Barbara Pierce (31 page)

His green eyes twinkled in merriment. “You may be right.” Fayne tweaked her nipple and slid his hand to her belly. “We eventually marry. Duty to the family and all that. We breed our heir, and die in some outrageously spectacular manner.”

Kilby frowned, sensing he was deliberately leaving pieces of the tale out of his retelling. “Perhaps it is merely coincidence?”

“I used to think so, too. My father was the exception to the dukes who came before him. He did not die a young man in his prime. He sired his children and lived long enough to see his hair turn gray.” Fayne looked away, fighting the grief he usually kept hidden from everyone including her. “As ridiculous as it sounds now, I thought he would live forever.”

Having lost her own parents, she knew exactly how he felt. Kilby laid her hand over the one he had placed on her belly. “No, it does not sound ridiculous. Not to me.”

Fayne leaned over and kissed her. “A part of me still thinks the Solitea curse is superstitious tripe. Mostly,” he ruefully admitted. “Then there is a part of me that sees that despite my best efforts, I am following the same path as the other Carlisle males.”

She wrinkled her nose. Denying that he was a true Carlisle was akin to Fayne’s denying that he was a virile male. “You are wasting your time trying to convince yourself or me that you are anything other than a Carlisle. Good
grief, Fayne, you tossed me into the lake and made love to me with such scorching fervor I would not be surprised if our passion made the lake water boil!”

As he recalled the intensity of their lovemaking, the green flame in his eyes flared with renewed interest. The man was simply incorrigible!

“And look at us,” she said, gesturing to their decadent repose. “Never in my life have I contemplated lying under the sun without a stitch of clothes on. And yet, here we are. You have totally corrupted me in true Carlisle fashion. I dare you to tell me that if you could, you would choose living your life in a less extraordinary manner.”

His lips quirked into a smile at the preposterous notion. “I suppose not.” Fayne lightly splayed his hand over her abdomen. “Do you realize there is a chance our child is already growing in your womb?”

His question struck her entire body like a lightning bolt. Her skin felt electrified and itchy at the thought. Was she pregnant with Fayne’s child? She placed her hand on the soft curve of her belly and tried to recall the date of her last menses. It had taken place before she had first encountered Fayne.

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at his smug, knowing expression. “You have done nothing to prevent such an outcome,” she said flatly. There was no question in her inflection. She saw the answer in his beautiful, arrogant eyes.

“Not once,” he admitted unapologetically.

The countless times he had taken her flashed in her mind. Fayne had come to her so demanding, so hungrily.

Fayne bent his head over her stomach and kissed her belly. “I would be jubilant if you were. As would the family be, especially my mother. I knew after that night I first lost myself in your wonderfully snug body on the sofa that you were fated to be my duchess. As the Duke of Solitea, producing the next Carlisle heir is one of my primary duties to
the title and the family. I saw no reason to deny myself the pleasure.” When she seemed displeased by his answer, he added, “If our child, indeed, sleeps in your womb, no court will consider your brother’s claim of guardianship. You are my wife now. You and the babe belong to me.”

“This pleases you?” she asked skeptically. Perhaps this was what he meant when he spoke of curses and his following the same path as his ancestors. If he had married and sired his heir, then there was nothing left but to wait for the family curse to claim him.

“Yes, Duchess, it does.” Fayne rolled on top of her and settled between her legs. “From now on, I am prepared to dedicate myself wholly to my duties.”

His body was so hot from the sun his flesh burned hers. Aroused, she felt his manhood prodding her moist heat, urging her to take him into her body. She shifted her legs slightly, and their bodies melded together. Any uneasiness she felt about the Solitea curse faded from her consciousness as she yielded to his pleasurable stroking and denied him nothing.

Someone had been watching them.

Fayne crouched down next to the set of fairly fresh boot prints he discovered near the lake, not far from where he and Kilby had made love the previous day. He stroked his jaw contemplatively as he studied the shallow imprints. Judging from the size, he knew he had not made them. Stevens had not returned from the village yet so he ruled the coachman out, too.

He owned the surrounding two hundred and fifty acres. His family had never had a problem with poachers, although it seemed the safer explanation than his first thought—Nipping had tracked Kilby to Carlisle Park. By now, the marquess had probably coerced Lady Quennell into confessing that Fayne had eloped with Kilby. If the man had a jot of intelligence, he should graciously accept that his sister was beyond his reach. He had no hope of taking her from Fayne. Kilby was a Carlisle.

Still, no one had ever credited a lunatic with rational thinking.

Fayne stood, his gaze broodingly fixed on the boot imprints that should not be there. If Nipping had been watching him and Kilby frolicking in the water yesterday, he hoped the man had realized the futility of separating them. He did not want to kill his wife’s brother, even if the man unquestionably deserved it.

Returning to the house, he found Kilby perched on the edge of a chair while she brushed out her hair. She was dressed only in her chemise. Fayne raised a brow at her scanty albeit alluring attire. Aggie was not expected to arrive for several hours.

“You do not look like you washed, Your Grace,” she teased, tipping her head up so he could graze his lips over hers. “Were you waiting for me to scrub your back?”

“A charming idea,” he said with false cheeriness. “One I hope to pursue later. While I was near the lake I discovered some game tracks. I think I’ll postpone my bath and go hunting. Besides, I like the thought of providing for my duchess.”

Kilby nodded. She was unaware of the tension and anticipation coiling in his gut. “I suppose you hunt each time you stay here. Do you regret that you have been so distracted lately to spare a single moment to the hunt?”

Was she serious? No man loved hunting game
that
much. “You are a delightful distraction I would choose over hunting any day.” Fayne kissed her lingeringly on the mouth. He wished he could carry her upstairs and spend the day in bed with her. Regrettably, duty came first. He needed to make certain her crazy brother was not stalking them. “What will you do in my absence?”

“Nothing very interesting,” she said, trailing after him as he went to find his father’s rifle. “I think I will bathe in the lake. My hair needs a good scrubbing.”

Fayne paused at her announcement. If he ordered Kilby to remain in the house, she would demand an explanation.
He had been assuring her for days that she was safe on Carlisle lands. No harm could befall her if she simply planned on washing herself in the shallows of the lake. Until he knew for certain, he did not want to reveal his suspicions to her.

He tried another tactic. Pulling her into his arms, he said, “If you want to delay your bath, I will personally oversee the scrubbing of your back, and any other part of your delectable body that you feel needs my special attention.”

“Hmm . . . a tempting offer, Your Grace,” she said, pressing her breasts against his chest. “Still, I know
you.
I will never get my hair properly washed with you underfoot. Go on, off you go.” Using both hands, she dismissed him with a departing gesture. “My stomach will indubitably appreciate your efforts later.”

The second she turned away to collect the articles she needed for her bath, Fayne’s smile faded. Pivoting on his heel, he focused his thoughts on the hunt.

Kilby grasped the trunk of a tree while she slipped off her shoes. Fayne had left the house fifteen minutes earlier, intent on hunting the animal tracks he had discovered near the lake. She did not understand why he had a sudden urge to hunt for game. Kilby had not even known her new husband was an avid hunter. It was another example of how little she knew about the man she had married.

With the sweet almond soap ball clutched in her hand, Kilby waded out into the lake. Despite her claims yesterday about the lake being too frigid, the water was rather comfortable once she had gotten over her initial shock. Without Fayne there to talk her into removing her chemise, she was keeping the undergarment on. Aggie was due to arrive soon and the coachman could return without any warning. Though it was flimsy, Kilby wanted something covering her.

Submerging completely under the water, she surfaced, her breath coming out in a sharp hiss. Kilby pushed her hair away from her face. How had she considered this icy lake comfortable? A moment of insanity! She wrapped her arms over her breasts and moved back into the shallower water. It was warmer there. As she knelt down, the water covered her breasts partially.

Taking the ball of soap, she began scrubbing one arm and then the other. Understanding that Kilby’s trip north had been made in haste, Aggie had given her the scented soap balls on her arrival. Fayne seemed content to do without certain personal luxuries; however, Kilby was feeling disheveled and—she sniffed her left underarm suspiciously—mayhap even odorous. Disgusted, she vigorously applied the soap to her underarms.

She dunked herself deeper into the water, rinsing her body. Next, she lathered the soap in her hands and worked on her long hair. Usually, she had a maid who helped her wash her waist-length tresses. Methodically, she began working the soapy lather into her hair. The wet unwieldy mass was a handful. Kilby cried out in dismay as the ball of soap slipped from her hand and struck the surface with a plop.

“Oh, no!” She plunged her hands into the water, trying to catch the soap ball before it disappeared completely. With her fingers she gingerly probed the soft lake bottom, but the soap was gone.

As she scowled at the spot where the soap had vanished, Kilby noticed a shadow cross over her reflection on the water’s surface. Good! Fayne had returned. Perhaps he could help her finish washing her hair.

The hands that seized her nape did not belong to her husband. Before she could cry out, her unseen attacker shoved her face into the water. Instinctively, her hands clawed blindly at the powerful grip clamped onto her neck.
The hold was strong and merciless. No amount of frenzied twisting allowed her to lift her head out of the water.

Bubbles of her precious remaining air escaped her lips in her panicked struggles. Kilby was running out of time. The abrupt attack had given her no opportunity to draw a deep breath into her lungs, and her ineffective thrashing was swiftly using up what little air she had left in her lungs.

She was going to die.

No!
she thought hysterically,
I am too young to die.

Kilby scored her nails across her attacker’s flesh, hoping to mark her killer so Fayne could avenge her murder.

Fayne.
The poor man was going to think he was definitely cursed when he returned to the house and discovered her lifeless body floating facedown in the lake.

Please forgive me, love.

She felt her consciousness slipping away and her vision dimmed. Her arms were floating uselessly in the water. There was nothing left for her to do but allow the cold, dark water to claim her.

Abruptly, the tremendous weight on her neck was gone. She was so dazed, she floated facedown in the water for a few seconds before her air-starved lungs demanded that she rise out of the water. Pushing off the muddy bottom, Kilby staggered out of her kneeling position. She coughed and choked as she dragged air into her lungs. Her hair was a black curtain of sluicing water so she parted the tangled wet mass and shoved it away from her face.

Terrified her attacker was close by just waiting to submerge her again, Kilby whirled around, her body quaking from fear and the cold water.

She was alone.

Where had he gone? As she waded out of the water, her chemise clung to her breasts and hips, hindering her steps. Kilby could not stop shaking. Her legs collapsed as soon as her feet touched dry land. She kept searching for her
unknown assailant, but there was no sign of him. The world looked normal. It was as if he had never existed.

Kilby pressed her hands to her face and sobbed. She needed Fayne. Tossing her head back, she did the only thing she was capable of—she screamed.

Fayne was puzzling over the tracks he had found in the woods. The imprints were identical to the set he had first discovered near the edge of the lake. The tracks circled around the main house and buildings, but there did not seem to be a purpose to the pattern. It seemed like the trespasser had been wandering aimlessly in the woods.

In the distance, he heard a woman’s faint scream.

Kilby.

Fayne broke into a run, dodging trees and obstacles as agilely as a buck. He cleared the woods and headed for the lake. Had something or someone disturbed her as she bathed? With his heart pounding frantically in his chest, he saw her sitting on the embankment sobbing hysterically. Dressed only in a wet chemise, she was hugging her knees to her chest and her head was bowed.

“Kilby!”

Her face popped up when he shouted her name. “Oh, Fayne!”

Leaping to her feet, she ran straight into his embrace. She nuzzled his chest fiercely, as if trying to get under his skin. He eased the rifle to the ground so he could inspect her for any possible injuries with both hands.

Kilby sobbed against his chest. “It was so horrible.”

She was shaking uncontrollably. Her face was ghostly white and there was a faint bluish tinge to her quivering lips. Fayne held her tightly, his hands stroking her everywhere. Kilby seemed unhurt. “What is it? Did something in the water frighten you?” His gaze searched the nearby shallows of the lake, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.