Enchanted by Your Kisses (26 page)

The lantern spilled a circle of light around them. Piles of old clothes were clumped on the floor. She breathed a sigh of relief when she spied what she sought: a massive oak closet that Ariel surmised must have been quite troublesome to bring up the stairs. Placing the lantern down—the circle of light instantly shrinking—she headed toward the wall behind it. Two-by-four planks were grooved together to form the wall. Ariel placed her hand upon the boards. They were loose, although not so loose as to come apart—unless you knew how to move them correctly, which she did. Lifting the uppermost plank toward the ceiling, she then tilted out the one below it. Instantly, the plank came loose. She set it down, then removed another board, which revealed the top of a metal object. . .a safe, Nathan realized.

"I'll be damned."

"Most likely you will, but we're not here to discuss your spiritual problems."

If she'd looked back, she would have seen the scowl Nathan gave her, a scowl that slowly faded as she pulled apart the wall to reveal more and more of the safe. Never would he have found the thing on his own. Excitement made his palms sweat. Pray God the information he needed was inside.

"Do you know how to work the tumblers?"

"Of course," she answered, demonstrating. With a click and a snap the metal door opened. Documents were inside. Only documents. No precious gems. No jewelry. Just documents. Hope made his breath still. She pulled them out.

"Give them to me."

"No."

He felt his brows shoot up. "What did you say?"

"I said no. I want to go through them first. After all, there is no need for you to see things that do not involve your brother."

He felt a moment's disbelief that she would defy him, then narrowed his eyes. "Give me the documents, Ariel."

"No."

"Ariel," he warned her with his voice, taking a menacing step toward her.

She shot him a look that managed to convey her loathing and pique all at the same time. "Oh, very well. Here." She shoved the documents in his face.

He grabbed them from her. "Thank you," he muttered sarcastically.

She ignored him, settling herself down on a trunk. Nathan ignored her, his excitement building as he looked at the first document. A list of names for promotion submitted by one of the admiral's officers.

But a flip through the rest of the documents revealed nothing more than a financial accounting of the earl's holdings, some letters and a bag of gold.

He wanted to throw the objects to the floor.

"I can see by your face that you didn't find anything."

"No," he snapped.

She looked as disappointed as he felt. "Perhaps we should search his study."

They did, Nathan surprised Ariel actually helped him. He didn't know why she'd decided to assist him so completely, but he was grateful for her aid. Still, the search revealed nothing.

"Bloody hell," he snapped, turning away from her father's dresser.

"Nothing?" she asked in a small voice.

"Nothing," he repeated.

"Did you search our house in the city?"

"Thoroughly, except that one room." The room with nothing in it but wine. Bloody, bloody hell.

Wess
,
Wess
, have I failed you?

Nathan didn't know, he only knew time was running out. With each passing day his brother's chances of survival decreased. He could be dead already, he told himself. The possibility was high.

He turned to the window. Night had begun to fall, the sun casting vibrant colors over the landscape. He wondered if
Wess
watched the same sunset. Or was he being held prisoner aboard a ship somewhere, left to rot until someone remembered his existence?

Damnation.

"Nathan, oh, my goodness, are you alright?"

Only then did he realize what he'd done. He'd smashed his fist into the wall. He looked at the knuckles of his right hand. Blood dripped from all five.

"Oh, my goodness," she repeated, "you're bleeding." She reached his side. Her hands lifted to his own. "Here," she instructed, leading him by the elbow, then shoving him down upon her father's bed. The fight had left him, so he let her do what she wanted. He didn't care that she was the enemy, that he would now be forced to take her hostage again. Nothing mattered but how the hell he was going to find out what had happened to
Wess
.

"Give me your hand."

Somewhere she'd found a cloth. She dabbed at his cuts with it. He winced but welcomed the pain. He deserved it. His payment for failure.

"Are you so very worried about him, then?"

She was on her knees before him, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders. There was no need to ask of whom she spoke. No need at all at this point.

"Every day I do not find him is a day that he could be put to death. . .if he isn't already dead."

If she looked worried about her fate, she didn't show it. "How can you be sure?" she asked.

"Because I've spoken to some of the men who've been released. As long as there was war, they would keep them alive. Now that the war is over, they will not care if he lives or dies. His usefulness is over. They don't have to feed him anymore. They will kill him."

She didn't say anything, merely stared up at him with sympathy shining from her eyes. He told himself he didn't want her sympathy, told himself he should push her away.

"Is it truly so bad?"

"Yes, Ariel," he sighed, wanting only to close his eyes. "British captains are brutal. The things I saw them do while fighting with the militia. . ."

She looked away, her voice husky when she said, "I know. I've heard the tales."

"Have you?"

She nodded. "Though I may not go out into society, my father receives visitors. I've heard how they treat the men they've pressed into service. I am ashamed of my countrymen for that."

He stared down at her in mute surprise. That she felt sincere there could be no doubt. That she was upset by her oversight there could also be no doubt. He stared, realizing he might have been wrong about her.

"I
am
sorry, Nathan, I truly am. You might be a fiend and a blackguard, but you don't deserve this. Nobody deserves this."

She looked up at him. And for the first time he allowed himself to wonder if she could be different from other women. Here he had used her terribly, kidnapped her, and yet she still knelt before him, sorrow making her eyes glint with tears. Tears.

For him.

"Come here." The words seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. His mind, his body, his heart. Much to his surprise she obeyed, sitting beside him on the bed. He knew he should say something, knew he should do more than simply stare. Instead he used a finger to gently tilt up her chin, knowing what he was about to do was madness, pure and utter madness, but unable to resist doing so all the same. Perhaps it was the sudden loneliness he felt. Perhaps it was the understanding he saw in her eyes. He wanted to kiss her. The need was simple and irresistible.

He bent his head, saw recognition in her eyes of what he was about to do. Saw acceptance, perhaps even a touch of anticipation. And then his lips brushed hers. Kissing her was a cross between heaven and hell. Thoughts of why he shouldn't allow this to happen filtered into his mind, but he ignored them all, wanting only to give in to the sensations touching her evoked.

Yet even so the sane part of him bade him to be cautious. He drew away from her. "Ariel, Ariel," he murmured, "you're the most confusing woman I've ever met, but for some reason, I want you."

"Do you?" she murmured back, her sweet, hot breath wafting across his lips. He could smell her, the scent so distinct, so alluring, he was hard pressed not to close his eyes and simply breathe her in.

Instead he kissed her again. Madness, he told himself again. Madness to want her. Madness to crave the taste of her, madness to move his lips toward the line of her jaw.

"So smooth," he murmured, kissing the tender side of her neck. "So soft." And when he allowed his hands to tangle in her hair, he moved his lips even lower. "So tempting."

"Nathan?" she murmured, questioning, perhaps even pleading. "We shouldn't."

"We should," he answered, kissing her again just above the neckline, wishing he could remove the dress. Instead he trailed his lips across the fabric as if it were her flesh, nibbling, then lightly biting.

"Oh, Nathan. That feels. . .that feels."

"Good?" he supplied.

Wrong,
Ariel thought. It felt wrong. And right. And so tempting she didn't know what to think. So she decided not to think at all, just closed her eyes, knowing she should push him away for her past's sake if for nothing else, yet wanting him to continue kissing her until he could kiss her no more. His lips moved lower, moved then sucked. She gasped, clutching his head to her breasts, telling him without words that she didn't want him to stop making her feel so—so wonderful.

No,
she thought.
Beautiful.
He made her feel beautiful. Wanted. Desired. For the first time in years she didn't feel the pain of being an outcast, she didn't feel disliked. She felt needed.

And she needed him back.

She let out a moan, opening her eyes, staring at him, at his raven-black hair, at the scar on his face, at his lips as they kissed her. He must have felt her gaze, for he peeked up at her, his mouth still working the burgundy fabric turned almost black from the moisture of his mouth. Their eyes met. A need rose within Ariel to touch his face as he always did hers, to run her fingers down that scar or perhaps through his hair. She lifted a hand, watching his eyes narrow as she touched his cheek. The scar felt rough. And soft. She whimpered, a soft whimper, one born of sympathy at how much the wound must have hurt at one time. Tears rose in her eyes, too. Not tears of pity. Tears of pleasure when he lightly bit her again. Tears of wonder that he could do this to her with merely a touch. Tears of regret that he was Nathan
Trevain
and a spy, a man who might well be playing on her sympathy now to gain her support.

"Don't," she found the willpower to say. "Please don't."

He drew back, blinked, his gaze as cloudy as her own. And perhaps it was the sight of her staring up at him so plaintively. Perhaps it was the pleading tone of her voice. But he did stop. And then slowly he straightened, pulling away from her.

"I'm sorry," she said, even though she didn't know what it was she was sorry for.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, then turned away from her, lifting himself off the bed to stare out the window of her father's room. "No, I am sorry. I shouldn't have kissed you."

She straightened her dress, thankful that he'd been willing to stop. And yet chasing the tail of that thought came the realization that had he truly meant to use her he would not have stopped. He would have seduced her, bound her to him in a way only a man could do. Goodness knows he could have done it.

"Nathan, I—"

"No," he interrupted, holding up a hand. He had a wide scar on his palm, she noted. "Do not say a word." He dropped into silence, Ariel realizing he gathered his thoughts before he spoke. "I should never have kidnapped you," he said at last, rubbing his chin. "I should not have involved you in all this. It was wrong of me. I hope you understand why I did it."

"I do," she said. And she did. She would have done the same if she had been in his shoes. She might even have stooped to the same tactics of subterfuge.