Captive
Chapter: 2
Rated R (some slightly extreme sexual content, but nothing big..)

~~~~~

	Serena shoved open the door to the earl's study without
knocking, intending to confront him and gasped aloud.
	The earl sat on the edge of a claw-footed sofa, his dark head
pressed against a reclining woman's naked bosom.
	Serena stood frozen, her eyes riveted to the sight of the
earl's mouth releasing a damp, rosy crest.
	"My lord," she whispered.
	He rose like a hungry lion above its feast, his dark mane
wild, his eyes feral, then viciously angry as they focused on her.
	"Out!" he rasped. "Get out!"
	She backed away, turned, and ran-- but not to her room, where
he had ordered her to stay. Instead she headed out the front door--
where she was forbidden to go and slammed the heavy portal defiantly
behind her.
	Darien rearranged the immaculate waterfall his valet had
created out of his neck cloth, shoved a hand through his dark curls
that were cut in a Brutus style, and bowed gracefully to the
half-naked woman draped on the sofa.
	"You will have to excuse me, Lady Frockman," he said through
tight jaws. "Duty calls."
	"Stay, Darien," Lady Frockman cajoled. "The brat is gone, and
we can be alone."
	Darien's blue eyes turned cold. "Take care, Claudia. You are
speaking of a young lady."
	?But, Darien, you've called her worse yourself!" Lady Frockman
protested.
	Darien raised a dark brow. Of course he had. The incorrigible
minx was driving him mad-- but he could not allow his young ward to
be disparaged by a lady who was, despite her title, no lady.
	"You will be gone when I return, Claudia. Samuels will
arrange to have a carriage take you back to London."
	Without another word he pivoted on his booted heel and headed
out the door of the salon.
	"If you send me away, Darien, I'm not coming back," Lady
Frockman threatened.
	Darien did not even pause. He should have never brought his
mistress to his home in the first place. It was an outrageous thing
to do, but there had been no one to say him ?nay? for a very long
time. His grandfather, the Duke of Trent, had been ill for years,
keeping him and his duchess house-bound on their estate in Kent.
Responsibility for the family had fallen on Darien's shoulders when
he was still a boy himself, but along with it had come a great deal
of freedom to do as he pleased.
	That was no excuse for subjecting his sister and his ward to
the presence of his mistress. He was suddenly glad that Lady
Frockman was leaving. It was plain he would be needing all his time
and attention to deal with his new ward. He made a mental note to
have his steward send Lady Frockman a diamond bracelet along with
the letter ending their relationship, but his mind was already
racing ahead to the inevitable confrontation with his ward--
Assuming he could find the rebellious chit-- Samuels, the butler,
was standing ramrod straight, cheeks ruddy in color, holding the
front door open for him.
	"Sorry, milord. She caught me by surprise. I had no idea she
would--"
	"Never mind, Samuels. I doubt the devil himself could have
stopped her."
	Darien took one step outside the portals of Denbigh Castle and
looked past the long, sloping lawn to the forest of ash and oak
trees beyond. They provided a leafy refuge that could easily hide
Lady Serena. But it was too far a distance for her to have managed
to travel in a few moments since she had so precipitately ended his
lovemaking.
	Darien shuddered as he thought of what the girl must have
seen. A picture of her wide-eyed, ashen face rose before his, and he
felt something he had not believed he could still feel after an
entire year of excess. Shame. What if it had been Ami who had opened
the door? Well, of course, Ami would have knocked, but that was no
excuse. He probably owed the chit an apology. Damn and blast her.
	He glanced to the east, to the cliffs above the sea, and the
treacherous path that led down to the pounding surf. He tried to
imagine her running that far in the time since she had slammed the
front door. Impossible. She was fast, but not that fast.
	He looked west to the stable. It was closer than the other two
hiding places she could have sought. He began striding toward it
without further consideration. She was probably saddling that
stallion of hers right now to make good her escape. She was a
bruising rider, especially astride. If memory served, the chit had
still been wearing trousers when she interrupted him in the study.
	Darien frowned. The girl had no sense of decency. Dressed in
trousers, every delectable line of her body was visible to any rake
or rouge who cared to look. Heaven help him, he was guilty as the
worst of them. And every time he looked, he was reminded that his
ward was a grown woman-- Not that she acted like one. It was time
Serena Edgerton learned that he would not tolerate her crotchets. He
was the one in control. He gave the orders in this house. It was her
duty to obey them.
	He stepped inside the stable and waited for his eyes to adjust
to the dark. It was cooler inside than out, and he stood quietly,
inhaling the familiar scents of leather and horse manure, listening,
waiting for her to reveal herself. He could not see her, but he knew
she was there.
	One horse from his pair of chestnut geldings swished its tail
to whisk away a buzzing fly. A tiger-striped barn cat brushed
against his Wellingtons, weaving itself between his legs, purring
softly. He strained to hear some human movement, anything that would
give away the girl's location.
	And heard her panting.
	The sound came from the loft above him. He looked up but could
not see her through the narrow cracks in the wooden floor. Was she
frightened of him? She ought to be. He was furious enough to give
her a lesson that would keep her standing for days. But he could not
very well spank her. She was not a child. She was a young lady. Hard
as that was to remember at times.
	He looked around for the hostler, but remembered he had asked
Jeremy to take his favorite hunter into the village to have a loose
shoe replaced.
	"I know you're up there Lady Serena," Darien said. " I can
hear you breathing. There is no one here but the two of us. You
might as well come down and take your punishment."
	He heard the rustle of the straw, and several wisps floated
down from above to land on the dirt floor. But no mutinous,
heart-shaped face surrounded by golden curls appeared over the edge
of the loft.
	"If you do not come down here at once, I will have to come up
there after you," he warned.
	Still nothing.
	"Very well." Darien put his hands on the rough-hewn ladder and
began to climb.
	He could hear her scrambling around above him and hurried his
ascent. When his eyes breached the edge of the loft her saw her
racing toward the open second-story doors through which hay was
loaded into the barn. For an instant he thought she was going to
jump out through the doors to escape him. She would break a leg at
the least, and most likely her neck.
	"Don't do it!" he yelled, clambering up into the loft and
racing toward her. At the precise moment he lunged toward her, she
whirled. He saw that she held a pitchfork braced defensively in
front of her, but he was too late.
	There was no way he could stop his momentum. Two of the four
razor-sharp tines were driven deep into the flesh of his upper
thigh. He was too shocked even to cry out. His eyes widened in
pained surprise as he raised them to meet the girl's startled,
blue-eyed gaze.
	"I didn't mean to hurt you!" she cried. "If you hadn't
attacked me like that--"
	"I was trying to save your life," he said through clenched
teeth. The pain was growing as the shock wore off. "I thought you
were going to jump."
	"Jump?"
	"Out the loft door," he explained, gesturing toward the double
doors with his chin.
	"Are you crazy?" she said incredulously. "I would have broken
my neck."
	"My point precisely."
	He saw the moment she became aware that she was still holding
the wooden-handled pitchfork that was deeply embedded in his flesh.
She started to let go, and the angling tines drew a cry of agony
from his throat.
	"Don't let go," he rasped.
	She grasped the weight of the pitchfork again and held it
steady.
	"Oh, God," she croaked. "It's really stuck." She looked around
wildly for someone to come and take it from her. There was no one.
They were alone.
	"What are we going to do now?" she asked.
	"You're going to pull it out."
	"I couldn't possibly!"
	"You stuck it in. You can bloody well pull it out." Beads of
perspiration had formed on his upper lip, and his hands curled into
fists, one of which he pressed against his injured thigh to counter
the pain of his wound.
	He bit back a groan as the girl gave a slight tug. The tines
did not come free.
	She shot him a desperate look. "It's really really stuck."
	"I know," he said. "You'll have to try a little harder."
	She stared fixedly at the worms of blood crawling from the two
wounds on his thigh. Her body began to tremble, and she swayed on
her feet.
	For the first time, he saw a trace of vulnerability beneath
the facade of bravado she wore. Before him stood a young woman still
grieving the death of a beloved parent, forced to come to a strange
land, and faced with a situation that would have a sent any
delicately nurtured young English lady into a swoon long ago.
	"You aren't going to faint on me, are you, Serena? I though
you Americans had better bottom than that," he chided gently.
	As quickly as the mask had dropped, she pulled it back into
place. Her shoulders squared, and she answered, "We do."
	Before he was ready, and with all her strength, she yanked on
the pitchfork. When it came free, she fell backward onto the straw.
	"It came out!" she said with a relieved laugh.
	He felt light-headed and for a moment was afraid 'he' was
going to faint. Before he could falter, she was beside him with her
arm around his waist, lifting his arm onto her shoulder for support.
She was holding him closer than his affianced bride ever had.
	"Lean on me," she said.
	He did not want her help, but it was either lean on her or
fall down. He expected his weight would be too much for her, but
though she was small, she was surprisingly sturdy.
	"How are we going to get you down from here?" she asked,
looking up at him.
	"I'll have to climb down."
	"It's going to hurt like the devil when you do," she said.
	"Thanks for pointing that out," he said. "Do you see any way
around it?"
	She shook her head. "At least let me tie something around your
wound to stop the bleeding first."
	He stared down at her. A moment ago she had been about to
faint. Now she was offering to doctor him. Lady Serena was a most
unusual woman. He found himself admiring her again, and realized
that was a mistake. She was the reason he had ended up impaled on a
pitchfork in the first place. And he would not have been out in the
barn if she had not disobeyed him and left the house.
	She pulled her lawn shirt from he breeches and tore a strip
from the hem of the gauzy material long enough to tie over his
wounds. He was still standing stunned at that bit of nursing
ingenuity when she reached toward his thigh as though to bind up his
wound.
	"I'll do it," he said, taking the strip of cloth from her.
	It was small satisfaction to see the relief in her face.
	"Let me go down first," she said "That way, if you fall, I can
catch you."
	"I'm not going to fall."
	"Of course not," she said in a voice he found irritating
because it was intended to soothe his ruffled ego. At the same time
she was urging him toward the ladder. "Can you stand by yourself?"
she asked.
	As she let him go, he realized he was able to balance on his
uninjured leg. "Yes, I can manage."
	She headed down the ladder as quick as a monkey and stood on
the floor below him looking up with anxious eyes. "Come on down,"
she said, gesturing with her hands. "I'll catch you if you fall."
	It made him smiles to picture her squashed beneath his bulk.
But not for long. His leg was killing him.
	"I'm not going to fall," he gritted out as he turned and began
making his way down the ladder. By now the left leg of his buckskins
was soaked with blood, and he could feel it pooling in his boot. It
hurt like the very devil every time he moved his leg. He kept his
mind off the pain by imagining the injured look on his valet's face
when he showed up in such disarray. Theobald prided  himself on
keeping his master looking top-of-the-trees.
	As luck would have it, his boot slipped on the last rung of
the ladder, and he very nearly did fall. If she had not been there
behind him to support him, he would have landed flat on his back.
His ears turned red with embarrassment.
	"You can let me go," he said, removing her arms from around
his waist. "I can make it to the house by myself."
	She was chewing on her lower lip, something else English
ladies never did in public. Now he knew why. It was unbelievable
erotic to imagine himself doing the same thing to her.
	"You'd better let me help you."
	"I said I can manage on my own," he snapped.
	"Fine! Go ahead."
	She took off for the house at a run- English ladies never ran
anywhere, they walked sedately-- shouting at the top of her lungs
for help. Ladies did not shout, either, he could have pointed out.
Before he was halfway to the house, which he was forced to admit he
never would have reached on his own, she was back with Samuels and
Galbraith, who made a chair for him with their arms and carted him
back  to the house.
	Meanwhile, the chit was not satisfied with ordering around his
servants. He heard her giving commands to his sister, as well.
	"Have Mrs. Tinsworthy pull down the covers on your brother's
bed, and get his valet-- What is that man's name?-- to come and
undress him. I'm going to ride for the doctor."
	She was racing, not walking, not ambling nor strolling-- but
running at full speed back down one side of the stairs as Samuels
and Galbraith carried him up the other.
	"Slow down, Lady Serena," he called to her. "Walk."
	"The sooner I can get my horse saddled, the sooner the doctor
will be here to look at your leg," she countered.
	"You're not riding to the doctor dressed like that!" She was
still wearing those damned skintight breeches.
	"Try and stop me!" she called up to him as she flitted down
the stairs.
	"Lady Serena!" he roared. The chit completely ignored him. He
winced as he heard the front door slam. "That girl is unbelievable!"
he muttered.
	"She certainly is," Galbraith agreed. "Astounding really,
wouldn't you say milord? Can't think of an English lady who could
manage the situation half as well."
	Darien realized his footman had misunderstood him. He had been
criticizing Serena, not commending her. He had to admit that Lady
Mina, or even his sister, Ami, would not have marshaled everyone to
do her bidding nearly so effectively. Unfortunately, Serena Edgerton
utterly lacked the ability to be the only thing required of her in
England, being a perfect lady.
	His valet was every bit as appalled as Darien had expected him
to be. Theobald had been dressing the earl since he was a boy, and
on occasion still treated him like one.
	"Your buckskins are ruined, my lord," Theobald scolded,
shaking his head as though the crown jewels themselves had been
damaged. "While I could clean your boots, they will never be what
they were. I am afraid I could not recommend that you wear them
again."
	"Then get rid of them, Darien said.
	"Very well, my lord. If that is all, I will leave you until
the doctor arrives.
	"Go, Theobald. Please go." The man was turning green. Theobald
never had been able to stand the sight of blood.
	Darien had stripped naked, because the tines of the fork had
pierced his small clothes as well, and put on a dressing gown to
wait for the doctor in bed. Unfortunately, he had a great deal too
much time to think before the doctor arrived.
	The more thinking he did, the more convinced he became that he
had handled the matter of Serena Edgerton all wrong. He should have
sent her to his grandmother in the first place. The Duchess of Trent
would have known how to smooth the rough edges off the girl.
	However, the longer he pondered that alternative, the less he
liked it. His grandfather was in ailing health. Imagine having
someone as rambunctious as Serena around day in and day out. It was
exhausting just to think about it. His elderly grandparents should
not be saddled with what, after all, was his responsibility.
	He had a lot of work to do if he was going to turn his ward
into someone who could be presented to the queen and become a
diamond of the first water at Almack's. He would have to bring in a
tailor from London to make gowns for her and burn all her trousers.
He would have to teach her not to look at a man so directly or
answer him so defiantly. Could she dance? He had better see to that,
as well.
	Serena had a great deal to learn in order to become a proper
English lady. And he was just the man to teach her.
	A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
	"Darien? May I come in?"
	He made sure he was decent as possible. "Come in, Ami."
	She peered around the edge of his bedroom door, before she
entered the room, like a mouse checking for the cat before leaving
its hole, then limped awkwardly across the room. Her broken leg had
not healed properly, and one leg was slightly longer than the other.
It had sadly curtailed her come out, but in the years since her
accident, she had never expressed any desire to rejoin society.
	"From my bedroom window I could see the doctor coming down the
drive in his carriage," she said. "I thought I'd let you know he'll
be here soon. Are you in much pain?"
	"Not much." His leg was on fire, but there was no sense
worrying her about it. 
	"Can you tell me what happened?"
	"It was an accident."
	"Did Serena have anything to do with it?"
	"She happened to be holding the pitchfork at the time I ran
into it," he said with a wry twist of his lips.
	"Oh, dear." Ami stood at the foot of his bed wringing her
hands. "I'm sure she didn't mean to do it, Darien. It's only that
she's such a lively girl. And so often she doesn?t think before she
acts."
	"What I would like to know is how she got out of her room in
the first place."
	She lowered her gaze and said, "I unlocked the door."
	"Why?"
	It annoyed him that she would not look at him. Which made no
sense, when he had found equal fault with Serena's more direct gaze.
He realized he had no way of telling what Ami was thinking when she
hid her eyes from him that way.
	"I can understand the girl's defiance, Ami. What I do not
understand is why you would disobey me."
	Her fingers toyed with the folds of her plain merino dress.
"You were wrong to confine her, Darien. I let her out because you
had no right to lock Serena in her room in the first place."
	"I'm her guardian, Ami. I have every right."
	"Because you 'have' the right does not mean it is right," Ami
persisted.
	"Come here, Ami."
	She took two awkward, tilted steps. When she reached his side,
he lifted her chin. She kept her eyes lowered despite his efforts to
see into them.
	"I'm surprised at you defending her, Ami. the girl has no
sense of maidenly modesty. She does not obey even the most basic
rules of etiquette. In short, she is a disaster."
	Ami flashed him a quick look before she lowered her eyes and
said, "I like her, Darien. She's my friend."
	Darien sighed. "I cannot argue with that. Very well, Ami. So
long as you do your best to influence her to good, instead of
allowing her to influence you in the other direction."
	"There is no badness in her, Darien," Ami said earnestly "She
has a huge heart, and it is open to everyone."
	"It's her mixed-up head that is causing the problems," he
said.
	They were interrupted when Serena came bursting through the
door with the doctor, Mr. Rowland, right behind her.
	"Lady Serena!" Darien roared. "What are you doing in my
bedroom, and why didn't you knock?"
	"I brought the doctor," she said with asperity.
	"A young lady does not enter the bedroom of a gentleman to
whom she is not married," Darien retorted.
	"Then what is Ami doing in here?" she asked.
	"Ami is my sister."
	"So?"
	"You are my ward."
	"So?"
	Ami laughed. "Oh, Darien, you wont win an argument with
Serena. Believe me, I've tried."
	Darien glared at his sister. "Unless you would like to see
your brother naked, I suggest you leave the room, Ami. And take this
young lady with you."
	"Come along, Serena. There's nothing for us to do in here,"
Ami said, putting an arm around Serena's shoulder.
	"I could help," Serena offered.
	"Get her out, Ami, before I strangle her."
	"Darien never was a very good patient, Serena. And Dr. Rowland
will take very good care of him."
	Darien watched as Serena allowed herself to be led from the
room. She looked over her shoulder at him one last time before she
left. He felt a pang of some emotion, one he refused to identify,
when he recognized the look in her eyes. The chit had glanced back
at him with. . . concern.
	He reminded himself of what Ami had said. The girl had a big
heart and offered it to everyone. There was nothing personal in the
look she had given him. He meant nothing to her. Which was fine with
him. He wanted nothing to do with her, either. Except, of course, to
prepare her to become some other man's wife.

~~~~~

--So tell me what you think! E-mail me at sthiel@ballistic.com!!
I really enjoy writing this! I hope you like reading it.
Luv ya,
SailorRmnc

--Okay, a note from the editor for once!! Hello people, Hummie here.
Well, since dear SailorRmnc didn?t put this in her ANs, I guess I?ll
do it for her. The part in the fic where Serena injures Darien
with the pitchfork came from SailorRmnc?s own brain, she didn?t lift
it from ?Far and Away?.. I know because I asked her after I read it.
She uses some awesome vocabulary, but you might have to look up the
words if you?re not familiar with the terms. Okay, lates peoples.. I
hope you enjoyed this story, because I did!! E-mail her cuz she
deserves it!! ::makes a face:: Geez hun, why don?t you ever thank me
for editing your fics in your ANs?!?! ::shrugs:: oh well.. ^^;;
Don?t worry, I still love ya anyways!