lived at Ashcombe Manor on the outskirts of Ripley. It had been a year since Serena had last seen him, when she and her father had been invited to his home and she had looked into his eyes. They hadn’t exchanged more than a few words in all the years of their living in close proximity to each other, and yet that one look, that stirring of pleasure, had spoken volumes. From that moment her life had changed. She had become aware of her womanhood for the first time.
On reaching the village green Serena paused, hoping Thomas would still be at the White Swan. Sounds of laughter coming from the inn across the green beckoned her and she ran towards it, cautiously entering a passageway at the side of the building from where she would be able to observe the occupants in the rooms without being observed herself. The stale odour of ale pervaded every corner of the crowded inn, and light from a guttering lamp inside the taproom was dim as Serena took her place in the shadows out of sight. The air was hot and fetid and she scanned the faces of the men inside the room, recognising some, others strangers to her.
But she only had eyes for one man, whose mere presence commanded the attention of all present. Charismatic Thomas Blackwell exercised an extraordinary influence on his contemporaries. He possessed the kind of qualities that captured the hearts of men and women alike. Almost six foot tall and well proportioned, his deep brown eyes and persuasiveness and charm drew the eyes of the village girls and set their hearts aflame. But he was also wild and hotheaded, swaggering and boorish in his arrogance and opinionated ways, and Serena, dazzled by his masculinity, could not imagine the ferocity of his violence if provoked.
Having looked her fill and eager to return home before her father discovered she was missing, Serena slipped out into the darkening light. The opening and closing of the door caused a draught and the lamp inside the taproom to flicker. Several in the room glanced absently towards the door, and Thomas was just in time to see a woman’s skirts disappear round the jamb.
Having drunk heavily with his friends and in dire need of another kind of entertainment, suspecting the woman who had been looking in to be one of the village wenches and arrogantly aware of the fever his presence never failed to arouse in them, he followed, just in time to see Serena disappearing along the lane in the direction of Dunedin Hall. Through the liquor fumes that fogged his mind, Thomas recognised her. More important, he recalled that her brother was a Jesuit priest—no doubt hiding at this very minute in a dank and miserable hole behind a chimney in one of the many spacious recusant houses that were thick across the Midlands, offering sanctuary to these criminals.
Thomas was implacable and inordinately cruel in his hatred of Catholics, which went way beyond the call of duty. He had killed many in the battles in the Low Countries; now that he was home and the estate his to administer as he wished since his father was dead, he would be ardent in the pursuit of priests and recusants.
He recalled the last time he had seen Serena, when she had accompanied Sir Henry to dine at Ashcombe Manor. Thomas’s father had offered to buy a large chunk of Sir Henry’s neglected land, which he had coveted for years, but Sir Henry had surprised and angered his father by firmly declining the offer.
A grim, calculating smile spread across his full lips. His eyes narrowed with mingled lust and menace when he pondered on the fun to be had with this deluded Papist wench. Clearly she wanted to see him so much that she had come looking for him. It would be a mortal sin to disappoint her now, he thought, and deny himself the pleasure of enjoying her delectable anatomy.
Darkness shrouded the countryside as Serena hurried along the narrow lane. Having left Ripley behind, she did not look back, and yet every nerve tingled when she sensed she was being followed. Breathlessly she paused and turned to find that Thomas was right behind her.
‘Oh!’ she gasped, amazed and overjoyed that he must have seen her at the inn and followed her. Her heart began to beat unevenly in her chest and an embarrassed flush rose to her cheeks at being caught out.
With a smouldering light in his eyes and a smile beginning at the corners of his mouth, spreading slowly into a grin of pure lechery, Thomas’s gaze moved hungrily over her delicate features, pausing at length on her softly parted lips. ‘Did you think I wouldn’t follow you when I saw you flee from the inn?’ he whispered huskily. ‘How could I possibly resist such a blatant invitation? It was me you came to see, wasn’t it?’
Serena stared at him in confusion. Thomas laughed softly. His strong fingers closed around her wrist and he drew her, unprotesting, away from the lane into the shelter of some bushes, his touch almost destroying her will power. ‘Come now,’ he murmured, pulling her into his arms, clumsily and without tenderness, ‘don’t deny what is in your heart, my sweet. You want me—admit it. Let’s enjoy a kiss before we get down to more serious matters, shall we?’
Without ceremony Thomas’s mouth clamped down on to Serena’s and she quivered, the heat of his lips searing her own. Fighting to retain her sanity, to quell the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her, with chilling reason and her body rigid, Serena told herself this was wrong. Thomas should not be doing this to her. Hovering above her face, his eyes were heavy with desire, his mouth slack and insistent. His breathing became ragged as his embrace tightened around her, his breath fanning foul liquor fumes over her face. Suddenly it was an ugly face she saw, one that disgusted her.
Sensing her withdrawal, Thomas raised his bewildered gaze. ‘Don’t tease, Serena—don’t be coy,’ he said with mounting impatience when he sensed her lack of response. ‘There’s nothing to fear, my pretty. No one will see. You’re quite safe.’ Once again his mouth clamped over her moist lips, his hands moving greedily over her body, and Serena was shocked to feel them fumbling at the intimate parts no other hands had touched but her own.
Although she was inexperienced, she could tell Thomas’s words were glibly spoken, coming from the lips of a practised seducer. Immediately she pulled back, her sanity, which had momentarily left her in the heat and excitement of the moment, returning, triggering her anger. Pushing against his chest when his fingers boldly began to fumble with the laces of her dress, cupping and squeezing her breasts, she stepped back as though he had struck her.
‘Stop it. Let me go.’
Thomas’s face twisted angrily, the handsome mouth which Serena had so recently yearned to feel on hers becoming a savage leer of pure evil. ‘Damn you for being a temptress. You want me, I know it, and I shall have you.’
‘No,’ she cried but, as his mouth ground down on to hers once more, her cries of outrage were smothered. His strength overpowered her. Feeling his arousal pressed hard against her thigh, she was overwhelmed with horror and disgust at the violation he intended, without decency or tenderness. She retaliated by jerking away from him and swinging her arm with a cry of unleashed fury.
Thomas lifted his head at the same moment that she hurled her clenched fist into his belly, finding it hard to believe such a hard punch could have been thrown by such a winsome and fragile young woman.
‘How dare you?’ Serena shrieked accusingly. ‘If you think I’m game for a quick tumble in the grass, then you’ve lost your wits, Thomas Blackwell.’
Intent on having his pleasure and determined not to be cheated out of it, Thomas grabbed her wrist and pulled her against him once more.
‘So you want to play it rough, do you?’ he hissed, his features contorted with cruelty. ‘I can be as rough as you want me to be, you little hellcat,’ and he lunged for her again, his face ugly now and twisted with lust, filling Serena’s vision so that she could see nothing else.
Dreadful visions of what her possible fate might be flew through her mind. What a fool she’d been. How could she have imagined for one minute that she was in love with this crazed beast, intent only on his own pleasure? The passion, which had been so intense that she had been unable to think of little else, withered and died. Her year-long infatuation with Thomas Blackwell was over. Now she felt only loathing and disgust—and anger directed against herself for foolishly wasting her time dreaming of him.
Undaunted and determined to free herself, driven by self-preservation, she reacted violently, struggling and twisting in a frenzied effort to escape as her rage peaked. Hearing