Velvet Embrace (68 page)

He chuckled at her silence, and his soft laughter sent a shudder up Brie's spine. "The next few hours should be rather pleasant," he said mildly, "for me, if not for you. And if you are particularly obedient, I may reconsider handing you over to Martin. You do remember Martin, do you not? He and his brother Freddie paid your stables a visit once. He wasn't at all pleased by his brother's death and is quite anxious to make your acquaintance. When he reported to me in London, all he could talk about was the revenge he would exact on you and your lover. I have first claim, however."

Germain
paused, as if he were measuring the impact of his words had on her, and Brie dug her nails into her palms, trying to keep her fear under control. When he spoke again, she could hear the gloating triumph in his voice.

"I can just imagine Dominic's rage when he discovers he has shared you with his most hated enemy. But then I could be speaking prematurely. After you get a taste of my lovemaking, you may not wish to return to him. Nor would he want you, I suspect. He was rather angry when I stole his last mistress from him, beneath his very nose."
Germain
clucked his tongue.
"Poor Cassandra.
Dominic killed her, you know—for her faithlessness. But don't be concerned. He won't be able to harm you when he is dead."

Brie had difficulty following what
Germain
was saying, but she understood one thing quite clearly: she was to be used to bait a trap for Dominic. She was thankful when despite her mounting fear she managed to scoff quite credibly. "If you think Lord Stanton will come after me, I'm afraid you art overestimating my appeal. You weren't present when I tool my leave of him, so you couldn't be aware of his dislike
fo
; me.

That made
Germain
hesitate, but then he chuckled once more. "He will come. Dominic may not care a whit for you personally, but he has always been protective of his possessions. He will want you back, if only because I have taken you. Until then, my little dove, you will help me to while away the hours."

Brie had no response for
Germain's
observation. She doubted that Dominic cared enough about her to rescue her, but if he did attempt it, he would be walking straight into this madman's trap. She couldn't view either alternative with equanimity, but she knew she would find it unbearable if she were used to lure Dominic to his death. She could only hope for a chance to escape before this fair-haired demon could carry out his plans.

Watching him, she tried to steady her thoughts. Her eyes had become accustomed to the darkness by now, and she could see his gloved hand grip the seat, bracing against the sway of the coach as it rounded a street corner. When she felt their speed slacken, Brie decided to take the slim chance the
slowei
pace offered. Making a desperate lunge, she flung herself at the carriage door.

It swung open when she twisted the handle, and she felt herself falling toward the rough cobblestones. But then
Germain
caught a handful of her skirts, preventing her escape. He swore violently as he jerked her back into the coach and threw her against her seat.

The impact knocked the breath from her body. Stunned and gasping, Brie was unable to duck when he drew back an arm and struck her across the face.

The vicious blow made her head snap back, sending it cracking against the wood panel behind her, and
Germain's
curses were the last thing she heard before fiery sparks exploded inside her skull.

She regained consciousness slowly, swimming in a painful black void. When the murkiness gave way to shimmering brightness, Brie moaned in protest. Cringing, she turned away and buried her face gratefully in the rough-textured cloth beneath her cheek. She slept.

When she next woke, there was a relentless pounding in her head and her stomach was churning. She opened her eyes, trying to focus, but the room swayed alarmingly and another wave of nausea swept over her, almost sending her back into oblivion. She closed her eyes, feeling herself break out in a cold sweat.

When she was able to open them without sending the room into a spin, she discovered that she was lying on a small cot. Her cloak was gone, but she was covered to the waist with a thin coverlet, and her hands were bound so tightly that all feeling in her fingers had disappeared. Seeing the rope, Brie remembered
Germain
and his threats. He must have brought her here after she had tried to escape, she thought with dismay. She looked around her, trying to force down her rising panic.

The room appeared to be an attic of sorts. Besides the cot, a rough-hewn slab of wood that improvised as a table was the only recognizable piece of furniture. A candle had been left burning there, and since no sunlight was streaming through the
uncurtained
window, Brie decided it must be evening.

Carefully, she shifted her weight upon the lumpy mattress, testing her body's reactions to movement. Aside from
a stiffness
in her muscles, the pain in her head and the numbness in her hands seemed to be the only apparent damage. Forcing her body into an upright position, however, required an unusual degree of effort, and Brie had to support herself with her bound hands while she waited for an end to the nausea that washed over her in merciless waves.

It left her weak and trembling, but after a time, she pushed herself to her feet and stumbled to the window, pressing her forehead against the pane to look down. Far below, shrouded in shadows, was a yard surrounded by a high wall of iron.

Her breath caught on a sob when she realized the hopelessness of her situation. How could she possibly devise an escape? She had no idea where she was, or how long she had remained unconscious, or even what her abductor meant to do with her. She was hungry and close to exhaustion and she had already begun to shake from the chill damp of her prison cell. And even if she were able to free herself from her bonds, breaking the window—which proved to be locked—would most likely rouse her captor and bring him running. Or, barring that, if she managed to reach the ground below without sustaining a severe injury, she would still have to scale the fence with its treacherous, protruding spikes.

Sinking to her knees, Brie buried her face in her arms and succumbed to fear and despair. Deep, racking sobs shook her slender frame as she began to cry.

Finally, though, her pride reasserted itself, making her aware that she had awarded her captor the victory before the fight had even begun. Anger began to burn within her then, giving her strength, and she dashed away her tears, realizing that defiance would stand her in far better stead than capitulation. And there was always the chance that Dominic might actually try and rescue her. That small ray of hope bolstered her courage immeasurably, and for the first time since wakening, she looked around in search of a weapon.

There was not much that could serve her purpose. A pile of dirty rags lay heaped next to faded newspapers, brittle with age. A coin shone dully in one corner, while in another, a child's rag doll lay abandoned and forgotten. A stash of broken sticks that had once been a rocking chair seemed to offer the best alternative.

Dismissing these for a moment, Brie turned her attention to her only light. The wooden candlestick was too small to be used as a weapon, but if her bonds could be burnt away. . . . With firm deliberation, Brie went to the table and thrust her hands above the
candleflame
, letting the fire lick the thick knot between her wrists. She winced as the heat scorched her skin, grinding her teeth when the pain became almost unbearable. Her patience was rewarded, though, for the rope at last began to send up tiny curls of smoke and the threads began to fray.

Brie was concentrating so intently on her task that she missed hearing the scrape of approaching footsteps. When a key turned in the lock, she jumped,
then
whirled as the attic door swung wide. She froze as she met the hooded eyes of her captor.

He was slightly more disheveled than when she had last seen him. His clothes were rumpled, while his blond hair fell across his forehead and a growth of new beard darkened his sunburned face. But he still wore that air of supreme confidence, and the predatory gleam in his eyes still had the power to frighten her.

His surprise at seeing Brie standing beside the table swiftly turned to outrage when he realized she had been trying to burn away her bonds. He leapt at her, reaching her side in two strides, and grabbed her by the arm. Then jerking her around, he flung her away with a force that sent her sprawling.

With her hands tied, Brie wasn't able to break her fall. She cried out in pain as she hit the floor, then lay there face down on the filthy wooden planks, gasping for breath and fighting the welling nausea as a stream of curses broke over her head.

Germain
continued his harangue for nearly a minute before quite suddenly his tone changed. "Get up, you little bitch,"
he
said rather calmly, "before I kick you. I want you in one piece, not fainting dead away as you did before. It was rather clever of you, I admit. . . ."

Brie heard the rest of his speech only vaguely, but she understood two things quite well. The first was that her unconscious state had been all that had saved her from ravishment. The second was that he meant to rectify the omission immediately. She watched in horror as he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it on the foot of the cot. Yet when he slowly began to move toward her, she lay there paralyzed, too frightened even to try to scramble away.

They both heard the noise. It was no more than a whisper of sound from somewhere below, but they both reacted to it;
Germain
tensed and cocked his head in an attitude of listening, while Brie closed her eyes and held her breath, hoping desperately that she had somehow been offered a reprieve. Fear had made her almost numb, but she could feel her heart slamming against her ribs as
Germain
walked to the door and peered out.

After a moment, he called loudly and somewhat uncertainly to Martin. He apparently was not reassured by the lack of response, for he swore under his breath and pulled a knife from the belt of his trousers.

Brie shrank away instinctively when
Germain
returned to her side, for the wicked gleam of the blade mirrored the glitter in his pale eyes. But he only hauled her abruptly to her feet,
then
used the knife to cut away the rope binding her hands. She nearly screamed as the blood rushed to her hands, sending an agonizing pain shooting up her arms.

Hearing her involuntary whimper,
Germain
wrapped an arm around her waist and pressed the sharp steel against her side in silent warning. "Don't make a sound," he hissed. "Or you won't live long enough to greet your lover."

Her knees threatening to collapse, Brie managed to nod, but she swayed against him involuntarily.
Germain
snarled another oath,
then
lifted her up, crushing her against his side. Half carrying her, he propelled her from her attic prison and along the darkened corridor. He released her when they reached a flight of steep, narrow stairs, merely to shove her in front of him. Brie stumbled and almost fell, and only her instinctive gesture of throwing out her hands to grasp the rail banister prevented her from tumbling headfirst.

After what seemed like an endless number of flights, they reached the ground floor.
Germain
came to a halt, jerking her up by the collar,
then
stood listening, very much like a fox sniffing the wind. Brie took a long shuddering breath and cautiously looked about her, trying to get her bearings.

The front door was immediately to her left, shut tightly and well bolted. The sight of those heavy drawn bolts made her heart sink, but they must have reassured her captor, for he gave her a push toward the room across the hall. "We will wait in there," he said, forcibly directing her footsteps.