Lords Of Desire Part 2

"I was completely enchanted."

"How many times have you watched me?"

"Half a dozen." He smiled into her eyes. "My enchantment shoots large holes in your theory that I am interested in an alliance because of your respectability. I quite agree that there is nothing prim and proper about you, Tory Carswell."

"Then why are you interested in me?"

"You are beautiful, audacious, uninhibited, and unawakened as yet; therein lies your fatal attraction."

"Well, I'll be d.a.m.ned!"

His mouth curved. "Not for swimming naked, you won't."

Her eyes sparkled. "Mother wouldn't agree."

"There is something infinitely familiar about you, Victoria, as if we have met before-perhaps in another time, another place."

"And perhaps you have inherited Mad Jack's eccentricity!"

"Touche!" He threw back his head and laughed. "I think we would deal well together. We have a mutual love of history, we share a fascination for Bodiam Castle, and we are not above thumbing our noses at society. Will you allow me to court you?"

"Court me with a view to marriage?"

"Of course."

"Marriage that endows me with all your worldly goods?"

He smiled knowingly. "You covet Bodiam."

She smiled back. "I do indeed, especially when you dangle it before me as bait."

He reached out and gently brushed her cheek with his fingertips. "Then your answer is yes?"

Tory s.h.i.+vered at his touch. She felt breathless and filled with excitement. He thinks me audacious! She swayed toward him, then caught herself before they could indulge in anything as daring and impulsive as a kiss. "I will give you my answer after I have fully explored the castle."

His arm swept out in a magnanimous gesture. "Be my guest."

Victoria couldn't believe her good fortune. It seemed the attractive devil who owned Bodiam was half in love with her because he'd watched her cavorting naked in the River Rother from one of his castle's high towers.

Her blood sang with antic.i.p.ation as she walked through the ancient chambers, exploring every nook, arch, and cranny, every artifact left behind by previous generations, no matter its sorry condition. She sensed intangible remnants left floating in the very air like dust motes. She spun around, dancing a solitary waltz, and let her head fall back as she gazed up at the vaulted ceiling. "I love this castle!"

Tory was eager to explore Bodiam's towers. The castle had a round tower at each of its four corners and square ones midway between. She was traversing a long pa.s.sageway that led to a round tower, when suddenly she heard a faint noise of padding feet behind her. She turned, fully expecting to see a dog. Her eyes widened in shocked disbelief. "It's a leopard!"

She started to run, her heart pounding with fear. She glanced back, hoping she had been mistaken, but she was gripped with terror when she saw the large spotted cat was now chasing her. She reached the end of the pa.s.sageway and in desperation began to climb the spiral staircase of the round tower. She could hear the animal gaining on her and ran faster and faster. Her silk bag slipped from her fingers as she frantically hoisted up her skirts so she would not trip. Her breath was exhausted and she had a painful st.i.tch in her side when she saw a door up ahead. Hope plummeted as she realized she had reached the tower's summit. "Please let it be unlocked!" she beseeched heaven.

Tory lifted the latch and pushed hard. The heavy oak door swung open. She stumbled through it, slammed it shut, and leaned back against it, weak with relief and gasping for breath.

"Who the devil are you and what the h.e.l.lfire are you doing here?" a deep masculine voice demanded.

Victoria found herself in a luxuriously appointed chamber at the top of the round tower. "Peregrine, is that you?" she asked breathlessly. "There's a leopard outside this door!"

He advanced toward her. "The leopard lives here. It's your ident.i.ty that is in question."

Tory stared at the man who looked like Sir Peregrine and yet he was somehow different. Perhaps it's his brother. "You are wearing a wig," she blurted.

His hand swept off the powdered wig and negligently tossed it onto a gilt chair. His own black hair fell to his shoulders. "And you are wearing the ugliest garment I've ever seen."

Tory looked down at her gray cambric dress with its leg-of-mutton sleeves and was highly offended.

"You are extremely rude!"

"Rude, crude, and tattooed," he affirmed. "What is your name?"

She lifted her chin. "I am Victoria Carswell."

"Carswell?" He spat the name as if it were an abomination. "If you're Thomas Carswell's offspring, you're here to spy on me."

"My father, the Right Reverend Thomas Carswell, is deceased."

"Reverend? You must think me simple in the head! He's the b.l.o.o.d.y customs officer who just gibbeted George Chapman on the village green."

Oh heavens, the man is mad...it must run in the family. Tory backed away from him. They keep him locked up here in the tower.

He picked up a sword and took a threatening step toward her. "D'you know the fate of a spy is imprisonment, or worse, wench?"

"Please...I was merely exploring the castle.... I'm not a spy."

He bowed gallantly. "Ah. In that case, feel free to leave."

She moved toward the door and remembered the leopard.

He gave her a wicked grin. "Exactly."

"You cannot keep me here," she gasped.

"I can." He flourished the sword. "You might as well make yourself comfortable." He swept her with a critical glance. "If we are to dwell together, I must rid you of your offensive garb." With a deft flick of his wrist, the slim blade of his sword swished through the air and slashed her dress from neck to hem.

Tory screamed, then stared in dismay as the gray cambric parted to reveal her corset and drawers. "You lecherous swine!"

The wicked grin returned. "Lord Hawkhurst, at your service."

The name was familiar to Victoria from the history books she read. The town of Hawkhurst had been named after the n.o.ble lord who had owned Bodiam Castle a century ago. Could it possibly be? No, I'm just being fanciful!

"Why d'you wear your hair screwed into a k.n.o.b?"

Her hand moved to her head. "It's a bun."

"It's b.l.o.o.d.y ugly." He set aside his sword. "Here, let me help you." He took hold of her leg-of-mutton sleeves and pulled off her dress. Then he took the pins from her hair and it came tumbling down in a silken ma.s.s that curled about her shoulders.

Tory flew at him and tried to scratch his insolent face.

He took firm hold of her wrists and appraised her with bold black eyes. "By G.o.d, wench, you are quite a showy piece."

"Wench? My name is Victoria-I was named for the queen!"

He let go of her wrists. "The queen's name is Caroline."

"Caroline was King George the Second's wife."

"Is King George's wife," he corrected.

"Queen Caroline has been dead for almost a century. This is the year of our lord, eighteen thirty-seven."

"Seventeen thirty-seven, you ignorant wench."

If that is true, I am from a hundred years in your future, and you are from a hundred years in my past.

"Don't call me wench. My name is Victoria."

"A hideous name."

"I quite agree. I much prefer Tory."

"You called me Peregrine when you came in. How did you know? It's a name I detest; I changed it to Falcon years ago."

Falcon...what a lovely, romantic name. "It quite suits you, Lord Hawkhurst."

Her glance traveled from his frilled lawn s.h.i.+rt to his tight black breeches that did little to hide his masculine bulge. You are quite convinced you are a Georgian gentleman and you are certainly dressed like a Georgian. I wonder if this is a dream?

"Now that we have dispensed with the formalities, confess what you're really doing here."

"I've fallen in love with Bodiam Castle. I came to explore."

His bold stare was insolent. "You look quite fetching in those-"

"Drawers."

His stare turned into a wicked leer. "I'm going to enjoy keeping you captive."

This isn't a dream; it's more like a fantasy. Perhaps I've conjured him from my imagination. Lord Hawkhurst...Falcon...finds me attractive. He thinks I'm a showy piece and wants to seduce me. Common sense came to her rescue. Stop it, Victoria...that's just wishful thinking!

He went to the door, opened it, and called, "Mr. Burke."

Tory, who had fully expected the leopard to rush in, let out a relieved breath. In a few moments a servant, wearing powdered wig and livery, entered the chamber. She saw him eye her drawers.

"I didn't know you had a guest, milord."

"Someone the cat dragged in. By necessity, she'll be staying a while. We'll have dinner up here tonight, Mr. Burke."

Tory seized the opportunity. "Mr. Burke, my name is Victoria Carswell. Lord Hawkhurst thinks he can keep me captive here, but that is impossible. I live at the priory and I must return home. You can see it from the window-I'll show you."

Victoria went to the north window of the tower and looked toward the town of Hawkhurst, but all she could see was forest. Her brows drew together. "I can't see the priory, but you must know it. It's on the edge of town, next to the parish church."

"Let's humor her, Mr. Burke. Come up to the parapet, Tory; you'll have an unimpeded view for miles." Hawkhurst drew back a curtain, opened a door, and climbed steps that led to the tower roof. Tory and the servant followed him.

She gazed out across the treetops, perplexed that no roads or buildings of the town were visible, not even the church spire. "Where is Hawkhurst?" she asked.

"The village is over there. You can just make out the Oak and Ivy, half a mile this side of the village."

"The Oak and Ivy Inn? I read about that in my history book." That's where the smugglers used to meet. Tory walked to the crenellated wall and gazed out in every direction. "Good heavens, there's a sailing s.h.i.+p moored in the river!"

"It's mine," Hawkhurst said matter-of-factly.

Tory had read about Lord Hawkhurst's s.h.i.+p. It was a two-masted brigantine capable of great speed, and she remembered its name.

This cannot be happening. She reached out to the wall to steady herself. She felt the rough stone beneath her fingers and knew it was real. "What is the name of your s.h.i.+p?"

"The Seac.o.c.k."

Tory's hand went to her head and she felt herself slipping down into oblivion.

CHAPTER 3.

"Where am I?" Tory felt strangely disoriented.

"You're in my bed."

She looked up into the bold black eyes of Falcon Hawkhurst and remembered everything. Somehow, I've gone back in time and there's nothing I can do about it. Tory suddenly laughed. Perhaps there's nothing I want to do about it!

"Why are you laughing, wench?"

"Because I'm your captive." The air is charged with danger and excitement and I've never felt freer in my life! She reached out and traced her fingertips down his cheek. "You don't have a birthmark."

He took hold of her fingers and removed them from his face. "If you touch me intimately, there will be consequences."

She changed the subject quickly. "Do I smell food?"

"Mr. Burke brought our dinner. I suppose I must feed you."

The tip of her tongue licked her top lip in an unconscious, provocative gesture. "I'm starving," she murmured.