Lucy Ashford - The Rake's Bargain

Beau gripped her tight and let his mouth come down on hers. Hard, relentless and demanding.

He wanted to teach her a lesson. He wanted to show her that her charms left him cold. He planned to kiss her briefly, than thrust her away with some icy insult.

But instead it was he who was being taught a lesson—that her kiss was sweet, sweeter than he could have believed possible. He found himself holding her closer, prising her lips apart, forcing his tongue inside her mouth to take sure possession, and he was mystified, because there was something totally unexpected about her. In spite of those outrageous books, she somehow carried the allure of innocence, and at the first touch of her lips desire had hit him like a punch in the stomach, momentarily winding him.

And now her arms were tightly around his waist; her lovely face was lifted expectantly to his and he was unable to resist caressing her lips with his again, feeling arousal thud through his loins as he drew her closer, thinking in wonder, Her kiss is soft and sweet. She’s not like the other one, even though she’s the exact image. Not like her at all ...

In almost the very same instant, he heard two sets of footsteps pounding up behind him.

Before he could do a thing, the girl was already plunging her hand into his pocket to snatch out his pistol, and both his arms had been seized from behind.

Her two colleagues had returned.

You fool , he told himself bitterly. You stupid fool . To fall for her tricks...

The girl had retreated a few yards, but was pointing the gun at him steadily. ‘Best not to struggle, Mr Beaumaris,’ she called out. ‘I’m not altogether sure that I won’t fire this fine pistol of yours by mistake, you see.’

Beau stood there raging as Deb’s friends searched every single one of his pockets. ‘There’s no other weapon,’ they called out to her. Then they started swiftly binding his hands behind his back.

Damn it . ‘You’ll pay for this,’ Beau breathed.

Those were his last words, before he found himself blindfolded— again— and wrestled to the ground. One of them—he guessed it was the younger one, Luke—practically sat on his legs in order to lash some twine around his ankles, and Beau began on a catalogue of prime insults, until the girl said thoughtfully to her colleagues, ‘Oh, dear. You’d better gag him as well.’

So his insults were at an end, more was the pity. But most of all Beau regretted being blindfolded; because if she’d been able to see his eyes, she would have realised that the expression in them was one of pure and utter contempt.

* * *

First round to the Lambeth Players, Deb’s stepfather, Gerald O’Hara, would have said. But Deb didn’t feel the slightest sense of triumph. That kiss. Oh, that kiss. It was with only the greatest difficulty that she managed to keep her voice calm as she guided Luke and Francis away from their captive. ‘Well done, both of you,’ she said, ‘for timing your rescue to perfection.’

Francis looked stunned. ‘He had a gun. And he was molesting you. Kissing you. As far as I’m concerned that decides it. We’ll leave him here.’ Francis picked up his hat, which had fallen off during the struggle. ‘Luke and I spotted some woodcutters at work further along the track. They’re bound to come this way once they’ve finished for the day, and find our fancy gentleman—so let him fume in his bonds for a while. He deserves no pity from us.’

‘And he won’t get it,’ said Deb swiftly. ‘But I’m afraid we have to keep him under guard for a little while longer.’

‘Why?’

‘Because he’s a friend of Palfreyman’s.’

Francis stared; Luke let out a small yelp of horror.

‘That’s right.’ And that’s not the least of it. Our prisoner has seen those awful, awful books, and once he’s set free, he might recount the whole incident to Palfreyman. My plan to save the Players could be wrecked ...

‘Mr Beaumaris was actually on his way to Hardgate Hall,’ she went on. ‘And you were right—that is Palfreyman’s bay that he was riding. So you have to keep him a prisoner, I’m afraid, until I receive Palfreyman’s written promise to drop all charges against the Players.’

‘But that’s not till...’

‘I know. Not until tomorrow.’

‘But he’ll need feeding.’ This was Luke speaking. ‘He’ll need somewhere to sleep, Miss Deb. He’ll need—’

‘We can do it if we have to,’ interrupted Francis. ‘But what about you, Deborah?’

‘I’ve got to go back to Oxford, to the Angel, Francis.’ Somehow she managed to sound calm. ‘I’m booked to entertain the inn’s customers for an hour, tomorrow at noon. Don’t you remember?’

Francis looked gloomy. ‘But the rest of the Players have gone on to Gloucester. Can’t we just leave, now, and join them?’

‘No! We’ve put posters up all around town for my show, and you know as well as I do that if we let our customers down, they won’t turn up the next time we’re here! Also, I have to stay in Oxford to get Palfreyman’s reply tomorrow morning!’

‘Do you really believe he’ll write to say he’s going to lift those charges against us?’

‘I’m sure of it,’ Deb replied confidently. Francis would be confident, too, if he knew what she’d stolen from Palfreyman’s house. ‘I’ve told him that I’ll expect his reply by ten tomorrow.’ From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed their prisoner stirring slightly; her spirits plummeted again. ‘I don’t think Palfreyman will dare to be late. But it does mean that you and Luke are going to have to keep our prisoner here until I get back to you, early in the afternoon.’

Both men looked appalled. Clearly she wasn’t the only one to realise that they had a truly formidable opponent in Mr Beaumaris. ‘If there was an alternative I’d use it, believe me,’ she continued earnestly. ‘But I’m afraid we’ve really no choice.’

Francis still looked deeply unhappy. ‘Very well,’ he sighed. ‘I noticed there’s a charcoal-burner’s hut off the track back there, and it doesn’t look like it’s been used for years. If we get him inside it, he wouldn’t have to lie out in the cold and wet all night.’

Deb remembered the insults that Mr Beaumaris had paid her and replied thoughtfully, ‘Francis, do you know, I don’t think I care very much if our prisoner does have to lie out in the cold and wet all night. But you’re right, I suppose. Luke, you must ride over to Hardgate village and pick up a few provisions—it will all work out, you’ll see. As an extra precaution, Francis, I’ll give you Mr Beaumaris’s gun.’ She spoke with forced cheerfulness as she handed him the pistol. ‘As soon as Luke rejoins you, you can take our prisoner to the charcoal-burner’s hut for the night. By the time I’ve done my performance at the Angel, I’ll have received Palfreyman’s written promise not to prosecute us—then I can ride back here and we’ll let Mr Beaumaris go free.’

‘But then Mr Beaumaris will ride on to Palfreyman’s, and he’ll tell Palfreyman all about us!’

‘By which time we’ll be well out of the way, believe me.’

Francis glanced at their furious prisoner. ‘I’d say that the more miles we put between ourselves and Mr Beaumaris, the better.’

Deb couldn’t have agreed more. As she mounted her old pony, Ned, she tried to keep up her optimism, but she felt more and more afraid of the consequences of this ill-fated encounter. And yet it was hard to describe the almost crushing disappointment she’d felt when she realised that Mr Beaumaris was a friend of Palfreyman’s.

Something about Mr Beaumaris disturbed her in a quite alarming manner. There was no denying that he was absolutely, compellingly male, with his brilliant blue eyes and his unruly dark hair and hard, lean jaw. Gorgeous , Peggy Daniels would say. Mouthwateringly gorgeous . But shouldn’t Deb have been immune to that?