Candace Camp - Indiscreet

Camilla took a firm grip on her umbrella. It had served well enough as a weapon before. Perhaps if she took him by surprise, she might disable him enough to get away.

As the carriage rolled to a halt, she crouched down beside the door and waited, the blood pounding in her ears, every nerve stretched, listening for his approach. She heard the thud as he jumped down, and the crunch of his boots upon pebbles as he strode to the door. The latch turned and the door swung outward. “Are you—”

Camilla erupted from her crouched position with a shriek, launching herself out of the chaise. She swung her umbrella with all her might at the man’s face, and the handle cracked satisfyingly against his cheek. The umbrella broke in two, and the man staggered back with a roared oath, his hand going to his cheek.

Camilla hit the ground running, screaming with all her might. She knew that they were probably too far away for anyone to hear her, but she had to try, just as she had to run. She lifted her skirts and flew across the ground, heading down the muddy road in front of the carriage. She didn’t even notice the rain falling on her, or the mud that pulled at her shoes.

He was after her in an instant. She could hear him behind her, but even though she ran so fast she thought her heart would burst, he caught up with her. His hand wrapped around one of her arms like an iron band and pulled her to a stop.

“Stop that caterwauling!” he snarled. “Dammit, woman, what is wrong with you? You’ll bring the whole countryside down upon us.”

Camilla did stop screaming, but only because she was out of breath. She sucked in a lungful of air as she whipped around and struck out at him with her doubled-up fist.

She hit only his chest, and it sent a dart of pain shooting up her arm. He let out a string of curses and grabbed for her wrist, but Camilla twisted and struggled, hitting out and kicking at him.

“Bloody hell, woman, would you stop it? Are you mad?”

They were both thoroughly soaked by the rain now, but neither of them noticed as they grappled in the dark. The man was far larger and taller than Camilla, and the conclusion was never in doubt, but she was fighting for her life, and she struggled wildly, connecting with several kicks and blows as he struggled to subdue her. He managed to wrap one arm around her and pull her off her feet, but Camilla twisted and reached for his face with her nails. He jerked back as her fingers scraped down his cheek, barely missing his eye, and he lost his balance and staggered backward.

They crashed to the ground, but their fall was softened by the mud into which they fell. The man received the brunt of the blow, and he loosened his grasp involuntarily. Camilla seized the opportunity to pull away from him, but before she could crawl to her feet, he had grabbed her arm, jerking her to a stop, and she fell face-first into the mud. She came up spluttering and enraged, lashing out at him. He grabbed for her arms, trying to pin them to her sides, but she was slippery with rain and mud, and he could not get a good hold on her. They rolled across the muddy ground, grappling.

Camilla squirmed and twisted, trying to get away, and he tried to wrap his arms around her to pin her arms to her sides. Once, as they struggled, she felt his hand slide across her breast, and she sucked in her breath sharply at the intimate touch. It startled and alarmed her, almost as much for the strange, sudden heat that shot through her body as for the effrontery of the contact.

He, too, seemed surprised at the touch, and he froze for an instant. She seized the opportunity to try to rise, but he grabbed at her arm to stop her, and the sodden material of her dress ripped, leaving the sleeve in his hand. She tore away, and he lunged after her. They went sprawling in the mud again, his weight bearing her down into the soft muck. He grabbed her wrists, hauling them up over her head, and sat up, leaning on her arms to hold her to the ground. His legs clamped tightly around hers, holding her immobile beneath him.

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.”