Beyond Love Page 5

  Natural instincts took over ... instincts Thorton had never before experienced. Her hand glided up the rock-hard chest. Upon reaching his shoulders, she wrapped her arms around his neck. She brushed her mouth against his once, twice, three times. Leaning back, she smiled shyly.

  To Blake, her smile was of one who had mastered a great feat, an achievement. He was filled with a sudden urge to shout. Any doubts that had earlier plagued him were laid to rest. Her shy kisses stated that Miss Lynwood was indeed an innocent. Or a very accomplished actress. His heart warned him not to ignore this, but it could not stop his arms from closing around her, crushing her body to his. He lowered his mouth to hers, showing, teaching her a true kiss.

  Thorton stiffened. Never had she dreamt a kiss could be so fierce. The muscles in her stomach grew taut; a stimulating pulsation vibrated deep within her. Both new sensations were strange, yet exciting, bringing forth a hint of fear. But as the kiss continued, her fear faded as a new feeling invaded her ... a feeling of melting from the inside out.

  Blake did not have to worry about holding on to her. Her arms were wound around his neck, her body plastered tightly to his. He let his hands roam over her back, down to her flaring hips, then his hands found the smooth skin of her thighs. Somewhere in his mind he reasoned that surely he had died; this had to be heaven. Touching her was like touching warm silk. His mouth slanted over hers, again and again, devouring, demanding everything she had to give.

  Thorton's fingers delved into his rich black hair, pulling, tugging, for what she wasn't sure. Instincts told her there was so much more for Blake to give, to teach, and she wanted it all.

  “Excuse me, Milord.” Griggs’ voice cut through the room like an explosion, making the unsuspecting couple jump. “Forgive me for interrupting your ... argument. When I heard only silence coming from the room, I thought perhaps the two of you killed each other. I see I was mistaken. If you'll excuse me, I believe I will retire for the night. Unless you need some ... help?”

  Blake slightly broke away from her. Thorton's lips were swollen, as if her mouth had been thoroughly ravished. Well, he had been giving it his best shot, he thought with satisfaction. Her cheeks had a rosy glow, making her even more lovely, if such a thing was possible. Her large, soft eyes had turned a deep, molten gold in color, making him wish he had his pistol; if he did, he would shoot the interfering, ill-timed butler.

  He came to his feet with only a bit of trouble. The dazed woman still had her arms wound around his neck and her legs wrapped around his hips. Reaching behind himself, he unhooked her locked ankles and slowly let her body slide down his. If he had not held on to her, she would have surely fallen. That knowledge made him feel immensely pleased.

  Keeping one arm anchored firmly around her waist, he started past an obviously amused Griggs when he noticed Lucas standing outside the door. Blake ignored both men as he led Thorton from the room and up the stairs to the second floor.

  “Good night, Madame. Until tomorrow,” he stated when they were standing outside her chamber. He hated to admit it, but he did not want to relinquish his hold on her.

  “Tomorrow?” Thorton asked. The fog of desire was slowly evaporating from her mind. Heat stole up her cheeks when she noticed Lucas standing slightly behind Blake. Glancing around, she wondered how they had gotten upstairs.

  “Our wedding. Surely, you have not forgotten?”

  “Our wedding?” Thorton shook her head. “Tomorrow?”

  “It would be best. No sense in prolonging the deed. Or have you changed your mind?”

  She searched his eyes for the humor she thought she detected in his voice, but found none. “I ... I haven't,” she whispered, before entering her room, closing the door behind her.

  Lucas and Blake stood glaring at each other. Finally, Lucas gave a grunt of distaste before spinning on his heels and stalking down the hallway to his own room.

  Blake stayed rooted in front of Thorton's door until he heard her guardian close his door. With a jaunty sway to his steps, a soft whistle upon his lips, Blake made his way to his chamber. Damn, if he did not feel good. His male arrogance was riding high and in full force. He could not recall the last woman he had affected in such a way ... Thorton had been dazed with a passion he had created. His own body was still in a state of painful turmoil.

  Lord, he could still smell her scent, feel her warmth. What a strange day it had been. Never would it have entered his mind that the evening would end with her body wrapped around him, her lips and arms clinging to him.

  Stepping before his bureau, his eyes went to the mirror above. He looked upon his swollen lips and smiled. Then his gaze raised ... to view his full face.

  A groan rumbled through his chest. How could he have forgotten what he looked like? How could she have been able to kiss him? The male arrogance slowly withered, dying an excruciating death.

  He swung around, blocking out the hideous reminder of who and what he was.

  Chapter Four

  Thorton hardly slept a wink all night as her mind replayed the scene in the library. Never had she felt the things the Baron had made her feel. She could still feel the touch of his hands. The taste of him lingered. Lord, how wanton she must have appeared. But, fast on the heel of that opinion came the memory of Blake's behavior. Apparently, he did not mind her wantonness.

  Of course, she reminded herself, that was last night. What was the good Baron thinking this morning? She wanted only one thing to begin with ... his understanding. She feared she would never receive such a gift.

  With a heavy sigh, she lay across her bed and stared at the ceiling. All her life she had only one purpose. She had to reach it. She had always been patient and knew she had to remain so, especially now. She was too close to get over-anxious.

  Gathering her courage, she pushed up off the bed to ready herself. If the Baron was in a monstrous mood, she would simply have to work harder. She had awaited this day for fifteen years. She wasn't silly enough to think this day would be as she had always imagined, nor was she silly enough to let her fantasies of her future stand in the way of reality. All she could do was hope for the best.

  Mentally she went over her plans as she began to dress. There was so much to do, and only a year to accomplish her aim. She could not let anything, not even the Baron, stand in her way.

  Outside the sun was shining; the soft chirping of the birds could be heard. Absently, she thought the day had great possibilities for grandness. Her wedding day. Unfortunately, much of the day depended on what frame of mind the Baron would be in. Still, there was an excellent chance the day would be perfect.

  How wrong could a woman be?

  * * * *

  It was almost a perfect day ... until Thorton entered the drawing room and came face-to-face with a white-haired lunatic.

  The madman stood only a few inches taller than her. His clothing had a look of antiquity, and from the way the garments hung on his shallow frame, she guessed that, at one time, he must have been heavier.

  But what held her attention were the blue eyes that glared at her with such hatred she almost took a step backward. Would she ever get used to the behavior of those in this household? Probably not. She assumed the glowering man was some relation to the Baron. Then she wanted to groan; this had to be Blake's father.

  Mentally she braced herself as she searched for Blake. He was standing off to the side. Their eyes met. He didn't look as though he was in too bad a mood, she decided with relief. If anything, he appeared bored. His eyes showed not a hint of remembering who she was, let alone how shameless she had acted the night before.

  “So the bastard has finally sent us his spawn.” Roger Bradley's voice wheezed from his meager frame.

  “Father,” Blake sighed as he reached past his sire and pulled Thorton into the room.

  “The jackal has sent his curse to reside with us till the end of time,” Roger sneered. “I only hope when Lynwood breathed his last breath, fires of hell claimed his rotten soul.” By the t
ime he was done spitting out his blasphemy, he was bent over coughing, gasping for air.

  Thorton was the first to react. Pushing past Blake, she tried to offer assistance. Roger pushed away her groping hands. She lost patience with the old fool. Grabbing his arm, she dragged him to the nearest chair and shoved him into it.

  While the old man was still stunned, Thorton went to the doorway and called for Lucas to bring her satchel. She returned to the old man, who was still panting. Without the slightest hesitation, she began loosening his shirt. But he would not let her be gentle, and kept smacking her hands. The mental picture of him tied to the chair was a pleasing thought, but an unattainable fantasy.

  She glared at Blake, waiting for him to do something, but his only reaction was a slight twitching at the corners of his mouth. She let out a weary sigh before attempting her task again.

  This time when Roger Bradley slapped her hands, she slapped his hands in return. She reasoned it wasn't her fault she had to resort to childish antics ... it was Blake's. Instead of watching with his ill-placed humor, he should have been offering assistance.

  Blake had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from laughing. His father looked like an old woman vigorously fighting to protect her virginity, while Thorton was the rakish cad trying just as valiantly to snatch it away.

  “Blasted woman, keep your hands to yourself! This is all your doing.” The first part of Roger's statement was said in a near roar; the last past was wheezed out.

  Thorton tired quickly of his game. She ripped open his shirt and smiled when he gasped. “How can I be to blame for your wretchedness? I wasn't the one who mistreated your body. Shame on you! Apparently, your brain is as deteriorated as the rest of you.”

  Roger was too busy sputtering to hear her outburst. “Look what you've done to my best shirt.” His hot gaze moved to his son. “Do you see what the chit has done? Our lives are already heading for hell and she's been here only a day. In a week, she'll have us all in our graves.”

  “Hush. I've done nothing to you ... yet. And if your life is heading toward hell, then it's by your doing, not mine.” Thorton sighed when he pulled together his rendered shirt.

  “You owe me a shirt,” Roger muttered as he glared at her.

  “You were in need of a new one anyway,” she stated.

  Lucas entered with her satchel. It took her several minutes to go through the various jars and select the ones she needed.

  She opened the jars while casting quick glances at the elderly man. This was not going to be easy. She wondered if he knew just how serious his sickness was. Not only did he need her healing salve on his chest, but also some of her special tea. If not treated immediately, his sickness would undoubtedly grow until it claimed his breathing ... and the beating of his heart. She could not, would not, let that happen.

  Thorton noticed Griggs, his mouth agape, standing in the doorway. She coughed to cover the sudden burst of humor that came over her. She could just imagine what he was thinking. A Lynwood helping a Bradley? Never! Well, let him think what he liked, she thought. He would anyway.

  “Sir?” she called to him. “Please, bring me some old rags and a pot of steaming water so I may prepare some tea for Lord Bradley.”

  Griggs promptly snapped his mouth closed, nodded, then hurried away.

  “You'll not be pouring your poison down me,” Roger raged.

  “You'll drink it on your own accord ... or I can have Lucas hold you down. Either way my brew will go down your scrawny throat.” Thorton purposely kept her eyes from straying to Blake. She told herself she didn't care what his reaction was to her boast. After all, she was doing this for him, to save his sire.

  “Are you going to let her threaten me?” Roger asked Blake in a pitiful voice. “Every word she speaks proves she's the whelp of Lynwood. Look at her, I tell you. She wears the look of a wolf, just like her sire.”

  Thorton listened as the elderly man ranted. It didn't bother her what his opinion was. What concerned her was his shortness of breath, the rasping and rattling in his chest. She had to find a way to get past his defenses. Opening another jar, she cautiously approached him.

  “You flatter me, kind sir. It must run in the family. All these years I thought I was a mere girl, nothing special. Until I walked through those doors yesterday,” she simpered before continuing. “I'm surprised. I would have thought every woman in England would be lined up at your front door, waiting for any honeyed words you and your son might cast their way. I, for one, feel most grateful and honored that I, alone, get the abundance.”

  Blake considered her words. He had been less than hospitable toward her yesterday, but what had she expected? Her father had cornered his family into this bargain.

  He frowned as he once again recalled her words from yesterday. She was willing to be a wife to him in every way ... she had no objection to their marriage and never had. There had to be a catch. Why was she so willing? Why did she want one year with him? Something about a goal. He made a mental note to ask her just what this great aspiration was.

  Blake stopped his wandering thoughts when he saw the look on his father's face. He wasn't actually afraid Thorton would hurt Roger. She was too tenderhearted. Hadn't he realized that last night? Although, if anyone would have asked him that question during the past fifteen years, he would have replied it was doubtful, since she was a Lynwood.

  Thorton eyed Roger as apprehensively as he was watching her. Before he could make a move, she reached for his shirt. He slapped at her hands and tried to crawl over the arm of the chair. She pulled him back.

  “She's a wolf, I tell you!” Roger sputtered, pushing her away.

  “Would Madame like me to hold him down?” Griggs offered, as he entered the room carrying a steaming teapot.

  “Get out, you old crow!” Roger shouted. “A wolf needs no help in slaughtering its pry. What kind of servant are you to offer her help in finishing me off? I ought to dismiss you.”

  Thorton ignored Griggs’ bid to help, but thought to tell him later how much she appreciated his kindness. For now, she had to get the salve on Roger's chest and get him to drink the tea.

  “It's only fitting, don't you think?” she asked, pushing her hands up and around and over until she ripped away his shirt. “That the daughter of a wolf should marry the son of Satan. Quite a pair we'll make.”

  Roger's shocked gasp echoed through the room. His irritation was so great he had not even noticed how she had completely rendered his shirt.

  “Bloody hell!” he shouted, looking down to see the damage. “She's done me in. I can smell the poison ... I can feel it burning away at my skin.” His voice grew faint, his head fell to rest upon the back of the chair. “Blake,” he moaned. “It's getting cold ... so god-blame cold.”

  Blake's eye widened. How could he have been so wrong? He moved forward, ready to knock the wench away from his father. Just then, Thorton looked at him and smiled. She even had the audacity to wink. Placing a finger to her lips, she indicated she wanted him to remain silent, then turned back to the man slumped over in his chair.

  “What a shame.” She sighed heavily. “I had hoped he would linger a bit longer.”

  Blake scowled. What was her game? He was slightly confused-hell, that had been his frame of mind since her arrival, he thought.

  “Well,” she continued, “I think we should mourn through the morning and get it over with. That way we can get on with our wedding this afternoon. You won't be feeling sad during the ceremony, will you? I would truly hate to marry a gloomy groom.”

  Thorton was watching the elderly Bradley. The man appeared to have already departed to meet his Maker. It was a dreadful game he was playing and she did not like it one bit. He was purposely trying to make her look bad and the good Lord knew she didn't need any help in that particular quarter. The Baron already had too many bad thoughts about her.

  Blake closely watched his father. He could see the shallow breaths. His gaze moved to Thorton and, as if on cue, she
looked up. Her gold eyes were solemn as they stared steadily back. “You won't miss him too much, will you?” she asked softly, keeping her eyes locked with his. “I mean, I know you will, but...”

  Blake was at a loss as to what to do. Knock her out of the way, or play her game? Roger was not dead, that much he knew, but what if she had poisoned him with her ointment?

  “My father,” Blake murmured, “locked himself away on the upper floor, sometimes for weeks at a time. I never saw much of him. I think, I can manage to get over his death.”

  Roger came sputtering up out of the chair. “Manage! Manage! You ungrateful boggy-toad! I have a good mind to outlive you.” His cheeks turned a deep red when he saw the humor on their faces.

  “What a recovery,” Blake stated with a mocking grin. “From death to spouting eternal curses. Dr. Lawthorne will be pleased to see his most visited patient is still alive and sputtering.”

  “That old duck doesn't care if I'm alive and sputtering, as long as he can grumble.”

  “Sounds like you, Milord,” Griggs announced.

  “I ain't talking to you,” Roger stated arrogantly.

  Thorton crumbled some leaves in a cup and added hot water. After mixing it, she held it out.

  “'Tis poison,” Roger muttered.

  “'Tisn't,” she replied with a winning smile. “I have not killed you yet. Though, you did wish to make it appear so.” Raising the cup to her lips, she took a sip before handing it to him.

  Gingerly, he took the cup and slowly raised it to his nose, sniffing cautiously.

  “It will help the rattle in your chest. It will also stop the cough and have you breathing like a young man again.”

  “It don't smell as bad as that gook you put on my chest,” he conceded. Gingerly, he sipped at the brew. “It tastes all right, I guess. Would taste better if I chased it down with a spot of warm brandy.” He continued to sip until the cup was empty.

  Thorton watched the rise and fall of his chest. Within minutes it appeared he was breathing easier. With one of the rags Griggs had brought her, she rubbed the salve from his chest and laid her head against him to listen.