Chapter Eight.

Nicholas was loath to put Sara down. He despaired of letting her go. Yet he knew what would be if ever he touched her as he wanted, so it had to remain impersonal between them. It had to be a businesslike arrangement. There was no other alternative.

How soft and malleable she was in his arms, how fragrant, despite her ordeal in the musty priest hole. He inhaled her scent until it rilled his nostrils and his memory: rosemary and gillyflower, primeval scents of wood, of earth, with a sensual touch of the rose. He drank her in-nectar of the gods, so long denied him.

He laid her on the bed, and smoothed her sun-painted hair back from her brow. How soft it was, just as he knew it would be, as ethereal as morning cobwebs in the shaft of sunlight the dawn had flung across the counterpane. He couldn't help but touch it, feel its silkiness between his fingers. Brushing it aside, he felt the lump on her brow, where a bruise was forming. Her hands were cut and swollen, and her fine, translucent skin was streaked with filth, spread over her face, her arms-her breast, scarcely covered by the torn frock. His loins were on fire, pulsating with achy heat, his keen senses acutely attuned to the fever in his blood, heightened like those of an animal in the wild. The sexual stream flowing between them was palpable, and he wrapped the counterpane around her like a cocoon in a vain attempt to sever it, and surged to his feet when the effort failed.

"I want that bloody priest hole walled up before the sun sets!" he seethed, scarcely aware until that moment that Nell and Mills were standing close by. "Stop that whimpering, girl!" he snapped at the abigail. "Fetch the smelling salts! Have Mrs. Bromley come up here at once to assess this. There must be some nostrum or concoction she can brew with those damnable herbs of hers to minister to her ladyship until the doctor arrives tomorrow. I want you to get her into a warm tub as soon as she comes 'round, then put her back in this bed. She stays in it, too, until I say otherwise, should you have to tie her down. Is that clear?"

"Y-yes, sir," Nell whined. Spinning on her heel, she fled the room, her black skirts dusting the woodwork.

"Come away, my lord," the valet urged, laying a gentle hand on Nicholas's rock-hard arm. "This... upsetment is not good for you."

Nicholas's light-headed laugh replied to that, and he shrugged the valet's hand away and cinched his dressing gown sash ruthlessly.

"Come back to your rooms, my lord. I'll prepare your bath. They will see to her. Then, when you've rested... when you're calm again-"

"I will never be 'calm again/ Mills," Nicholas said through clenched teeth, and diving past him, crashed through the door and disappeared in the shadows of the empty corridor.

It wasn't a dream. He carried her up the slimy steps and out of the priest hole as though she weighed no more than a handful of eiderdown. How strong he was, how tender his embrace, as if she were something fragile, subject to breakage, and yet he clasped her to him as though his very life depended upon it. She surrendered to the arms she'd fantasized holding her since she first set eyes on Nicholas Walraven, her husband who wasn't a husband. He would be. If it was the last thing she did on earth... he would be.

"You've got that mangy old dog to thank that we found ya," said Nell, sudsing the cobwebs and dust from her hair. The warm bathwater was heaven, silkened with oil of roses, and strewn with crushed rosemary. "Nobody set eyes on the creature for nigh on two days, then all at once this mornin' he come tearin' down them stairs sniffin' the carpet right ta the hidey-hole door, and started diggin' and scratchin' and whinin' and howlin', makin' enough of a din ta raise the dead, he was. Then he run off, and he must've woke the master, 'cause m'lord came on all out straight, barefooted-in his dressing gown, he was."

"The scratching," Sara said. It was the second time she'd mistaken the sound. "I heard the scratching. I thought it was rats."

"Well, you're outta there now, and not a minute too soon. You was scarcely breathin', shut up in that room-no more than a closet-for thirty-six hours straight. You're lucky ta be alive, my lady, and that's a fact. He's down there now the master is, with old Gibbs, the groundskeeper. They're wallin' up that priest hole, they are."

"Where is Nero now?" Sara murmured.

"I dunno, miss," said the abigail. "Nobody's seen him since. The master said he showed him where ta look, and took off like a shot. He's like that Nero is, skulkin' about, sneakin' up on folk, and disappearin' just as quick. I don't like him much, I'll own. He scares me, if ya want the truth o' it. Oh, he's never bit nobody-nothin' like that. It's just them eyes he stares at ya with. It's like they was human eyes." She shuddered. "Gives me the creeps, he does. He gives everybody the creeps the way he comes and goes ... like a ghost." She whispered the last, and Sara suppressed a smile.

"He's no ghost, Nell, I can vouch for that," she responded. "Ghosts don't eat larded pheasant."

"I know it," Nell replied. "They don't shed, and leave hairs on counterpanes, neither. It's just how he seems is all. I'd like to give him a good bath, I would, but nobody can catch him. The master was goin' ta get rid o' him. I don't mind tellin' ya, we'd all rest a mite easier if he'd do that, but I don't know if he will now bein' that the dog's a hero and all. They ain't too happy about that below stairs."

"Oh, I hope not, Nell," Sara said. "I've grown quite fond of Nero, and I want you to leave my foyer door open a crack each night, just in case he should visit."

"If you say so, my lady, but-"

"I say so," Sara enforced. Maybe she wasn't a real wife to Nicholas Walraven, yet, but she knew how to run a house and keep the servants in their place.

"Yes, my lady."

"I think I've bathed long enough," said Sara. "I should like to get out now, if you would fetch my clothes."

"Oh, ya can't have your clothes, my lady. Only your nightgown."

"I beg your pardon?"

"The master's orders, my lady," said Nell. "You're ta stay in bed till he says otherwise."

"That's absurd," said Sara. "It's scarcely past the breakfast hour. I can't stay abed all day. I'm perfectly fine, Nell, just a few cuts and bruises; nothing serious."

"The master says that's for the doctor ta decide, the doctor that's comin' from London tomorrow."

"But I can't stay abed with a guest due to arrive. There are preparations to be made-my menus, the arrangements. I must see to them!"

"I'll see ta them," said Mrs. Bromley, entering with salves, a basin with a compress steeping in it, and bandage linen laid out neatly on a tray.

"But-"

"Now, now," said the housekeeper. "The master'll sack the lot o' us if you don't behave. He's left me in charge, and you're goin' ta mind, else he'll have me on the carpet. Nell will help ya outta the tub. We'll towel ya down, get ya inta your nightdress, and fluff your hair dry by the fire, while I bandage them cuts on your poor hands. Then it's inta that bed with this poultice on your brow ta take that lump ta task. I brewed the bath for it myself, from red dock and castor oil. It'll help heal the bruise, and bring down the swellin'. Then we'll bring ya a nice bowl o' oxtail soup, and toasted bread with gooseberry jam-they're full o' iron, ta put your blood back in order. We'll have ya right as rain in no time."

Nicholas made an appearance after dinner. Though Sara was expecting him, when he entered her bedchamber, her heart began to race so severely she was certain he could see it in the rapid rise and fall of her breast beneath her nightgown and wrapper. How handsome he was in skintight black pantaloons that outlined his corded legs and thighs. How broad his shoulders were in the black tailcoat of superfine, and white embroidered waistcoat that emphasized his narrow waist and broad, well-muscled chest. Her mind's eye saw what lay beneath. Hadn't she seen him nearly naked? Twice.

For a moment, he didn't speak. All day, she'd been dreading his visit. She'd steeled herself against the imminent lecture. She had no defense. Exactly what he'd told her would happen if she prowled the house alone had happened. She couldn't meet his black-fire eyes reflecting the hearth glow, and when he spoke, she lurched as though she'd been shot.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, strolling nearer. She did glance up then, in time to see his brow arch as he studied her swollen forehead and bandaged hands. "I was hoping much of what I saw earlier would wash away. Foolish of me."

Sara's heart sank: He was cold and distant again. But she hadn't imagined his reaction when he carried her out of that priest hole; there was warmth and gentleness and ardor in the man. There was passion in him, too. Not just the kind that rage bred, either, although he certainly had a penchant for that. A seething, smoldering passion lay just under the surface ready to explode. She hadn't mistaken the tenderness in his embrace, the rhythm of his heart shuddering against her. He did care. Why was he afraid to show it?

"Mrs. Bromley's remedies are quite remarkable," she said, "but it's really not as serious as it looks."

"We shall let Dr. Breeden determine that, when he arrives tomorrow," said Nicholas.

"Nell tells me that you've taken my shoes," she said. "May I have them, please?"

"Not until the doctor gives me leave to let you out of that bed," he responded.

"I have other shoes, my lord," she snapped.

" 'Nicholas,'" he corrected her. "I hope that knock on the head hasn't affected your memory. We have a bargain, remember?"

"How could I forget?"

"I shan't scold you. I should think you've learned your lesson," he said. "I've had the priest hole cemented shut, but there are other dangers in this house. You must respect my wishes and refrain from going off

exploring on your own. What were you doing down there? How did you come to fall through that revolving panel?"

"That hardly matters now," she replied.

"Oh, but it does matter," he snapped. "What were you looking for? Were you chasing that animal again?

I want you to tell me the truth, Sara. You needn't skulk about in this house. You have only to ask if you need assistance with anything. I've taken into account that you've come from a prison, but Ravencliff is not one. You needn't be afraid to speak your mind here. You're very good at it, as a matter of fact. There is naught to fear but the danger you put yourself in ignoring my directives."

"Your 'ground rules/ you mean," she observed.

"If you want to put it that way, yes. Don't shift the subject. Why were you down there?"

Should she tell him the truth? She was angry enough to. He was right, she had never been afraid to speak

her mind... until she'd come to Ravencliff.

"I'm waiting," he reminded her. "It was Nero, wasn't it?"

"Not exactly," she said. "He didn't lead me down there, if that's what you're thinking. He knows his way

around this house, and he's often wet, smelling of the sea. I should like to have a walk on the cliff one day. It occurred to me that he must know of another exit on the sea side, and I meant to follow him to it -"

"In the middle of the night?" he interrupted.

"Not to go out, just to find the way out."

"Did it never occur to you that any of the servants, or I myself, would have been only too glad to show

you?""Show me, yes, but not allow me to venture out there on my own.""Oh, I see.""You really don't, but I'm too weary to explain.""I would like you to try," he said, folding his arms across his massive chest."There are times when I prefer to be alone, and I take great pleasure communing with nature. You above all should understand that, what with your passion for solitude. I believe that to be your only passion."

She didn't really believe it, not for a moment, but he didn't need to know that-at least, not then.

"Which proves how little you know me," he said, pacing the carpet at the foot of the bed, taking slow, deliberate strides, his fisted hands clasped beneath his coattails.

"You don't give me a chance to know you, Nicholas."

"You're avoiding the issue again," he replied. "You followed Nero. Then what?"

"He was much too quick for me. I lost him in the shadows of the corridor, and I went below to see if I could find him, when one of the footmen, I believe it was, started to open the servants' quarters door. I didn't want to be discovered there at that hour, and I ducked behind the staircase and hid in the shadows until he passed. When I leaned against the wall, I fell through."

"You could have died down there," he said. "That priest hole was built centuries ago, Sara. It hasn't been used in over a hundred years. Though I knew of it, I'd never even been down there. There are more than one in this house, as well as a maze of tunnels and hidden passageways veining the lower regions. They were used as escape routes in time of invasion, and later as a means of access for pirates and smugglers and privateers, coming and going with their plunder. I have never even seen them all. Now do you see why I didn't want you prowling about on your own? If Nero hadn't picked up your scent, I never would have found you down there."

"You won't get rid of him now, will you, Nicholas?" she pleaded.

He stopped pacing and faced her, his eyes absent and haunting.

"Nicholas... please?"

"I may not have a choice, Sara," he said. "One day, you may have to choose between us."

Chapter Nine.

Though Dr. Breeden pronounced Sara fit enough to leave her bed, Nicholas insisted that she keep to her rooms for a few days. He needed time with the doctor alone, but Sara wasn't his only concern in that regard. Alexander Mallory was underfoot now as well, and the wily steward wasn't as easily confined.

"Forgive me for presuming upon your skills the moment you arrived, Dr. Breeden," Nicholas said across the dinner table, as the footman presented the whole steamed salmon. "It couldn't be avoided, I'm afraid. I shall give you the same advice I gave her ladyship: Please do not go ambling about on your own in this antiquity, else you fall victim of a similar peril. Ravencliff is full of surprises, not all of them pleasant."

"I am only too glad to be of service, Baron Walraven," the doctor replied, "and you needn't fear, I shall indeed step with caution."

"There's even a dungeon below," Mallory chimed in, leaning back for the footman to lay down his plate of salmon. Then to Nicholas: "Do you remember the summer we found it? God, how old were we then- just lads. The Normans were very inventive chaps. Ravencliff is filled with examples of their ingenuity." He shifted his attention to the carver's chair. "Nicholas, how did she ever... ?"

"She will be more careful in future," Nicholas responded, ignoring the question, meanwhile dosing the steward with a look that silenced him.

Aside from the clink of silver against china, that silence prevailed until midway through the roast saddle of mutton course. Nicholas was champing at the bit. He was so anxious to consult the doctor that his emotions had begun to flag danger. It wouldn't do to let down his guard in front of the steward, but there were some related topics that could be discussed in company, and he decided to begin with those.

"I understand that you've spent much time in India, Doctor," he began.

"I lived there for many years," said Breeden. "It was in India that I wrote the Oxford papers you alluded to in your invitation. Fascinating country."

Nicholas had no fear that the doctor would inadvertently betray him. His invitation had made clear the necessity for complete secrecy in regard to the true nature of his visit-even from Sara, and especially from Alexander Mallory.

"My father was there, as well," said Nicholas, over the rim of his wineglass. "He was part of the early occupation under Warren Hastings. When Lord North's India Bill went into effect in 1773, and Parliament gained control of the East India Company, India came under the Governor-General's control. Once that occurred, British rule in India was vigorously pursued. Hastings, the first Governor-General, was one of my father's closest friends. Father joined him there early on, in the spring of '74, and returned to England in '76, the year before I was born."

"I see," said the doctor and, from his expression, Nicholas had no doubt that he was beginning to. Dr. Mark Breeden was a man twice his age with the most articulate pair of quicksilver eyes he had ever seen. They gleamed with an in-ner light of understanding that was both frightening and reassuring at once. They were studying him now, and he had no doubt that they saw more than what rested on the surface. "Mustered out after just two years, you say, and at such a critical time-during the birth pangs of the occupation? That couldn't have been the end of his tour. Was he injured?"

"Yes, but not in combat. He was bitten by an animal-a wolf. The wound never healed. It festered, became ulcerated, and the ulcer spread. It poisoned his blood, and in the end it killed him. He died not long after I was born."

"I see," said the doctor. "How tragic. And your mother?"

"My mother died when I was twelve. She never remarried; she never recovered from the loss of Father. They were very devoted."

"You were an only child?"

"Yes," said Nicholas. The answer seemed to trigger relief in the doctor's expression, and now Nicholas began studying him. "Mills, my valet, was Father's valet and his batman during his commission. He was with him in India, when the accident occurred. He cared for him nearly until he died, and then looked after me as a child, especially after Mother passed. I couldn't do without him."

"Good, and... loyal servants are so hard to find these days," said the doctor, his emphasis upon the word 'loyal' telling that he'd read the lines between.