Pirate Of My Heart Part 14

After a few moments Kendra rose and wiped her wet cheeks on the back of her hand. Straightening, she decided to try to cheer herself up by finishing her tour of the house. Making her way down to the first floor, Kendra realized how empty the house felt. Come to think of it, she hadn't seen any sign of Dorian's large family since arriving, only Faith and Dorian. Shrugging her shoulders, she decided that they must be out, and she would most likely see them at the evening meal. Dorian's parents had been so kind to her the night of the ball and she was looking forward to seeing them. Kendra brightened and made her way down the hall of the first floor, looking for Faith or her aunt.

Most of the doors were open to reveal drawing rooms, a larger library that must be Clayton Colburn's, and kitchens in the back. The other wing held a large bedchamber and then, at the end of the hall was a door, slightly ajar, giving Kendra a small view of the room. She hazarded a knock, growing anxious in the feeling that she was alone in the house. "h.e.l.lo, is anyone there?" No one answered so she pushed the door open and stepped inside. It was Dorian's room, it had to be. There was a large model of a ship sitting on top of a chest of drawers. It looked so familiar that she walked over to it and ran her fingertips over the beautiful wood. The Angelina. How he must have dreamed and worked to create a ship so beautiful. Her sleek lines were almost delicate, but Kendra knew the power behind her. She was certainly a prize. Turning, Kendra surveyed the rest of the room. It was decorated in gray-blue-almost the color of his eyes-with clean, masculine lines. The four-poster bed was large but not ma.s.sive, covered with a heavy counterpane of blue and cream. There was a colorful rug beneath her feet that was thick and oriental in design. The tables were heavy oak, intricately carved and spoke of their English origin. It was the room of a traveler. A vase from China, delicate French candlesticks, and Italian statues were on the mantle above the fireplace, and hanging above it was a painting of a ship being tossed in a stormy sea.

Moving to the adjoining room, Kendra saw maps strewn about on a large, round table. Two comfortable chairs were on either side and a tall wardrobe in one corner. Without thinking what she was doing, nor why, she walked to the wardrobe as if it held some magnetic power over her. Kendra opened the door and picked up the sleeve of a white shirt. She brought it to her face, inhaled his scent, and closed her eyes. It was almost as if he was right there beside her.

"Do I need to have my clothes laundered, my lady?"

Kendra jumped at the sound of Dorian's voice. Whirling around she stared at him, her face flooding with heat. "I-I was just looking for my aunt. I couldn't find anyone. The house seemed so empty." She backed away from his advancing stride.

Dorian laughed and caught her, taking hold of her upper arm. "I don't suppose your aunt is hiding in my closet?" His deep voice sent shivers of excitement down her spine. "I've been looking for you. Why did you run away?"

Kendra t.i.tled her head back to reply but she couldn't seem to think of anything. She couldn't seem to think at all. His arms tightened around her, bringing her closer. She shook her head no as his lips closed over hers. Her knees went weak and she sagged against his wide chest. She was melting into his embrace. All the reasons why she shouldn't be floated away into nothing.

He broke away with a heavy breath. "Now do you believe me when I say there is nothing between Angelene and me?"

Angelene. That was one reason. She pushed away, her hands against his chest. He grasped her shoulders and held her to him in a gentle hold.

His voice was low, angry. "Do you really believe I could kiss you like that while in love with another woman? Engaged to be married? You don't know me very well if you can even think it."

Kendra wrenched her arms free and turned away from him. She lifted the back of her hand to her mouth and took a deep breath. "What does it mean then?" If he was to declare his feelings for her, then she would like to hear it.

A long silence stretched out. So. He couldn't say it. He would not declare himself for Angelene or her. She looked over her shoulder at him, brows raised in challenge. He stared back like a man choking on the words, his lips pressed together, his eyes uncertain. She'd been right. He was only interested in dalliance and flirtation. Hard-headed American scoundrel. Well, she wasn't going to let him take any more liberties, that was for certain. She took a fortifying breath, turned to leave, and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Gentleness be darned.

Chapter Nineteen.

Kendra was just putting the finishing touches on the ribbon's wide, lime-colored bow that sat c.o.c.ked to one side amongst her blonde curls when she heard a knock. She had been toying with the idea of adding a little black bird as an accent to the bow but had run out of time. "Come in."

Faith peeked her head around the door. "If you and your aunt are ready, Kendra, I'll take you down to dinner."

"Coming." Kendra took one final glance in the mirror above the dressing table. How was she to get through this evening, never mind the rest of the weekend? She would just have to avoid Dorian Colburn and his smoldering gray eyes at all costs. She stood up and studied the black-and-white striped skirt with white bodice she had donned. The dress had a rounded neckline edged in black lace which fell slightly off the shoulders to reveal her neck, but little else. Quite modest compared to what many of the women wore, Kendra decided with a nod of acceptance.

Her aunt hurried to her side in a peach gown that was very fetching, her face rosy with excitement. "Shall we?"

Faith, lovely in a lavender dress that set off her dark hair and eyes, motioned with a sweep of her arm toward the staircase. The three of them hurried toward the gold drawing room where the sound of happy chatter confirmed that the party had gathered.

As soon as Kendra entered the room she saw Dorian. He seemed to fill the room with his hooded hawk's eyes, dark and confident, lounging against the ornate molding of the fireplace. His black hair had been neatly combed back into silky waves and his evening dress was a simplistic, impeccable suit of dark blue with a white shirt and stock. He straightened at the sight of her, his gaze narrowing, penetrating her calm. Kendra took a shuddering breath, tore her gaze away, and walked to a group on the other side of the room.

The bell rang for dinner to be served and Kendra smiled at a young, sandy-haired gentleman who looked to be gathering his courage to ask to escort her into the dining room. He took the hint, stepping up and offering his arm with a wide grin. She must have grasped his arm a bit too hard, as he gave her a surprised smile and then pulled her in close to his side in a manner that was entirely too intimate. Fortunately, his name card turned out to be at the other end of the table and she was mostly able to ignore his longing glances thrown in her direction. Unfortunately, she was seated at Hannah's right-directly across from Dorian.

The dinner dragged by as she picked at the food on her plate. Any other time she would have been happy with such fine company and delicious food, but now she only wanted to go home. The ache in her heart moved to her throat when she heard Dorian's deep voice from across the table, causing the food to stick and her water gla.s.s to empty much too often. She gritted her teeth and took another bite, but moments later the deep rumble of his laugh made her look up.

That was a mistake.

Her breath caught at the sight of his head bent in the direction of the pretty auburn-haired lady seated next to him. She was enjoying the captain's company very much, despite the fact that Kendra was sure she was married. She must be entertaining indeed if Dorian's mouth, quivering in mirth on one side, dark eyes alight with humor, were any indication. Long-suffering. Kendra clinched her hands together under the table and focused on the spiritual fruit.

"Lady Townsend, won't you tell us about life in England? I've always wanted to go but Roland says he'll not let me leave him until the children are grown." Lizzie winked at Kendra as everyone around their end of the table laughed.

Her cheeks grew warm as she wondered what to say. Should she tell of life after her uncle had come back and cost them everything? She had loved that year with her father all the more because it felt like the two of them against the world, working together with wit and will to pull the estate back into working order. Oh, the pride she'd felt when he had pulled her next to him at his desk and showed her their first profit. The fields yielding crops again, the livestock increasing as they studied, head to head, on quiet winter nights the most advanced methods of agriculture, husbandry, and accounting. She'd been glad at times, secretly glad, that their lot had changed and made them dependent on each other.

Or should she tell them what they must want to hear-the grandeur of Arundel Castle, the haute ton social circles, the gowns and jewels, the earl's sleek carriage and matching four-life in London. The theatre, musicales, and shopping trips. She blinked hard, thinking of how her father had taken her once a year for a few weeks to London and shown her about town as if she were princess, the only princess on earth. She'd been so young then. So very young.

The quiet of the table and the attention of every eye finally dawned on her. She turned hot and then cold, her eyes flooding with tears. With a sudden move she pushed back from the table. "I'm . . . so sorry. Please excuse me."

She turned and fled from the room, running down the back corridor and out into the rich smells of the rear garden. She turned in a slow circle in the moonlight and sniffed, not knowing where to go or what to do. She pressed her hands to her cheeks, making them wet as tears that wouldn't stop raced, stubborn, one after the other, down her face and neck and-oh, G.o.d. I miss him so. Why is this week so hard? Why do I keep thinking of him wherever I turn?

"Kendra? Are you alright?"

She whirled around at the deep, familiar voice, shaking her head, not alright, not knowing how to answer. She wanted nothing more than to rush into his arms. It was all she could do not to rush into his arms.

"Kendra, come here." He took several steps toward her and held out an arm in invitation. She allowed him to gather her close, curled up within the strong places of his chest, and gave way to shuddering breaths. "I'm so silly. So stupid. I don't know what came over me."

Dorian leaned his chin onto the top of her head and she could hear the vibrations of his chuckle more from her ear buried in his chest than from his throat. "You've dealt Lizzie a blow I'll not soon forget. I've not seen her without words . . . ever!"

"Oh, I feel just horrible. It was a perfectly ordinary question. I'm just . . . I don't know what's come over me, but I keep seeing my father. It's this house, I think. I keep being reminded of him here. Maybe it's your family. They are so close and everything is so, so loving here." She looked up into his shadowed eyes and blinked away the last of the tears. "He seems nearer here. And I miss him so much."

Dorian pulled her close again and kissed the top of her head. "Here now, let's go for a little stroll through the garden and see if that makes you feel better, shall we?"

Kendra nodded and backed out of his embrace. "I could use a bit of fresh air."

Dorian tucked her hand in his arm and started off at a slow pace down the garden path, his voice soothing, rich like velvet, as he pointed out flowers, guessed at their name, and plucked some for a haphazard bouquet. She was feeling better, smiling at his humorous b.u.mbling with the stems of the bouquet, when he led her to a curved stone bench and beckoned with a hand that she sit down. He presented his posy to her, which she accepted with all the seriousness, the suppressed mirth that she could manage, and sat down next to her.

As soon as he had seated himself, taking her hand into his and squeezing it, a sudden rustling sound came from the bushes behind them. Kendra turned in time to see a large, dark form rise from the greenery. She screamed as shadowy arms rose, a large object in the hands. Dorian turned, tried to stand, but it was too late. The object crashed down upon his head. Before she could move, Kendra saw him crumple to the ground beside her. A gash in his head welled, quick and strong, with dark blood where he had been hit over his head with a long object. Kendra stood and gathered her skirts to run, taking a breath to scream again, but strong arms pulled her backward into the bushes. A wad of musty-smelling cloth was stuffed into her mouth, making her gag. She kicked out, thrashing her arms back toward her a.s.sailant while thorns p.r.i.c.ked through her gloves and caught on her skirts. The man took a tight hold around her waist, trapping her arms and dragging her backward. He clamped his legs around hers, making her immobile, and secured her arms together with a length of rope. She was hoisted up and over his shoulder where she was bounced so hard she felt she might be sick. Must not be sick. Not with a gag in her mouth. She could choke to death. Terror made her break into a sweat. G.o.d help me! She kicked out with her legs but that only made him clamp down on her back, driving his shoulder further into her stomach. Her breath whooshed in and out her nose. Dizzy. Black and dizzy. Oh G.o.d, don't let me faint!

Abruptly, he stopped. She heard a door open and was dumped inside a carriage. Her shoulder rammed into the seat, sending a fresh shock of pain through her body. The door slammed shut behind her and, with a jerk, they were off. Kendra pushed herself up into a sitting position, trying to balance herself against the swaying of the fast-moving carriage. Leaning to one side, she managed to get her feet underneath her enough to push up onto one of the seats. She peered through the darkness of the interior of the carriage, praying that she was alone. She could barely keep her seated position as the vehicle flew over the rutted, dirt road.

Pushing back into the far corner of the seat, the panic she had managed to keep at bay surfaced into her throat. Who was her captor? What did he want?

And then there was Dorian. Was he hurt? Alive? The thought that the blow might have killed him made her sick with fear. He had to be alive. She willed herself to focus on that thought.

She closed her eyes and prayed.

Some time later the horses slowed to a walking pace and then stopped. She held her breath, panic lancing through her chest as she waited for whatever was to happen next. The door swung open and strong hands grasped her around the waist. She kicked out and heard a satisfying grunt of pain from the man.

"You will regret it if you fight me," a low voice snarled into her ear.

She was slung over his shoulder, the air whooshing from her lungs, and hurried up some steps. Once inside, he carried her up a further flight of stairs, through another door, and deposited her on a bed. She struggled to rise to a sitting position as male laughter filled the darkness of the room.

"You may sit up now but you'll be on your back soon enough, Lady Kendra."

The voice was familiar-fearless, ruthless, a.s.sured of his goal, but it was too dark to see his face. That surety sent shivers of fear up and down her spine.

The door opened and closed again, leaving her alone in the darkness. Rising to her feet, Kendra crept forward, determined to find the door, or something to cut through the ties around her wrists. After b.u.mping into the wall, she turned her back to it so her tied hands could feel along the wall. The room had little furnishings in it, making it easy to find the door frame. There it was. Now for the k.n.o.b. It turned, but the door wouldn't budge. She pounded on the door with all the anger and fear churning inside her. "Help me!" She tried to yell around the gag.

Nothing. If only she could cut through the rope. Kendra inched forward hoping to find a sharp object, something to release her hands. A few shuffled steps later she b.u.mped into a table. Turning around, she felt along the top with grasping fingers. Nothing, the table was bare. She circled the room several more times but still came up empty-handed. With a leaden heart, she sank down on the bed. Deep, even breaths. She thought of the rescues she'd read about in the Bible-Joseph, Daniel, Isaac, Jonah, for goodness sake. She almost smiled imagining her room the belly of a fish. Well, it wasn't as bad as that. At least it didn't smell. Lord, I am losing my mind for certain this time! Will You rescue me? Of course You will. How will You rescue me?

Kendra fell back on the bed and curled up on her side. She tried to stay awake knowing that she needed to be alert for any opportunities of escape, but the softness of the bed crept over her tired, aching body. Just a few minutes of rest couldn't hurt. After all, the Lord must have angels watching over her. With that thought she drifted off to sleep.

Pale streaks of dawn crept into the small room, rousing Kendra from her slumber. At first a strange disorientation swamped her mind. Her gaze darted about the room, taking in the bedside table and colorful quilt that she slept on as the details of the night came flooding back to her. The capture, the rope around her wrists that was making her shoulders stiff and sore. She struggled up into a sitting position and scooted to the side of the bed. Her arms ached from being tied together. She arched her back in an attempt to stretch from head to toe and closed her eyes as her muscles spasmed.

Her eyes shot wide as the door burst open.

"Did you sleep well, my lady?"

Kendra turned toward the voice and saw the man she suspected had taken her-Martin Saunderson. He walked toward her. She reared back from his grasping hands. "Hold still," he demanded as he fumbled with the knot at the back of her head. She gasped in relief as the gag fell into her lap. "You. What do you want with me?"

Martin's red lips stretched over his perfect teeth. His gaze raked over her from head to toe, dark brows lifted. Grasping Kendra's upper arms, he pulled her to stand in front of him. "The first thing I want is to keep you from making the biggest mistake of your life by cavorting with Dorian Colburn. His intentions are not honorable, my lady."

"And yours are?" Kendra demanded, twisting from his tight hold.

"Actually, I believe they are. We will be married immediately. I have it all planned." He sounded genuine in his excitement about the prospect. "After tonight you will be all mine."

Kendra gasped as his meaning sunk in. "You are deranged if you think I would ever marry you." She struggled against the hold on her arm. "Let me go."

"I'm afraid you will have little choice in the matter. We are to be married by the magistrate, a, er, friend of mine, and then off to a pleasant inn for the consummation."

"I will never agree to wed you. You can't force me to say vows and no magistrate would condone to marry us without my cooperation."

Martin chuckled. "This one will, I'm afraid. Let us just say that he has a penchant for gambling and now owes me a great sum of money. He gladly agreed to perform the ceremony without your willing partic.i.p.ation in exchange for the removal of his debts."

Kendra shook her head in a desperate attempt not to believe it. "Why do this? I'll not make you a good wife. I don't love you. I loathe you."

He leaned into her face so that his breath wafted over her. "I have every confidence that you will learn to desire me. You're such a . . . bright girl."

Kendra pressed into the cruel pressure of his arm around her back. "You will regret this, let me a.s.sure you. Unhand me!"

Martin released her in a sudden move that caused her to stumble and fall back on the bed. She saw him raise his hand in the air but it was too fast to stop. She remained frozen, unable to move as he slapped her across the cheek. "Don't fight me, my lady. I will break you to my harness if need be, but I must confess I had hoped you would come willingly. It will be so much more enjoyable for both of us if you do." He bowed, suddenly polite, and tipped his hat toward her. "Think about it." Kendra watched in stunned silence as he walked from the room, shut the door, and slammed the bolt into place with a loud click.

Kendra crumpled into a little ball, trying to hold back the tears. Her cheek throbbed, the inside raw against her teeth. Oh no! Would a magistrate really marry her without her consent? How could that be legally binding?

She had to escape. There must be a way, but how?

The sc.r.a.ping of the door being opened sounded a few moments later. Kendra sat up as a serving girl made her way into the room. Shutting the door behind her, she turned and gave Kendra a broad, gaping smile. "I'm Maybelle," she began. When she saw Kendra's face she clucked her tongue. "Ya must 'ave done somethin' purty bad for Martin to hit ya like that, miss. I ain't never seen him hit a woman before."

Kendra stared at the woman, shocked further by her speech. Would she help her if she knew what Martin was planning? "Please, I only refused to marry him." Kendra scooted to the side of the bed and stood up. "He's holding me captive here. Please, help me escape!"

Maybelle chuckled. "Martin said ya was given to theatrics and that ya can't help yourself. Now don't be givin' Maybelle any trouble, ya hear. Martin wants ya cleaned up and dressed in this here weddin' gown for your upcoming nuptials." She opened the bag she was carrying and pulled out a garish-looking gown.

Kendra took one look at the dress and wailed. This couldn't be happening. Why would he bother to buy her a dress when this wedding was such a farce? Kendra shook her head. "I won't wear it. Take it back down to him and throw it in his face or I swear I will tear it into a million pieces."

A look of momentary shock pa.s.sed over Maybelle's face and then her eyebrows drew together in a stubborn, angry way. "Ya listen here, miss high and mighty. Any girl would be lucky to have Martin as a husband. Girls four counties over and more have been tryin' to get their hands on him for years. Ya needs to stop these hoity-toity acts of yers and be thankful."

Kendra curled toward her middle in frustration. "Maybelle, listen to me. Whatever he told you was a lie. He has abducted me and is planning to force me to marry him. I'm . . . I'm in love with someone else. Please, I beg you, you have to help me escape."

Maybelle took in her pleading eyes and shook her head again. "Enough of this, miss. Let's get you ready for the magistrate. He'll be here within the hour and you'll be wantin' to look yer best for yer own weddin'."

Kendra gave up on Maybelle's a.s.sistance. "I don't care what you believe. Just take the dress back to him and tell him I won't wear it because I'm not going to marry him. Tell him that. Now go!" Kendra advanced as she spoke, her voice getting louder and louder.

Maybelle's eyes grew wide as she backed away, clutching the dress to her ample bosom.

Kendra watched with some satisfaction as the servant rushed from the room. Unfortunately, she didn't forget to latch the door.

Not more than five minutes later Martin stormed into the room. His face was red with rage, his hands balled into fists. Kendra backed away but he caught her and pushed her back on the bed. Placing both hands on either side of her, he leaned into her face and ground out the words. "If you don't put that dress on right now, I will strip you down and put it on myself."

"Please, leave me be." Tears filled her eyes.

"I had thought to give you Maybelle's a.s.sistance getting dressed but if you prefer mine, I will be happy to oblige."

His head descended toward hers with the look of a hungry tiger and she knew she had no choice. Jerking to the side before his mouth touched her lips she rasped out, "Alright, I'll wear it, but only if you cut these ropes from around my wrists."

Martin leaned back and considered her. "Making demands already, are we? Very well, Lady Kendra. As a testament to my good nature I will accommodate you. If you will stand up, I'll unbind you."

Kendra held out her arms. The touch of his hands on her wrists made her shudder. As soon as her hands were free she walked across the room, as far from him as possible, and shook her arms in an effort to restore proper circulation.

"I'll be back in a few minutes with the magistrate. You had better be ready."

Chapter Twenty.

Dorian came to with a jerk and a groan. He sat up, dizzy, disoriented, but with a sense of panic connecting the images and thoughts flashing through his mind. The garden, someone had hit him. Kendra! Where was she?

He reached up and probed into his hair at the place of most pain. A giant, throbbing lump and a gash as long as his finger. His hand came away sticky with blood. Rising from the ground he searched the garden, calling out for Kendra. When his search proved futile he came to the conclusion that whoever had bludgeoned him over the head had abducted her. But who would have taken her? And why? Whoever it was, they had known Kendra was at the Colburn house.

Dorian took off his neck cloth, wadded it into a ball, and pressed it against the bleeding gash on his head. He hurried back to the house, yelling orders to the servants as he pa.s.sed them. "Locate John and have our horses saddled! Lanterns, food, and water. Millicent"-he nodded to the wide-eyed maid-"if you would be so good as to hurry!"

She jumped to obey. "But yer head is bleedin' like a sieve, sir. Shouldn't I fetch your mother?"

With a sigh, he nodded. He did feel a bit dizzy. "Yes, yes and some bandages and a bowl of warm water." She turned to go. "And a needle and thread," he shouted after her. His mother was an old hand at st.i.tching up wounds. Everyone for miles around called on her for doctoring and she would no doubt demand to st.i.tch him up before he began the search.

It didn't take long for the news to travel throughout the house party. Amelia collapsed into a chair and burst into tears when she heard that her niece had been taken. Dorian's sisters rushed to comfort her with patting hands, soothing words, and a ready bottle of hartshorn. Dorian gritted his teeth and sat under his mother's ministrations.

John looked on, wincing every time the needle pierced Dorian's flesh.