A Rake by Midnight. Gail Ranstrom
only utter a tiny squeak barely audible above the chanting of dozens of voices. Everything had gone dreadfully wrong, but she could not make sense of it.
Another man appeared, kneeling between her legs. Lifting his robes. She knew. Oh, now she knew. She was to suffer Cora’s fate.
Now terror had a name. The Brotherhood.
“No!” a distant voice screamed. Her sister’s voice? Dear Lord! All was lost if they had Bella, too.
But suddenly the night was chaos and nothing made sense to her muddled mind. The clash of blades, shouts, shrill whistles and, suddenly, a blade at her throat. Searing pain. The warm ooze of blood as it seeped from her wound. She turned her head and closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable, praying it would be quick.
But death did not come. Instead she registered the sound of running feet and distant shouts. A warm cloak covered her nakedness as she was lifted from the stone altar and cradled in strong arms. The cloying smell of incense still heavy in the air permeated his robe, but there was an underlying scent of clean masculinity. Something heated and strong. She clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulder and arm, terrified he’d let her go. Terrified, too, that he might not have come to save her. She opened her eyes, knowing it was too late to fight anyway.
James Hunter. Oh, why did it have to be him?
Chapter One
September 12, 1821
Night again. Darkened streets, shifting movements in the shadows, muffled sounds, whispers on the wind, the damp chill of a suffocating fog. And always, the impending threat of disaster at her back. Gina O’Rourke hated the night, though she had begun to live her life in the hours between dusk and dawn—as if nothing evil could happen to her if she kept watch.
She brimmed with relief as she watched the lamp lighter touch his torch to the lamppost outside the sitting room window. She could have sworn there were shadows in the park across the way.
Turning away from the window, she picked up her embroidery and sat by the fire where the light was best. As she pushed the needle through the fine linen she tried to direct her thoughts to the future, something she had not been able to do since that night.
Tomorrow, perhaps, she would speak to her brother-in-law about finding her and Mama a place of their own. Andrew and Bella should have a chance to be alone, and to nurture their marriage without Mama’s interference. Nothing so far away as St. Albans, but perhaps a cottage in St. John’s Woods would do nicely. There, Mama could complain and fuss to her heart’s content with no one inconvenienced. Except Gina. But there was something…safe in that sort of life. Safe and comforting, as only the familiar could be.
Yes, a quiet life without drama or danger was just the thing. No one would ever have to know about her past—about that night. She could stop racking her brain, trying to remember the horrid bits and pieces that came before finding herself carried away from the altar, cradled in James Hunter’s arms. Just his scent, woodsy and heated, had calmed her then. Now the memory of it unsettled her in a most troubling way.
The front bell rang, followed by the sound of boots and a muted voice speaking with Andrew’s butler in the foyer. She glanced at the clock. Nearly midnight. Andrew’s meeting had run quite late, and he was still closeted in the library with Lord Wycliffe, but who would call at midnight? She stood, ready to make a quick retreat, but she was not quick enough. James Hunter appeared in the doorway and removed his hat.
“I beg your pardon, Miss O’Rourke. I came to see my brother and Edwards asked me to wait while he informs Drew that I am here. He must not have known you were using the room.”
Gina struggled to think of something to say but found herself tongue-tied. She sank back on the settee, her heart racing, and wondered if her mere thoughts had been enough to summon him. Stranger things than that had happened to her lately.
Leaving now would be obvious and rude. And revealing. She retrieved her needlework again and rested it on her lap, praying her fingers would not tremble when she took up her needle.
“I believe he is in some sort of late meeting, Mr. Hunter,” she told him. “I doubt you will have long to wait.”
“With such charming company, I shall pray he delays.”
She met his gaze and realized he was just being mannerly, and only because her sister was married to his brother. All the Hunter brothers were polite to a fault. Still, she could never encounter him without reading the memory of that wretched night in the depths of his violet-blue eyes. She saw pity there, too, and abhorred the thought that she was pitied. She could not help but wonder if he still saw her as she’d been that night—naked until he had covered her with his cloak. Heat shot through her and she swallowed her tiny moan at the mere thought.
He dropped his hat on a chair and went to a console table to avail himself of the sherry bottle there. He glanced at her over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow by way of invitation.
“No, thank you,” she murmured, looking toward the sitting room door. Where was Edwards? And why did James, of all people, have to find her alone?
“How have you been, Miss O’Rourke?”
“Well, thank you.” She glanced down at her embroidery but her right hand went to a spot near the hollow of her throat and the livid gash of scar tissue there. She met his gaze, swallowed hard and dropped her hand quickly. Why did he have to be so devilishly handsome? She might be able to bear it if only he were old or ugly or boorish instead of tall and uncommonly good-looking!
“I am glad to hear it,” he murmured.
She stood, gripping her embroidery hoop in her left hand. “I…I am a bit fatigued. If you will excuse me?” She took several steps toward the door.
His eyes narrowed and he moved to block her way. “No.”
Surely she had not heard him correctly. “What?”
“No, I will not excuse you. I’ve had just enough to drink to not give a damn for social niceties. ’Tis past time we had a talk, Miss O’Rourke. We cannot keep on as we have been.”
A slow chill seeped through her. Surely he did not mean to discuss that night? “I do not know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do. We must come to an understanding for the sake of our families.”
“We are not at odds.”
He took a swallow of his sherry and studied her with darkened eyes. “Being at odds would require a misunderstanding. Alas, that would require conversation. And we, Miss O’Rourke, have had precious little of that. Mere niceties exchanged in public is our forte. This is the first time we have been alone since…well, ever, and I intend to make use of it. God only knows when the opportunity may arise again.”
“And my wishes?”
He shook his head. “I have tiptoed around your wishes, Miss O’Rourke, and could continue to do so for the next millennium if left to you.”
He was right. She would never have chosen to have this conversation. Never have spoken it aloud. And this was, perhaps, the worst count against the infamous Blood Wyvern Brotherhood—they had robbed her of self-respect and dignity. The men at that ritual had been cloaked and hooded. She had not seen their faces, but they had seen her. All of her. And now, when a man looked at her and smiled, she wondered if he had been one of them—one of the villains who had meant to rape and kill her that night.
“I…I really think…”
“Your sister is married to my brother. For that reason alone, there will be countless times in the future when we are in each other’s company. It would be easier if we could come to an understanding instead of this awkwardness we now engage in.”
Gina looked down at her slippers, just peeking from beneath the hem of her yellow gown. “That night…you…”
A full minute passed before James finally filled the void. “I