Bobbi Smith - Captive Pride

The soft material of her undergarments ripped easily under Reggie’s avid pawing and he sought her femininity in a rough exploration. The girl started in complete surprise at the soldier’s brutal touch, and she tried to scream again, only to find the cry muffled behind the man’s suffocating hand. She squeezed her eyes shut against the sight of the lust on the two men’s faces and tried to kick out at the one who was savagely exploring her.

“Stupid wench!” Reggie snarled as he viciously slapped the soft flesh of her inner thigh. The shock of his blow stunned the young woman, and she went limp beneath him. “That’s better. Now, just lie still, and we’ll be done real fast now…”

“Come on, Reggie,” Cecil urged.

Reggie’s eyes glazed with desire as he ripped open the bodice of her gown. Excited to the edge by the sight of her naked bosom, he reached down to loosen his pants. He was alive with the need to take his ease in this woman’s body, and he was positioning himself between her thighs when the sound of a questioning call and heavy footsteps coming their way drew a raging curse from both men.

“Damn! I knew somebody heard her scream! Let’s get out of here!” Cecil was frightened.

“But what about her?” Reggie worried.

“What about her? She’s a no-good woman. If she wasn’t, she wouldn’t have been out on the streets at this time of night. She won’t tell… And besides, nothing happened! Let’s go!”

Still trying to fasten his breeches, Reggie got awkwardly to his feet and followed Cecil’s frantic flight from the scene, disappearing with his friend quickly into the darkness.

Matt could hear the drunks’ comments, and he had called out, hoping to frighten them as he’d hurried in the direction of the scream. Turning into an alley, Matt caught sight of two British soldiers racing into the night. He would have gone after them had he not seen the young woman lying lifelessly in the filth of the back street. He knew he should follow the soldiers, but the sight of the girl, her clothing torn, lying so still made his stomach lurch. She looked dead.

Matt knelt beside her and carefully lifted one delicate wrist, seeking a pulse. He was vastly relieved to discover that the woman was not dead, and he looked down at her for a moment, wondering if she’d just fainted or if the men had beaten her into unconsciousness. In the softness of the moonlight, Matt could see a dark bruise forming on her forehead, and he felt a surge of fury at the men who had so badly abused her. She was such a tiny thing, he realized as he held her small hand in his, and she looked so fragile… Matt hadn’t intended to stare at her, but his gaze drifted down her body, noting the smallness of her perfect breasts revealed beneath the torn bodice, and the sleekness of her bared legs.

Realizing what he was doing, Matt muttered a violent curse at his own depraved behavior and quickly stripped off his coat. As gently as he could, he wrapped his garment about her and then lifted her protectively into his arms. The girl groaned faintly as he stood and started back toward the inn, but other than that, she did not stir. He reached the Red Lion in short order and pounded on the door, rousing Waddington, the innkeeper, from a deep sleep.

“What is it?” the rotund old man complained as he stumbled through the semidarkness of the taproom in his nightgown, rubbing sleepily at his bleary eyes.

“Waddington! Open the door! I’ve an injured woman here!” Matt ordered in his most imperious tone, and he was rewarded to see the man snap to action.

“Lord Kincade!” Waddington stepped back, his mouth open in stunned surprise as the younger of the two English noblemen strode into the room carrying an unconscious woman.

“Yes, damn it! Now summon a doctor, and be fast about it!” he snapped, not hesitating on his way up the stairs. “Call the authorities, too! This woman’s been assaulted, and I want the men who did it arrested!”

“Yes, sir, my lord!” Waddington hopped to do his bidding as Matt hurried down the hall to his room.

With some difficulty, Matt finally managed to get the door to his room open, and then crossed the room to lay his lovely burden upon the softness of his bed. Matt carefully removed his coat from about her slim body and then covered her with a blanket to save her any embarrassment should she awaken. He lit his lamp and drew a chair up to the bedside to await the doctor’s arrival. It seemed an eternity before a knock came at his door.

“I’ve sent one of the kitchen boys for the doctor,” the innkeeper informed Matt when he answered.

“And the authorities?” Matt demanded sharply, blocking the innkeeper’s entrance into his room. For some reason, he felt the need to protect the woman from prying eyes.

“He’ll be getting them, too, on the way back,” the innkeeper assured him, trying to catch a glimpse of the female the nobleman had tucked into his bed. All he had seen when Matt had carried her through the dimly lighted taproom had been a tumble of raven hair. “What happened?”

“I had gone out for a walk…couldn’t sleep…and I heard her scream. There were two regulars…”

“Did you see them up close?” he asked with great interest.

“No, I only caught a glimpse of the backs of their uniforms as they ran off.” Matt glanced back toward the girl. “We’ll know more once she comes around. Send the doctor up as soon as he arrives.”

“Will you be needing anything else?”

“Bring some hot water and whatever else you think the physician will require,” he directed.

“I’ll be back.” Waddington tried to get one last look at the woman before scurrying away.

Matt returned to his seat beside the bed, taking the time now to study the woman he’d rescued. Her hair was a rich, lustrous ebony and it curled softly about her face and her exquisite features. Her nose was small, her mouth soft and inviting. He wondered what color her eyes were as he noted the long, dark lashes that fanned out across her pale cheeks. Only the ugly contusion on her forehead marred the perfection of her loveliness.

What circumstances had led her to be in such dire straits? What had she been doing out on the streets of Boston during the middle of the night? Was she a barmaid on her way home from work or a strumpet out looking for business? Matt found himself frowning as he considered both possibilities, and he took up her hand in his, finding with some satisfaction that it was soft and uncallused. Whatever she was, this woman was not a barmaid, for the hands of women employed in that line of work were invariably chapped and work-reddened. The possibility that she was a strumpet occurred to him again, and he dismissed it as ridiculous. Had she been plying her trade, she certainly wouldn’t have screamed at the soldier’s advances; more than likely she would have encouraged them. No, he decided. Her reasons for being out in the night alone were a mystery, and they would remain a mystery until she could explain herself.

Matt leaned forward, almost willing her to awaken, as he whispered in a husky voice, “Who are you?”

But there was no answer to his question as the beauty’s eyes remained closed and her hand remained unmoving in his. Without conscious thought, Matt lifted it to his lips and pressed a soft kiss in her palm.

“Whoever you are,” he swore quietly to himself, “you’re mine from now on, and I swear no one will ever hurt you again.”

He remained vigilant, not leaving her side until he heard the doctor and Waddington approaching. Then he rushed from the bedside to open the door. “She’s in here, Doctor.”

The physician, a short, balding man, bustled into the room. “I’m Dr. Spalding,” he introduced himself.

Matt again blocked the innkeeper’s entrance. “I’ll call you if we need you.”