Captive Bride Page 3

  While Dominic was hungrily devouring Rozalyn, she was scrutinizing him for an altogether different purpose, but even while she was reminding herself that her interest in the man was born of desperation, she found herself instantly attracted to this darkly handsome stranger. Tall and raven-haired, he towered above the other passers-by, like a stately pine dwarfing the trees of a forest. When his long, confident strides took him across the street, Rozalyn was impelled to view this male specimen at close range, and she charged toward him before he reached his destination. To her relief, she found him to match the description she had given Lenore almost an hour earlier.

  His black velvet waistcoat stretched across his wide shoulders and strained over his powerful chest as he dodged the stallion's prancing hooves. Crisp, wavy hair, as black as midnight, framed his craggy features, and he had prominent cheekbones, an aquiline nose, and a strong jaw. Green eyes that sparkled like priceless emeralds peered back at her from beneath a veil of long, sooty lashes—lashes that any woman would envy. And there was an arrogantly confident look about this swarthy rake, a stamp of wild nobility in his bronzed features, an aura of primitive maleness about him. Rozalyn was suddenly vividly aware of his masculinity.

  The sun had darkened his handsome face. The forces of nature had eroded and hardened the laugh lines that strayed from the corners of his vibrant green eyes so that when he smiled deep slashes cut through his cheeks and enhanced his attractive features. His brows were dark and thick, as if to protect his eyes from harsh weather, and his lips were full. . . . Rozalyn suddenly wondered what it would be like to experience the touch of those lips, yet quickly she corraled her wandering thoughts. She was here on an urgent mission and kissing a total stranger was the least of her concerns!

  Determined to continue her careful appraisal of this candidate, she allowed her discerning gaze to run the full length of his hard, muscular torso, finding not one flaw to criticize. Indeed, this dashing gentleman was the epitome of masculine grace. Rozalyn found herself attracted to him, simply because it was impossible not to be.

  There was not an ounce of flab on his virile body. Although he dressed like a wealthy aristocrat, his physique more closely matched those of the drifters she had seen milling about her father's warehouse. His gaping white shirt exposed the dark matting of hair on his chest and accented his dark tan. Rozalyn caught herself wondering if his torso had been fully exposed to the sun and if his tan covered every inch of his . . . Banish the thought! Again she berated herself for permitting her mind to drift in such an intimate direction. Such wicked musings should never have entered her head. It was shameful and most improper to visualize how a man might look if he were stark naked.

  After discarding her sinful musings, Rozalyn gave the man another scrutinizing glance, and when the rake broke into a disarming smile, Rozalyn knew her frantic search had come to an end. This stranger had magnetic charm and dashing good looks. Lenore would be properly impressed by him if Rozalyn carted back to the solarium and introduced him as the light and love of her life.

  "You will do nicely," Rozalyn announced with an approving nod. Extending her dainty hand, she silently requested that he climb up behind heron the bay stallion.

  Isn't it supposed to be the other way around? Dominic asked himself. He mentally thumbed through the fairy tales he had read after his father had dragged him from the mountains at the age of thirteen and had deposited him on his grandparents' doorstep to receive a proper education in St. Louis. Knights on white chargers were supposed to sweep lovely damsels up into their arms and then tote them off, weren't they? But there he was, approached by a disturbingly attractive lass. Her soft, husky voice turned him into a heap of senseless mush. Her feminine fragrance drifted down to warp his senses.

  Well, perhaps this dream was a strange one, but Dominic Baudelair was not a man to question good fortune. His large hand enfolded her small one, and he gave not a second thought to refusing the invitation of joining her in the saddle.

  "I will do nicely . . . for what purpose?" Dominic questioned, grinning with roguish anticipation. He stuffed his booted foot in the stirrup and swung up to settle himself behind this mysterious bundle of beauty. This may evolve into a very interesting morning, he thought delightedly. His lovely companion was far more intriguing than the painted doxies who waited in the brothel.

  The rich, mellow resonance of his voice, so close to her ear, sent a shudder through Rozalyn, and the feel of his hard torso, fitted against her feminine curves, made her tremble. This is absurd, she told herself. Mon Dieu, I don't even know this man! Why does his nearness have such an unsettling effect on me? She had not counted on being so physically attracted to the man she was hauling to Lenore's solarium. That changed everything! She would have to keep a watchful eye on this rogue. There could be nothing between them. This stranger was only a temporary prop who would serve her purpose until she could devise a way to untangle the mess she had made.

  When his muscled thighs crowded her hips and his brawny arms enveloped her waist, Rozalyn gulped down her apprehension and gouged the bay stallion in the flanks. The steed made a tight circle, reversed direction, and then lunged forward as if struck by a lightning bolt. Unprepared, Dominic very nearly toppled off the bay's rump. A startled squawk erupted from his lips and he clung to the only stable thing within reach—Rozalyn. Once he had squirmed back to an upright position, he clamped one hand on the pommel of the saddle, the other tightly around her waist. As he molded himself closer, Rozalyn's anxiety rose another notch.

  "Damnation, woman, slow this nag down or I will provide a corpse for the mortician. Where the hell are we going in such a rush?"

  Rozalyn refused to allow the stallion to break stride, and the amused onlookers parted like the Red Sea, permitting her to thunder off on her urgent mission. She maintained her reckless pace to ensure that the rogue she had picked up off the street would make no advances. It was far easier to have him holding on for dear life than to have him attempting to seduce her, she decided.

  "I request a favor from you, monsieur," Rozalyn threw over her shoulder, pleased that her tone sounded cool and indifferent though her emotions were in turmoil. "If you will do exactly as I tell you, you will be well paid for your inconvenience."

  When the stallion veered around the corner and finally streaked down the open road, Dominic eased his grip on the saddle horn. Grabbing the handful of raven hair that had been slapping him in the face, he tucked it beneath her collar. "You have piqued my curiosity, cherie," he murmured. His fingers absently brushed through her lustrous ebony strands, and he inhaled the delicious scent of lavender that clung to this mysterious minx. "I am waiting to hear how I might assist you."

  Rozalyn purposely ignored his velvety tone since it had such an unusual effect on her. Obviously, this handsome rake thought she was requesting the use of his body for some seductive tryst. Rozalyn intended to set the matter straight posthaste. "I have been caught up in an unfortunate lie and I ask that you help me untangle it. You are the only one who can aid me in my hour of need."

  A puzzled frown plowed Dominic's brow. If this was her idea of an explanation, it left a great deal to be desired. He didn't have the foggiest notion what she was talking about or how a total stranger could solve her problem.

  "What sort of lie are we discussing here, or dare I ask?" His voice was laced with suspicion and Rozalyn was quick to detect his skepticism.

  Heaving a frustrated sigh, she formulated her thoughts and attempted to list them in logical order. "My grandmother has become ill. It is her last wish to see me properly wed," she explained as she slowed the stallion to a walk. "But unfortunately, I have found no man who suits me, much to Grand’mere's chagrin. She is determined to seal my future before she passes on."

  A wry smile slid across Dominic's lips, his gaze wandering over her shapely figure. He would have no complaint about marrying this bewitching beauty and he seriously doubted that any other man would either. Indeed, what was there about her not to
like? She was the epitome of grace, the picture of loveliness ... a bit unconventional perhaps, but distractingly attractive. Realizing that, Dominic wondered if the fault might lie with the lady, rather than with the male population of St. Louis.

  "I can only assume by your remark that you are a mite particular," he chortled against the velvety softness of her neck. "And dare I say it ... fickle?"

  Rozalyn took no offense at the truth, but she felt she had just cause for remaining unattached. The men in her life had made her cautious and mistrusting. "I suppose that is an accurate account of the situation," she admitted with a nonchalant shrug. "But that is neither here nor there. When my ailing grandmother had one of her sick spells I was prone to say anything to boost her failing spirits. I confessed that I had recently met the man of my dreams and I described him as tall, dark, and handsome. Never in my worst nightmare did I expect her to demand an immediate introduction to the man who was simply a product of my imagination. Nor did I anticipate that she would shuffle me out the door and insist that I drag my beloved beau back to her within the hour."

  Dominic chuckled at the exasperation in the young woman's voice. "Let me guess, amie. You climbed onto your steed and raced into town to find someone to fit the description. And viola, I was close enough in size and stature to pass as an impostor." As Dominic pressed closer to her curvaceous hips, his breath whispered over the nape of her neck, sending chills through her. "I am flattered. Thank you for noticing me."

  "You are welcome," Rozalyn tossed back at him and then gave his crowding legs a subtle nudge. "And you are very astute." Her gaze drifted toward the mansion they were nearing. "I did come in search of a man who fit the description of this imaginary character. To satisfy Grand’mere, you and I must act as if we are very much in love. I ask you to leave the grande dame with the opinion that, because of this compelling attraction between us, we will soon be wed. She is very determined when it comes to seeing to my future."

  "You wish me to play your doting admirer, your loving suitor? You want me to bestow my affection on you in her presence?" This could well be the easiest task he had ever undertaken and the most pleasurable one. If Rozalyn had seen the outrageous grin on his face she would have been leery of dragging Dominic to Lenore's doorstep, for his mischievous smile indicated that he would carry her request much further than she intended.

  "This may well be the most important role you have ever played. You haven't by chance had any experience in the theater, have you?"

  "No, I am afraid not," Dominic confessed, stifling another merry chuckle. "But I promise to put forth my best effort."

  "I shall count upon you to be convincing." Rozalyn reined the stallion to a halt in front of the sprawling mansion and then gestured for Dominic to climb down. "You can bring a worried old woman a meager amount of serenity. Is that asking so much?"

  Dominic reached up and helped Rozalyn down. Allowing her shapely body to brush familiarly against his, he stared down into those sparkling blue eyes that reminded him of sun beams dancing on a clear mountain stream, and his knees went weak. He was drowning in their colorful depths. "If this charade may save grandmother from many sleepless nights, I am only too happy to assist you," he assured her, his voice raspy with desire.

  "Merci." Rozalyn smiled beneath his warm regard, but she removed herself from the circle of his arms before the odd sensations trickling down her spine clouded her thoughts. This stranger's neatness aroused her and she could not fathom why. After all, she knew nothing about him.

  Sweet merciful heavens! The color seeped from her flushed cheeks when she realized the blunder she had very nearly made. She had come dangerously close to dragging this man into the house without asking his name! Lenore would have seen through her scheme immediately, and would have been furious when she realized Rozalyn had purposely set out to deceive her.

  "What is your name, monsieur? I cannot expect to convince Grand’mere that we are hopelessly in love if I cannot even call you by your given name." Wide eyes focused on him, pleading with him to supply his name.

  Dominic stepped away, and sweeping his top hat from his head, he bowed elegantly before her. Then he struck a sophisticated pose and flashed her a wide smile that displayed even white teeth. "Dominic Baudelair at your service, mademoiselle."

  A thoughtful frown settled onto her exquisite features. Baudelair . . . The name echoed at the back of her mind. It was well known in St. Louis, just as DuBois was. But her father had permitted no one to voice it in his home. Although Aubrey refused to discuss the matter, Rozalyn knew he had some kind of grudge against the Baudelair family. He would not approve of her associating with anyone by that name, but Dominic was the only man she'd found who would suit her purposes. Besides, Aubrey would never learn of this incident.

  "And by what name shall I address such a lovely vision as you, my beloved?" Dominic inquired, his eyes hungrily devouring her.

  "My name is Rozalyn DuBois." She curtsied primly before him. Then, spinning on her heels, she sailed up the marble steps.

  "Du—" Dominic swallowed quickly and almost choked. His eyes bulged as he stared incredulously after the saucy chit who was gracefully floating up to the entrance. DuBois! The name rang in his ears like a clanging bell.

  The taverns on the waterfront were abuzz with tales of Rozalyn DuBois. So this was the elusive ice maiden, the sought-after heiress of a fur empire. It was rumored that she had cast aside more eligible bachelors than the ocean had fish, and she was said to be as wild and impulsive as the wind. It would take a strong man to bring this feisty hellion to heel. Dominic had listened to a half-dozen men spin yarns about this free-spirited sprite. She traveled in such diverse social circles that neither gentleman nor thief would dare to cross her—out of respect and sometimes out of fear. She had established a rapport with both aristocrats and ruffians. Indeed, it was claimed that the lady was never out of her element. She possessed the uncanny knack of relating to people from all walks of life, to prince or to pauper, and Rozalyn DuBois never had to fear going about St. Louis after dark. For some strange reason even the ruffians held her in high esteem. Rozalyn had become their legendary princess.

  Dominic had assumed that this wench's reputation had been built on the foundation of her father's prestige, but now he was beginning to think Rozalyn had earned her own reputation. As a matter of fact, Dominic wasn't sure he would put anything past this lively young beauty. Although she had the face and body of an angel, there was a daring sparkle in her wide blue eyes, a mischievous gleam that warned there was more to the lady than shallow beauty.

  The stories about Mademoiselle DuBois were almost too incredible to believe, but Dominic wondered if he had been a mite too skeptical. A sly smile rippled across his lips as he reassessed the vivacious beauty who had thundered down the street and demanded that he climb into the saddle to assist her with an urgent mission. No, it would not be wise to underestimate this lovely chit, he advised himself.

  He was beginning to believe the rumor that Rozalyn had challenged one of her overzealous suitors to a duel when he'd attempted to take outrageous privileges with her. No doubt, the lady was as adept at handling firearms as she was in managing the flighty stallion she rode. Rozalyn had been furious with the man, so the story went. She had insisted that they row out to the local field of honor—Bloody Island, a small mound of land in the Mississippi River. Although the young man protested the absurdity of dueling against a woman, Rozalyn forced him to pace into position. She insisted that, since she was the one who had been offended, it was her right to defend her honor. She was not about to have a man fight her duel for her. The gentleman refused to fire against a woman, but Rozalyn had no qualms about facing a man. She was infuriated with this bold rake; who had dared inflict bungling embraces on her after she had made it clear that his touch repulsed her. She was determined to have her revenge. So, to assure him that, lady though she was, she could blow him to smithereens if she had a mind to do so, she blasted the pistol from the man's han
d at twenty paces. Needless to say the young man became a believer.

  He promptly voiced his apologies and swore never to go near Rozalyn again, especially without a protective suit of armor.

  Dominic had suspected that this temperamental hoyden, who was the subject of several other wild tales, was so ugly that men only approached her because of her vast wealth. But this lass who cavorted with ruffians, raced her stallion against worthy opponents and won, and who indulged in many other wild antics, was a far cry from a wealthy witch. It still baffled Dominic that the feisty hellion, whose name was frequently spoken in the grogshops, and this dazzling nymph were one and the same. Aubrey DuBois may have been a scoundrel, but his daughter was—

  "I suppose you have heard that I have a notorious reputation. Perhaps you are apprehensive about associating with me," Rozalyn speculated as she saw conflicting emotions cross his bronzed features.

  A low rumble rattled around in his massive chest. "I cannot lie to you, cherie. I have not been in the city long, but I have heard about your unusual behavior. Such talk does leave a man to wonder what is in store for him."

  When Dominic made no further remark but only stared at her, Rozalyn asked impatiently. "Well, are you coming or not? I have no intention of blowing holes in your expensive jacket if our scheme fails against my grandmother ... if that is what you are thinking."

  "Then, by all means, let us commence with the first act," Dominic chortled as he swaggered up the steps. "I can think of nothing more worthwhile than humoring an old woman. And I can think of nothing more entertaining than carousing with a young woman who has a reputation of being . . . shall we say, a bit unconventional? Especially since she has granted me amnesty," he added with a subtle wink.