Page 11 of The Rogue’s Embrace

Maria woke to real sunshine. There were no curtains blocking out the light—nor was there a foul-mouthed Englishwoman demanding that she rise and shine.

Her head pounded, but she had become accustomed to the daily hangover from the drugs. Her fingers reached out and touched soft, warm blankets. She was sleeping beneath clean sheets.

Is this a dream?

She was surely back home, waking in her bed. Any minute now her maid would come knocking on the door and ask if she wished to take her early morning coffee out on the terrace.

The crackle of wood burning had Maria rolling over onto her side. In a nearby fireplace burned a bright, inviting flame. She focused on the fire surround. It wasn't like any of the stone ones at Castle Villabona. This one was wooden.

Where am I?

She slowly sat up her head still woozy.

"Oh,"

she sighed.

She took in her surroundings. Sometime during the night, she'd been moved yet again. But why? Has the ransom been paid? Am I going home? Or are they going to kill me?

The small but functional fire sat to one side of a solitary window. The windowpane itself was plain glass, but from the amount of dirt which clung to the outside of it, she doubted anyone could see in. The whole place had a barely clean feel about it.

She glanced to the other side of the room. A chair. A table. A man slumped asleep on a tatty old leather sofa.

Maria scowled. Is that the Duke of Tolosa? I think it is. Why is he here?

Hazy memories of a darkened coach and being carried over his shoulder swam into her mind. Of course! He must have been the one who had masterminded her kidnapping. Her family's sworn enemy had snatched her from the beach in Zarautz and stolen her away to England.

She leapt out of bed, frantically seeking something large and heavy with which to bludgeon him. Maria swore under her breath. There wasn't even a poker by the fire that she could use as a weapon.

A quick check of the door revealed it to be locked.

Of course, it's locked. He might be evil, but he isn't stupid.

She considered the sleeping form of Lisandro de Aguirre. His ruffled dark hair, that stubble which had stirred her secret desires the night of the ball. Why did such a terrible man have to be so damn handsome? In all the folktales, only misshapen and outright ugly ogres were unkind and cruel.

Then her gaze settled on Lisandro's coat pocket and the key ring which was sticking out an inch. Her mouth went dry. Could she do it? Steal the key and make good on her escape? There may well be other men just outside the door, but she had to risk it.

Taking a deep breath to settle her nerves, Maria inched one step toward him. Then another. At the fourth step, a loose floorboard creaked, and she froze. Her gaze remained on him, watching for any sign that he might stir from sleep. He didn't move a muscle. His slow, even breaths continued.

Thank god.

Bending, she hooked the tip of two fingers under the ring of keys and then gently pulled. The keys shifted.

I can do this.

The next tug had them almost free of his coat.

A large male hand grabbed a firm hold of her wrist. "You need to work harder at your pickpocketing skills if you are to make a living as a light-fingered thief," he said.

Maria tried to pull away, but Lisandro held fast. Swinging his legs over the side of the sofa, he sat up. "Now I am going to release you from my hold, and you are going to take a step back. Is that clear?" he said.

She nodded.

Lisandro let go of Maria's wrist. She did take a step back.

And then she launched herself at him. "Te odio, perro sucio!"

The first slap landed perfectly on his cheek. She followed it up with a solid punch in the middle of his face which had her hand exploding in pain. "Oh!"

she cried.

He rose from the sofa, blood pouring from his nose. He quickly pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket. Maria reached for it, thinking he was about to offer it so she could wrap it around her injured hand; instead, he held it to his face.

"You beat me, call me a dog, and then expect me to be a gentleman?" he said.

There was a rattle and jangle of keys at the door, and it flew open. Two men burst into the room.

"What the devil is going on?"

asked the first, his accent marking him clearly as an Englishman.

The second took one look at Lisandro and quickly put a hand over his mouth. Maria frowned at the mirth which danced in his eyes. What sort of man would find any of this amusing?

She backed away as far as she could from them. This morning was the first time she had woken feeling semi-clear in her mind. That clarity of thinking, however, was a double- edged sword. It left room for fear.

Who were these other men, and what role did they play in the Duke of Tolosa's evil scheme?

Tears pricked at Maria's eyes as the weight of her circumstances settled heavily on her shoulders. Her kidnappers had revealed themselves—and with that came the deep worry of why they were no longer concealing their identities.

"Please. My father has money. He will pay whatever ransom you ask," she said.

Lisandro removed the cloth from his face. The bleeding appeared to have subsided.

"Do?a Maria, we are not your kidnappers. Last night, we raided the house in Queen Anne Street and rescued you," he said.

Rescued?

She shook her head. It was an unlikely story. How could she believe him?

"Then why is it that you, my family's enemy, is here? Don't tell me you just happened to be in London. Don de Aguirre, I don't believe in coincidences,"

she replied.

She and Lisandro locked gazes and Maria stared him down, determined to show that she was not afraid.

The look on his face oddly appeared to be more one of concern than anger. His brow knitted tightly.

The tall man who had been first through the door dipped into a low bow, startling her. "I am Sir Stephen Moore, Do?a Maria. Lisandro here is telling the truth. We killed three men last night in order to secure your release. No one here is going to hurt you."

Her gaze drifted to the other man. He bowed his head. "I am Lord Harry Steele. My father is the Duke of Redditch. I might be many things, but a kidnapper of defenseless women is not one of them. My wife wouldn't allow it."

He nodded at Lisandro and slyly grinned. "Though from the mess that is my friend's face, I would suggest perhaps that you are not entirely unable to defend yourself."

Maria's fingers curled tightly into balls. She wanted so very much to believe them. That she was no longer in danger and might finally be going home.

Lisandro reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and took out a gold chain.

"My Santiago medallion!"

she cried.

But how could he have come by it? I left it at the villa.

Her knees went from under her and she collapsed onto the floor, tears streaming down her face.

Lisandro bent and pressed the necklace into her palm. "Gentlemen, could you please give Do?a Maria and I a moment alone?"

He dropped down in front of Maria and wrapped his strong arms around her.

Please, Lord, let this be real. Let this man be all that he says he is.