she burst out after a few moments had passed, desperate to relieve the hard knot of tension that coiled tighter inside her with each step. Nothing had prepared her for a predicament such as this … she, who had never even been alone in a man’s company, much less in his arms.

A hint of a smile was Ariana’s only indication that her rescuer was aware of her discomfort … and its cause. “No, you don’t know me,” he agreed.

“Do you live in Sussex?”

“Not anymore.” His reply was terse, his jaw tightening so fractionally she would never have noticed were she not inches away.

“But you once did?”

“Yes. A long time ago.” He wound his way around a line of hedges, his piercing gaze flicking briefly over her uptilted face. “I suspect you were little more than a child when I left.”

She inclined her head. “Are you so old then?”

Dark memories flashed through his eyes. “Ancient.”

“Funny,” Ariana murmured, half to herself. “I would have thought you to be no more than thirty.”

“Two years more,” he corrected. “And a lifetime.”

It suddenly occurred to her that he was only a year older than Baxter. Could he be an old friend, one she’d never met? “You are here for the betrothal? To take part in the celebration?”

A harsh laugh. “Yes, indeed.” He emerged from the maze, heading toward the manor with long, purposeful strides.

Ariana blinked as the front door was thrown open, the bright lights of the hallway assaulting her eyes after long hours in the murky darkness.

“My lady … are you all right?” The old, haggard Covington butler looked anxiously from Ariana to the formidable man who held her.

“I’m fine,” Ariana assured the servant, waiting for her rescuer to place her on the nearest chair. “Thanks to …” Flushing crimson, she realized she had never asked the man his name. Preparing to rectify her oversight, she turned her face back to his, abruptly recognizing by his steely expression that he had no intention of putting her down. Rather, he was continuing to move, carrying her decisively into the crowded ballroom. “What are you doing?” she demanded, struggling to free herself from his grasp.

“I am returning you to the party, my lady,” he answered, his eyes gleaming with an emotion so dark that Ariana shuddered. “Since I, too, am ready to make an appearance.”

“You cannot just carry me in as blithely as if—”

A sharp cry pierced the air and Ariana found herself accosted by a ballroom of pale, gaping faces.

“Good Lord …” James Covington gasped, echoing his wife’s shriek of a moment before.

A shocked murmur began, grew, vibrated through the crowd.

Ariana closed her eyes, wishing the floor would swallow her up.

Her rescuer seemed more amused than bothered. “Where is your family, misty angel?” he murmured, still holding her fast. “I’ll deliver you into their hands.”

Ariana ignored him, opening her eyes and addressing Mr. and Mrs. Covington with as much dignity as she could muster. “Forgive me,” she began shakily. “I had no intention of making a scene. But I injured my ankle and this kind gentleman …”

A roar of anger exploded through the room as Baxter Caldwell stormed from the rear, blood lust in his eyes.

“Kingsley, you miserable son of a bitch! Put my sister down!”

K
INGSLEY?

Ariana’s head snapped around, all the color draining from her face as she met her rescuer’s chilling stare. Kingsley?
Trenton
Kingsley? It could not be: Trenton Kingsley had disappeared six years before, just after …

Ariana’s lips trembled. No. He didn’t dare return—not after the vile and monstrous act that had shattered her family, forever changed their lives. A cold-blooded animal, a murderer. And she had allowed him to touch her. To hold her so intimately.

Horrified, Ariana began to struggle for freedom, shoving at Trenton’s granite chest and straining against his punishing grip.

Trenton’s whole body went rigid, shock waves vibrating down to his very soul. Reflexively, his grasp tightened, his fingers biting more deeply into the woman’s soft skin, crushing the fine satin of her gown. His pupils dilated, his piercing blue gaze sweeping her features, confirming the truth of Baxter’s words.

How could he not have seen it? Only a fool would have missed the resemblance! It was evident in the fine arch of her brows, in the delicate, high cheekbones, in the unusual, startlingly vivid coloring. Yes, she was every inch a Caldwell. Just like Vanessa.

Fury suddenly replaced shock, etched into every line of his face. “Sister?” he hissed.

His lethal whisper sent cold waves of apprehension down Ariana’s spine.

“Yes, you bloody scoundrel,
sister!”
Baxter snatched Ariana from Trenton’s arms as if she were a mere parcel, letting her legs drop unceremoniously to the floor.

Ariana whimpered in pain, her ankle giving out beneath her.

“Ariana? My God, what did you
do
to her?” Baxter caught Ariana’s elbows mere seconds before she crumbled to the floor. “Wasn’t
one
sister enough for you?”

Black fire smoldered in Trenton’s eyes. “I did nothing to her, Caldwell. She fell … I carried her back. Had I known she was a Caldwell I would have reconsidered.”

Taking in Ariana’s anguished expression and disheveled appearance, Baxter’s mind worked rapidly, acutely aware that a small crowd had gathered around them. “I have no idea why you’ve chosen tonight to reappear, but you’re trespassing, Kingsley,” he proclaimed loudly, twinges of long-forgotten fear awakening inside him. After six years in exile, why the hell had the contemptible bastard chosen now to return?

Ignoring the frantic pounding in his temples, Baxter wrapped one arm tightly about Ariana’s waist, holding her to him with brotherly protectiveness. With his free hand he gestured grandly, summoning a burly footman who stood nearby.

“Yes, my lord?”

“Show the marquis … oh, pardon me,
the duke,”
Baxter corrected bitterly, “out.” He turned to Trenton with hatred in his eyes. “You’ll forgive me,
Your Grace.
The last time we saw each other you had not yet acquired the exalted title of the Duke of Broddington.”

Trenton shook off the servant’s hand. “I am not going anywhere.” His jaw clenched with purpose, he turned to James Covington. “Let me suggest that you allow me to have my say, James. Your bank holds too much of my money to risk arousing my wrath.”

After a slight hesitation, Covington nodded, and the footman moved off. “This is my daughter’s betrothal party, Broddington,” Covington said tersely. “So speak your mind and then, please leave.”

“That is precisely what I intended,” the duke replied, ignoring the appalled whispers around him. “I assure you that I loathe being here more than you loathe having me. But you see”—his eyes narrowed—“I cannot allow this mockery of a celebration to continue.”

Icy fingers gripped Baxter’s heart.

“Call off the betrothal, Covington.” Trenton’s voice was an unyielding command, emotionless in its tone, lethal in its determination.

“What?” Covington started.

“You heard me.” Trenton’s quiet order was heard only by those for whom it was meant: the Covingtons … and Caldwell. Both Caldwells, Trenton amended silently, not permitting himself even a brief glance at the pale, tousled beauty who leaned against her brother for support, staring at Trenton with a frightened intensity he could actually feel but refused to acknowledge. Nothing and no one was going to alter his plan.