“Enough of this!” he demanded fiercely. “What must I promise you in order to be released from this chair?”
A shiver stole over her, daring and courage surging together inside her. For a moment she had the unimaginable thought of kneeling before him and kissing the base of his throat. Brina had never done a reckless thing in her life, and she had the feeling he knew that. Knew of her sudden and unexpected desire to have his strong-looking arms wrapped around her, his hard body pressed against hers.
Another wild, forbidden idea suddenly entered her mind. It thrilled her down to her toes. Something that shouldn’t have occurred to her. What if she told him she would untie him if he would agree to take her with him on his journey through the hidden passages to find his cousin?
But as quickly as the exciting thought surfaced, she shook it away. She couldn’t entertain anything so drastic and unlike her. It would be madness. But the fleeting contemplation had sent an exhilarating rush of anticipation shooting through her that wouldn’t soon pass.
“All right,” she answered on a breathy sigh, knowing she was going out on a very shaky limb but willing to do it. “No promises are necessary. I’m going to have faith you are telling the truth and that I am doing the right thing in freeing you.”
She hurried behind him and knelt at the back of the chair, feeling the tension in his muscles and sensing his excitement to finally be liberated as she worked the tight knots in the long, narrow scarf.
Her trusting him might be the biggest mistake of his cousin’s life and quite possibly hers too, should anyone in London ever find out she was in the room with this man. Or, heaven forbid, that she had willingly freed a man who had broken the law.
He brushed off the last of the bindings and rose, standing six-feet tall or more. He was as formidable as she had suspected, with ruggedly masculine good looks. His wide shoulders narrowed to a hard-muscled waist. Just the kind of man she normally ignored. Now, she watched him move quickly and jerk back into his garments and shoes. But when she thought he would hurry away without a backward glance, he stopped, turned, and stared at her.
Brina felt a shivering awareness pass between them. It was a sensation she hadn’t felt in years, and it left her feeling as if something startling, luscious, and magical had happened. Desire wasn’t an appropriate emotion for this situation or for her.
Ever.
Without warning, he took the steps that separated them and caught her up into his powerful embrace. She felt the firmness of his hard chest and warmth of his taut, solid body. His hands pressed into the middle of her back, bringing her closer to him. She knew he was going to kiss her.
Sudden fear and anticipation made her heart seem as if it were trembling rather than beating. She couldn’t move but watched the sensuous curve of his lips as they descended toward hers. His hold was tight, possessive, and thrilling as he bent his head to hers.
He gave her a hard, quick kiss that felt as if he were settling his claim on her. That shook her to the core. She heard a catch in his breath and knew the potency of the brief contact had surprised him too.
“Thank you,” he whispered huskily, looking deeply into her eyes as if to remember something he saw in their depths.
For a second or two his arms tightened even more, and she was certain he was going to kiss her again. Instead, he let go and rushed from the room.
A flush heated her cheeks, a fluttering filled her chest, and her stomach quivered like a delicate leaf in strong wind. His scandalous behavior was shocking and exhilarating at the same time.
Brina had just been kissed by a masked rake. And she’d never felt anything so wonderful in her life.
Chapter 2
The road to perdition was easy compared to the road to redemption. Zane Howard Veldon Dormer Browning, eighth Earl of Blacknight, should know. He’d traveled on both in his near thirty years of life. His name alone had been enough to make him want to find his own way and not be subject to long-held traditions and stiff manners he cared naught about following. Why work so hard to become the standard bearer for gentlemen when just being a man came so naturally?
And was infinitely more enjoyable.
The first thing Zane had done when he arrived in London late yesterday was to pay his respects to the Dowager Countess and offer sympathies. Her sorrow and grief were still evident and enormous. Out of regard for her suffering, he hadn’t stayed long.
The second thing he’d done was find a distraction. That had come in the form of spending all night at the Brass Bull Gaming House.The sun had come up hoursago, yet he and three other men still assembled around a table in the private card room. Raucous laughter and lively scores played on the pianoforte from the night had settled down. He could now hear sounds of horses, carriage wheels, and occasional chatter from people passing by filtering in from the open windows below. The streets outside were busy with Londoners going about their usual daily lives—as was Zane.
But he couldn’t forget that things had changed for him now. For the better or worse was yet to be known.
Two months ago, one of Zane’s uncles, who was the Earl of Blacknight at the time, his only son, and a cousin who had been in line for the title, were killed when the bridge over Blacknight Canyon gave way and their coach tumbled to the bottom of the dry ravine. In the blink of an eye, the succession of two heirs to the earldom were gone, and Zane had become Earl of Blacknight.
After the horrific news finally reached him in Vienna, he and his errant cousin Robert had left immediately for London. Their journey had been long, beset by an enormous amount of late winter snow and followed by torrential rains that flooded roads, streams, and villages.
Movement from one of the players brought his attention back to the cards in his hands. He blinked his dry eyes several times to clear his vision. It had been a while since he’d spent all night playing cards and appreciating a bottle of fine brandy and female companionship. For his overindulgence, he now had a pounding throb at his temples.
He’d already decided he was on his last shot of the morning when he sensed someone standing not too far behind him, watching his back. None of the players at the table had given whomever it was a bother of a glance, letting Zane know the person wasn’t a stranger to the small private club. He had a fairly good idea whoit was—dear old Uncle Syl. Someone must have told the old bachelor Zane had made it to London.
Sylvester Browning, his father’s next to the youngest brother, had taken it upon himself not only to be Zane’s conscience but an unsolicited advisor after his mother passed. Uncle Syl had taken up Zane’s mother’s mantra and urged him to mend his roguish ways and settle down to the quiet, respectable life of a gentleman and start a family. As if there weren’t enough well-thought-of Brownings populating England already.
It wasn’t that Sylvester was an unlikable fellow. He wasn’t, and there had never been any harsh words between them. Zane got along reasonably well with him, except when his uncle’s hovering was irritating—like a bee that wouldn’t be swished away. The two of them had often matched words, but they were always civil. His straight-as-an-arrow uncle wouldn’t know any other way to be.
When the last card hit the table, Zane scooped up his considerable winnings from the night, pushed back his chair, and rose while bidding his fellow gamesters a good day. He dropped the coins into his small leather pouch and cinched the opening tightly. Only then did he turn to confirm his suspicions. Not only did Sylvester wait there for him, his father’s youngest brother, Hector was there too. Zane muttered a curse to himself. Both were staring stone-faced at him, their collars and neckcloths pulled tight as their expressions.
