Authors: Carol Finch
Dominic's appearance and his interference in Aubrey's life had poured salt on an unhealed wound, and memories hounded DuBois as he ordered his groom to proceed to the wharf. He swore Satan himself had placed this curse on him. He had spent a lifetime trying to forget that bitterness and betrayal, but seeing Dominic had brought his memories to life. It seemed only yesterday that he ... Aubrey refused to remember. With his jaw clenched and his eyes glazed with vengeance, he stared out the window. He wanted to think of nothing except the pleasure he would derive from seeing Dominic Baudelair pay for his unforgivable acts.
But, try as he might, Aubrey could not ignore the vision that emerged from the darkness. The memory was so vivid and tormenting that his insides were twisting into a tight knot. A muffled curse burst from his lips as he struggled to shake it off and focus his attention on the problem at hand. There will be no mercy for Dominic Baudelair, Aubrey vowed to himself. I will not waste an ounce of pity on the man who dared to abduct my daughter, and no man will force me into submission, especially not Baudelair!
After Dominic had hurriedly gathered his belongings, he gave last-minute instructions to the servants. Then, as he and Rozalyn rode off into the shadows, Mosley stretched out his hand, waiting for Chadwell to pay his bet. Grumbling, Chadwell dropped the ten-dollar gold piece into the coachman's hand.
Mosley's graying brow rose sharply as he stared at half the amount he'd anticipated. "The bet was double or nothing, remember?"
"Dominic may have left with that feisty chit, but he did not marry her," Chadwell muttered resentfully. "I am not handing over another coin until I know for certain that it is marriage Dominic has in mind."
"Stash another ten-dollar gold piece away for safekeeping," Mosley advised before he pushed away from the wall and ambled toward his steed. "I'm still willing to bet Master Baudelair never frees himself from Rozalyn DuBois. If he could have left her in St. L
Oui
s and returned to the mountains alone, he would have. The man has met his match, and it is only a matter of time before he realizes it."
As Mosley rode off with the note Dominic had wanted delivered to Lenore, Chadwell stalked back into the house. Dominic marry that raven-haired hellion? Dominic marry at all? Chadwell snorted at the improbability. He had lost one coin to Mosley, but it would be returned. Rozalyn DuBois would come back to St. Lo
ui
s one day, but she would come alone, Chadwell predicted. One could take Dominic Baudelair from the mountains, but one could not take the mountains from the man. Dominic was a vagabond, a wanderer never truly meant for civilization. He loved the Rockies and the adventurous life the mountains provided. It was only a matter of time before he realized the rugged terrain west of the Mississippi was no place for a woman, even one as free-spirited and resourceful as Rozalyn DuBois.
No, he would not lose another ten-dollar gold coin, Chadwell assured himself confidently. Dominic would eventually come to his senses, and he would be eager to send Rozalyn back where she belonged.
A soft chuckle drifted from Lenore's lips when she read the letter Dominic had sent to her. Carefully, she folded the parchment and tucked it in her sleeve. Things had worked out splendidly after all, she thought as she rose from her wheelchair to ascend the steps. Her pretended illness had led Rozalyn to a man who was very capable of handling such a willful sprite. For several hours that evening Lenore had feared her baiting had accomplished nothing, but after reading Dominic's note, she knew her dream would come true . . . eventually. Rozalyn would be in Dominic's care. And that is exactly where the child belongs, Lenore assured herself. Let Aubrey rant and rave. At least the man was showing some kind of emotion for the first time in more years than Lenore cared to count.
It had been wicked of her to deceive Rozalyn, she knew. But she'd felt she had to resort to rolling around in a wheelchair, painting her face chalky white, and stooping to violent coughing spasms. Manipulating Rozalyn had required drastic measures, and Lenore had employed them.
"If I could have found an alternative other than a deceitful one, I would have used it," Lenore murmured self-righteously. "But in this case the end justified the means."
A pleased smile bordered Lenore's lips as she eased herself into bed. Rozalyn had found a man who would protect her and care for her—love her. Rozalyn had met her match, and Lenore could not have been happier. The raven-haired rogue with the charismatic smile had taken Rozalyn with him, away from Aubrey. Lenore was not concerned because Dominic was carting her granddaughter off into the wilds. After all, she mused drowsily, Rozalyn always had been a bit too unconventional for civilization. The lovely hoyden would thrive in the wilderness.
Chapter 12
A thoughtful frown etched Dominic's craggy features as he surveyed the rolling hills of the Great Plains. He and Rozalyn had left civilization far behind and he could now breathe more easily. But his relief was short-lived, for when he glanced back over his shoulder blue eyes glared murderously at him.
Dominic had kept Rozalyn bound and gagged while he'd explained his intentions and described the ransom note he'd left for Aubrey. She had vehemently protested his plans, as he had expected, but with muffled complaints due to the gag. If he had allowed this spitfire to rave, she would have drawn a crowd before they'd escaped St. Lo
ui
s.
For more than three days Dominic had tracked along the Platte River, refusing to untie Rozalyn, hoping her fury would ebb. His strategy proved successful. Rozalyn no longer shouted muffled curses at him. Each time they paused to eat she threw one of her tantrums, but Dominic hurriedly stuffed food at her and replaced the gag. Now Rozalyn was sulking, refusing to acknowledge that there was another human amongst the small caravan of pack horses that trailed along.
At least it has been a peaceful trip, Dominic mused, veering into the tall cottonwoods that lined the river. He knew it was cruel and unjust to keep Rozalyn's hands tied to the pommel of the saddle, her feet to the stirrups; but he needed to reach his mountain cabin before harsh winter set in. He had no intention of being delayed in chasing this feisty minx through the wilderness when she attempted escape. And she would do just that, given the chance, Dominic reminded himself.
Rozalyn squirmed to find a more comfortable position in the saddle, then glared at the man who rode ahead of her, leading her farther away from civilization. No longer did she think of her abductor as Dominic Baudelair, but rather as Hawk. That was part of her desperate attempt to bury all memories of the handsome rogue who'd garbed himself in expensive silk and velvet. For her, Dominic had died the night they'd left St. Lo
ui
s. The dashing, emerald-eyed rake who had stolen her heart and then betrayed her no longer existed. Now, she had to contend only with this powerfully built mountain man.
Her eyes took in Hawk's buckskin clothes, unwillingly admiring the way the deerhide garments clung to his muscular physique. The doeskin fringe that dangled from his clothing waved sensuously as he moved. A low-crowned, coonskin cap sat upon his raven head, and moccasins covered his feet and extended up to his knees. Around his tapered waist hung a wide leather belt. Attached to it was an encased butcher knife—Rozalyn would have dearly loved to get her hands on that—and strapped to Hawk's hips were two loaded pistols, either of which Rozalyn would have delighted in turning on the scoundrel who had kidnapped her. The broad leather strap stretched diagonally across his chest held other necessaries: a bullet-mold, a ball screw, an awl, a ramrod, and a bullet pouch. The sling on his saddle held a Hawken rifle, a handmade weapon produced by the Hawken brothers of St. Lo
ui
s. The rifle was accurate up to two hundred yards and powerful enough to bring down a grizzly, or a buffalo.
Or an annoying half-breed, Rozalyn thought spitefully. At that moment, she would have had no reservations about snatching Hawk's prized rifle and testing its efficiency.
While Rozalyn was contemplating the various ways she could cut this ominous mountain man down to size, Hawk drew his steed to a halt. After swiveling around in his saddle, he stared pensively at Rozalyn. Her wild hair streamed about her shoulders in disarray, and her elegant gown looked the worse for wear after their long journey. Reasonably certain that there was no one within fifty miles, Hawk decided the time had come to remove Rozalyn's gag and garb her in appropriate clothing. The plunging neckline of her gown had been distracting and he intended to wrap Rozalyn's appetizing body in something less revealing. That would be a safety precaution, designed to protect Hawk from his lusty thoughts and Rozalyn from his unwelcome touch.
After pulling Rozalyn's steed up beside his, Hawk leaned out to remove the gag. He knew full well what her first words would be, even before she hurled them at him.
"I hate you!" Her voice echoed through the trees, sending the birds winging from the low-hanging branches.
"I knew you would say that." Hawk grunted. After swinging from his steed, he rummaged through his saddle bags. Once he had retrieved the garments he had brought for his fuming companion, he braved a glance in her direction. "I assure you that if I could have devised a better solution, I would have never dragged you out here with me. Unfortunately, taking you hostage was my only choice. We must both make the best of this intolerable situation."
Rozalyn made a face at Hawk and then muttered disrespectfully. For the life of her, she didn't know why she was polite enough to keep them to herself. Hawk did not deserve such courtesy. Earlier, she had vowed to burn off his ears with her curses, if and when he removed her gag.
After Hawk led the horses to the river to drink, he dragged Rozalyn from the saddle. Then, holding her by the arm, he thrust the buckskin garments at her. "These clothes will be more comfortable. Put them on," he ordered, his tone making it obvious he anticipated no argument.
But, holding true to form, Rozalyn thrust out a stubborn chin and turned up her nose at the buckskins. "I will wear my own clothes, thank you. I never accept gifts from men, especially those whom I despise."
So this is how it is going to be, Hawk thought. Rozalyn would spite him every step of the way, no matter how great or small his request. She had glared at him the previous day when they were caught in a thunderstorm, acting as if he were personally responsible for the inconvenience. She sniffed distastefully at their food and silently glowered at him when he forced her to sleep at his side.
Damn! It was time this belligerent minx learned to obey his commands. They were not flitting about in St. Lo
ui
s, for God's sake! They were in the wild. Hawk had no intention of battling bobcats, unfriendly Blackfoot Indians, and this fiery chit. He would teach her to take orders if it was the last thing he ever did!
Hawk's fingers folded around the bodice of Rozalyn's gown. With one quick jerk, he ripped the dress to shreds, leaving her naked body exposed to his all-consuming gaze. "The choice is yours." He chuckled devilishly. "You can sit astride your horse like Lady Godiva or you can don the garments I have generously purchased for you."
Rozalyn clutched her tattered gown to her breasts, shielding herself somewhat
from
emerald
eyes
that danced with deviltry, and her face flushed a furious red as she glowered at the infuriating brute who had left her with no choice but to comply. Then her pent-up frustration erupted like flood waters bursting from a damn. Rozalyn flew at Hawk, itching to scratch out his eyes before she snatched his flintlock and turned it on him.
A surprised squawk bubbled from Hawk's lips when her nails scraped his cheek, and he caught both of her wrists before she could inflict another wound. But, as the torn gown fell away, the sight of her heaving breasts and creamy flesh distracted him. Her unclad body unleashed memories of another time and place. He relived the night they had made wild, sweet love, the night he had discovered unbounded pleasures in the circle of her silky arms.
Rozalyn saw the spark of desire flickering in his eyes. She too, was tormented by the bittersweet dream she'd sworn was dead and buried. As his sinewy arms slid around her waist, drawing her against his hard, muscled length, their memories came to life. She could feel his bold manliness pressing against her thigh, feel the accelerated beat of his heart. It was futile to struggle against his overpowering strength, so she didn't.
There were subtle ways to prove to him and to herself that his touch no longer affected her. He could attempt to use her body for his lusty pleasures, but she would not respond to him. That would be a double victory. When Hawk realized she was no longer vulnerable to his caresses, he would release her.