Page 12 of Not Quite a Lady
The bastard was manhandling her.
Somehow Jack got feet onto the ground, then struggled to stand, lurching like a drunk, rubbing at his crusted eyes in an effort to see. Blood, that must be it.
He managed to get them half-open, the room swaying madly about him, furniture and figures blurred.
‘Get your hands off her.’ His voice cracked, he had no idea if he was whispering or shouting.
The pain in his head was like an axe blade, cleaving his skull. He was going to lose consciousness in a moment, the blackness at the edge of his vision was closing in.
‘Adrian, stop it!’ Her voice was familiar, lovely, even tightened with fear and anger.
Lily, that was it…
The male figure came towards him, pushing the girl away roughly.
Bastard.He raised his fists against flashes of burning agony in his shoulders. Another fist was coming towards him. He tried to focus, dodge, something hit him on the point of the jaw and the darkness claimed him again.
So, this was death. It must be. There was no pain, yet he could not move, his eyes would not open. He was laid out straight on something soft and yielding, his arms by his side.
Vaguely he recalled a blow to his head. Last time he had been hit on the head the awakening had been all too vividly physical: darkness, wrenching pain, the taste of coal dust in his mouth and nose, the crushing weight of a pit prop across his shoulders.
No, this time he must be dead.
Heaven or Hell? That was the important question. Jack dragged his lids apart. A background of deep lapis blue boded well. There were no leaping flames at any rate.
Between him and the light there was a figure, blurred andwavering. It leaned closer. A woman. ‘Angel,’ he murmured.
As if trying to hear, the angel leaned closer still. An oval face, lush lips, great green eyes, a cloud of burnished amber-red hair. Simple desire lanced through his body and he blinked. Was he supposed to feel that if he was dead? His loins tightened. ‘Angel?’
She leaned even closer. Now he could feel her breath on his face. No, not an angel, not with that face nor with the emotions he could sense behind it. A temptress? He was prepared to be tempted…
His arm could move after all, clumsily. He encircled her shoulder, pulling her down.
His lips found hers.Oh, they were sweet.She tasted of fruit and smelt, deliciously, of roses. His mouth moved, sampling the softness, the warmth, the innocence of her hesitant response. Not a temptress then. He was kissing an angel.
He’d be damned. Worth it though… His eyes closed and he slipped back into darkness.
Lily felt the consciousness leave him again as the heavy arm pinning her to his chest slid away. Yet she did not move, other than to push herself up a little so she could study his face.
Jack Lovell.She knew no more about him than his name, that he owned a mine, that he was chivalrous, courageous and kissed like the devil. Which ought to be impossible, considering the wound on his head and the amount of blood he had lost.
Her hand spread, feeling the muscle strapping his chest under the thin linen of his shirt.
When he had gone down under Adrian’s cowardly blow he was still struggling against it, fighting to raise himself on one arm. She remembered a print of the Dying Gaul, unyielding even in defeat, and shivered. She had never been close to a man so strong, somalein such an obvious way.
When she had turned from furiously flinging open the door and ordering Adrian out, Jack’s fingers were still locked in the pile of the carpet as though he was trying to drag himself up.
It had taken four footmen to get him upstairs and into the best spare chamber and, even unconscious and battered, he dominated the ornate room.
A knock on the door sent her scrambling back to stand demurely by the bed. ‘Doctor Ord, I am so relieved to see you. Did you have much trouble making your way through the crowd outside?’
The fashionable practitioner put his case down with precision on the bedside table and bowed. ‘Miss France. No, no trouble once I had convinced the constable that I was indeed expected and not another victim of this deplorable hoax. Your footman explained a little on the way back. Outrageous, ma’am. It must be investigated. Now then, what do we have here?’
‘A gentleman who was knocked out by a thrown cobblestone while attempting to help me.’
The doctor bent over the unconscious figure, running his fingers through the thick hair. ‘How did he fall? Did he hit his head on the ground?’
‘I do not think so. He fell heavily on the steps, though, I suspect he may have bruised his back badly.’
