Indiscreet. Candace Camp

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      The man gazed down at her, his chest rising and falling in rapid pants. He was soaked and smeared with mud, his rough dark shirt hanging open down the front, where buttons had been torn off in their struggle. His bare skin showed through the gap, sleek and tanned and wet. His hair clung to his head. There was a cut high on his cheekbone where she had hit him with her umbrella, and his eyes glittered fiercely.

      Camilla’s throat went dry. The man looked elemental and furious, quite male and quite angry. Camilla was very aware of the suggestive nature of their position, of his weight upon her legs. She was conscious, too, of an odd feeling in the center of her being, a strange mixture of fury and excitement and some other elusive emotion she could not have named. His eyes skimmed down her, taking in the wet bodice that clung to her breasts, and she could feel the response of his body.

      “Let go of me!”

      “Not until I get some answers!” he growled back. “Who the devil are you, and what are you doing here?”

      “What am I doing here?” she gasped, outraged. “I have every right to be driving through here. It is you who are obviously up to no good, skulking about the countryside in the dark, people firing at you. Release me at once, or you’ll be in even more trouble than you already are.”

      “You are hardly in a position to be issuing commands,” he reminded her, and a faint smile touched his lips.

      His mouth was wide, with a generous lower lip, and he should have had an appealing smile, but his face was set in cold, sardonic lines that ruined any hint of charm. His amusement at her expense infuriated Camilla, and she lunged upward with all her might, trying to throw him off. He was far too heavy and strong for her, of course, and her efforts did little to dislodge him, but the glitter in his eyes turned dangerously brighter, reminding Camilla chillingly of the helplessness and intimacy of her position.

      To hide her fear, she curled her lip in contempt. “It is obvious that you are a villain,” she said coldly. “I suggest that you refrain from turning yourself into a felon, as well.”

      His eyebrows quirked up in inverted vees, giving his dark visage an even more demonic look. “Well said, madam. But I scarcely need remind you that without witnesses, it is hard to charge a man with a felony.” He paused, letting the threat of his words sink in, then smiled coldly and said, “Besides, I know of no felony that has been committed this night.’tis scarcely a crime to take charge of a carriage in order to save a lady from a gang of men who are attacking her.”

      “You know as well as I that those men were not concerned with me,” Camilla shot back. “It was you they were firing at.”

      His mouth twisted grimly. “Perhaps, but they would certainly not have been if you had not blundered into the scene, shouting and waving a lantern about.”

      “How was I supposed to know that you were engaged in clandestine doings? I was seeking your help—a futile quest, obviously, but I was not as aware of your character then as I am now. I did not know that I was dealing with a thief.”

      “I am not a thief.” He ground out the words.

      “Ha!” Camilla shot him a scornful look. “What were you doing hiding out there on a foggy night, then?”

      “That is none of your business, and if you weren’t such a blasted busybody, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

      “I should have known that you were the sort to try to shift the blame. As if I were responsible for your cohorts or your enemies or whoever those people were.”

      “Lord, you’ve got a wasp’s tongue on you.” Suddenly, swiftly, he stood up, hauling her up with him. “But I’ve no desire to hang about here bandying quips with you. Those men might very well be upon us at any minute.”

      He clamped one hand tightly around her arm and began to walk her toward the post chaise. Camilla dug in her heels. “Wait! I am not going anywhere with you.”

      “I think you would be far better off back in Edgecombe than you would be standing around in the dark in the middle of the countryside with a large group of men with guns wandering about.”

      “I didn’t say that I was staying here! What I meant was that you are not going anywhere in my carriage.”

      He looked at her for a long moment, then dropped her arm and stepped back. “Of course. You are right. It is your carriage, and I have no claim to it. I shall leave you, then. Good day, madam.”

      He turned and started striding away. Stunned, Camilla stared after him. Then she remembered that her coachman was unconscious—oh, Lord, might he even have killed the poor man?—and while she could handle a gig, it was quite beyond her powers to drive a coach-and-four. Not only that, there was a band of men with guns who were perhaps still pursuing her carriage.

      “Wait!” she called, and when the stranger did not stop, she took a few running steps after him. “Stop! Please?”

      He turned and looked back at her, his eyebrows raised inquisitively. “Yes?”

      “Don’t go. I—I cannot drive the post chaise back to Edgecombe.”

      “Mmm. Then it would seem that you have a certain problem with your carriage. Good night.”

      “Oh, stop being so exasperating! I am telling you that you can go with me to Edgecombe.”

      “You mean that you are allowing me the honor of working for you?” he asked sardonically. “How kind of you. But I am afraid I must decline the honor. You see, I think it would be better for me to walk. One man in the fog is far less noticeable than a great carriage.”

      “Horses are faster.”

      He shrugged and turned to walk off again.

      “Stop! You cannot leave me here! No gentleman would leave a lady stranded like this.”

      “Well, as you have no doubt realized, I am not much of a gentleman, and, frankly, I have yet to see any ladylike qualities in you.”

      Camilla glared at him. “All right. Have you satisfied your need to insult me? Let us go, then. We both know that it would be absurd for you to walk when there is a coach right here. We do not like each other, but surely we can trade—your skill at driving the horses for the use of my post chaise.”

      He said nothing, just walked back and swung up to the top of the coach. Camilla quickly climbed back in, and they set out again, this time at a speed more suited to the rutted track. It was fast enough to rattle and jounce Camilla around in her seat, and she suspected darkly that the awful man was doing it simply to annoy her.

      Adding to her discomfort was the state of her hair and clothes. This morning she had been dressed quite charmingly in a sprigged muslin gown and green kid half boots, and her hair had been pulled up to the crown of her head, from which point it hung in a cluster of fetching curls. Now her shoes were a sodden mess, soaked through and caked with mud, inside and out, and her dress and hair were in almost as bad a state. She was wet clear through to her underthings. Her curls, too, were thick with mud, and she could feel it drying on her skin, as well.

      How was she going to explain her state when she arrived at the Park? Tears welled up in her eyes. As if she did not have problems enough already, what with Grandpapa and the terrible lies she had woven…. To have СКАЧАТЬ