Shanna murmured coyly, “Am I so ugly, sir, that words are stricken from your tongue?”
“On the contrary,” Ruark answered with an apparent ease he little felt. “Your beauty so blinds me, I fear I must be led to the gallows by the hand. My mind can little absorb such splendor after the dreariness of this dungeon. Is it meant that I should know your name, or is that a part of your secret?”
Shanna recognized that she had struck her target and saved the balance of her weapons for a later moment. She had heard similar vows often, indeed much these same words, and they seemed trite to her. That this ragged wretch would use them was almost an affront to her pride. But she played the game on. She shook her head, tossing the curling tresses enticingly, and laughed somewhat ruefully.
“Nay, sir, I give it to you, though I beseech your discretion, for therein lies the weight of my problem. I am Shanna Trahern, daughter of Orlan Trahern.”
She paused, waiting his reaction. Ruark’s brows lifted, and he could not hide his amazement. “Lord” Trahern was known in all circles, and in that of young men, Shanna Trahern was often the topic of heated debate. She was the ice queen, the unattainable prize, the heartbreak of many a lad, and the professed goal of ten times that number—the dream of unrequited youth.
Satisfied, Shanna continued. “And you see, Ruark”—she used his given name with casual familiarity—“I have need of your name.”
“My name!” he burst out in disbelief. “Ruark Beauchamp? You need the name of a condemned murderer when your own would open any door you wish?”
Shanna moved to stand close before him to lend weight to her words. Her eyes wide and appealing, she stared into his and spoke almost in a whisper.
“Ruark, I am in distress. I must be wed to a man of sterling name, and you must be aware of the importance in England of the Beauchamp family. No one would know except myself, of course, that you are no kin. And since you have little future need of your name, I could use it well.”
Ruark’s confusion blunted his wits. He could not think of her motive. A lover? A child? Certainly not debts, for she was of money such as no debt could entangle. His puzzled frown met the blue-green eyes.
“Surely, madam, you jest. To propose marriage to a man about to hang? Upon my word, I cannot see the logic in it.”
“ ’Tis a matter of some delicacy.” Shanna presented her back to him as if embarrassed and paused before continuing. She spoke demurely over her shoulder. “My father, Orlan Trahern, gave me one year to find a husband, and failure shall find me betrothed to whom he wills. He sees me a spinster and wants heirs for his fortunes. The man must be of a family privy to King George. I have not yet found the one I would choose as my own, though the year is almost gone. You are my one last hope to avoid a marriage arranged by my father.” Now came the hardest part. She had to plead with this filthy, ragged colonial. She kept her face averted to hide her distaste. “I have heard,” she said carefully, “that a man may marry a woman to take her debts to the gallows in return for an easing of his final days. I can give you much, Ruark—food, wine, suitable clothing and warm blankets. And surely my cause—”
At his continued silence, Shanna turned toward him and tried to see his features in the gloom, but he had carefully maneuvered their positions until she now was presented full to the light when she faced him. The wily beggar had moved so stealthily that she had not been aware of it.
Ruark’s voice was somewhat strained as he finally said, “Milady, you test me sorely. A gentleman my mother tried to teach me to be, with good respect for womanhood.” Shanna’s breath caught as he stepped nearer. “But my father, a man of considerable wisdom, taught me early in my youth a rule I’ve long abided.”
He walked slowly around her, much as she had done with him a few moments before, then halted when he stood at her back. Scarcely breathing, Shanna waited, feeling his nearness yet not daring to move.
“Never—” Ruark’s whisper came close to her ear, stirring awake a tingling of fear in her. “Never buy a mare with a blanket on.”
Shanna could not suppress a flinch as his hands came over her shoulders and hovered above the fasteners of her cloak.
“May I?” he asked and his voice, though soft, seemed to fill the very corners of the cell. Ruark accepted her silence as consent, and Shanna braced herself while his lean fingers undid the velvet frogs. He drew the cloak from her, and she knew a moment of regret. Her carefully devised attack was spent in an unplanned rush. But little did she guess the carnage it reaped. Though lacking splendorous trimming and fancy laces, the deep red velvet gown enhanced her beauty divinely. She was the gem, the jewel of rare beauty which made the dress more than a garment but rather a work of art. Above the hooped panniers which expanded her skirt on the sides, the tightly laced bodice showed the narrowness of her waist while it cupped her bosom to a most daring display above the square décolletage. In the golden glow of the tallow lantern, her skin gleamed like rich, warm satin.
Ruark stood close, his breath falling softly against her hair, his head filled with the delicious scent of woman. Time slipped past, flying on silent wings, and still he did not move. Shanna felt suffocated by his nearness. The smell of brandy permeated her senses, and she could feel his eyes slowly roaming over her. Had the cause been less dire, she would have fled in disgust. Indeed, she had to fight the urge to do so now. It nettled her sorely that she had to stand on display for him. But like her father, with a high profit at stake, there was no limit to her patience, determination, or guile.
All his senses completely involved with her, Ruark felt an overwhelming desire to take Shanna in his arms. Her fragrance beckoned him, her soft, ripe curves made him ache with the want of her. Her breathtaking beauty quickened his very soul, stirring his mind with imaginings of what loveliness lay hidden from view. There was a need in him to feel the warmth of her beneath him, to sweep her up in his trembling arms and ease the lust in his loins. But he was painfully aware of his own rags and filth.
And, too, there was a puzzling glimpse just beneath the surface of her beauty of something to which he could not lay a finger, a hint of sarcasm, a brief flash of insincerity, a strange touch of arrogance. Still, he was convinced that had she any other choice she would not have been here. He knew Orlan Trahern was a man of power but found it difficult to imagine that the man would so constrict the life of his only offspring.
Shanna could bear it no longer and whirled to face him. “Do you find it so distasteful, then, this sharing of your name? Do you say me nay?” Why in heaven’s name did she have to plead with this cloddish knave?
Ruark drew a ragged breath and by an extreme effort of will replied casually. “There’s much to consider here—Shanna?” He peered at her questioningly, arching a dark brow, and at her nod of consent, continued. “My name is all that I have left, and there are those who would be greatly pained at seeing it further dishonored.”
“I promise you, Ruark, that I have no intention of misusing it,” she hastened to assure him. “I will but borrow it for a time and when I have found the one I can love, then ’twill all be over. If you agree, you’ll be buried with all respect in a well-marked grave in a churchyard. Can those for whom you care then long remember your shame?”