Page 7 of The Avenging Angel and the Spy
“Perchance you need a lesson in not being so clumsy, hein?”
She had no chance to speak before his hand shot up, gripping the edge of her veil. He jerked hard, ripping the delicate silk and wrenching the bonnet nearly off her head.
He studied her exposed features, the angry red ebbing from his cheeks. When Belle saw the lust flare in his bloodshot eyes, she struggled to squirm free.
“Easy, m’ beauty. Old Jacques’s not going to hurt you. Maybe you’d just like to step upstairs and raise a glass with me and my comrades.”
Belle kept her voice cool. “Another time, perhaps. I’m in something of a hurry.”
The soldier let out a huge guffaw. His arms closed about her waist, his grip tightening. Belle suppressed an urge to claw at his face. Against this huge bear of a man, such distraught tactics would never prevail. She glanced across the room. The old man stared fixedly into his cup, the hostess wringing her hands in her apron. They were no more capable of helping Belle than they had the peasant girl. During the Revolution, most folk had learned to spare themselves by looking the other way when trouble came.
Belle wrenched around, seeking her muff. It had tumbled beside the basket contents near the door. The soldier half-lifted Belle off her feet, pulling her toward the stairs. Above her she could hear the voices of his brutish companions raised in an obscene song. Once the soldier succeeded in carting her up to that room, Belle knew she was lost.
As he moved to heft her up over his shoulder, Belle flung her arms about the soldier’s neck. Yanking his head downward, she crushed her mouth against his so hard she thought she would suffocate. The taste of his sour breath made her stomach churn, but she continued the savage embrace until he jerked his head back.
“Damn!” he panted. “You’re a right passionate little bitch.”
“I’m a widow. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a man. All the young strong ones have gone off for the army.”
He slackened his grip and wound an arm about her shoulders. “Come upstairs, then.” He chuckled. “I’ll show you several strong fellows who just unenlisted.”
Deserters. Of course, Belle thought. That explained the furtive attitude of the inn’s hostess. Damn Lefranc. Where was the swaggering sergeant when she really needed him?
She had no choice but to deal quietly and efficiently with this drunkard herself. Belle stiffened her frame, hanging back as the soldier attempted to propel her up the first step.
“What’s the matter?” she taunted. “Don’t you think that you would be man enough for me?”
The deserter flushed beet red. “Show you who’s man enough.”
But with a deft movement Belle ducked from beneath his arm.
“Not here,” she said, forcing a coy laugh. She could handle the man far better if she could get him outside. Here she ran the risk that he would be missed and joined by his friends at any moment.
Managing to evade his groping hands, Belle darted forward and retrieved her muff. The soldier grunted with frustration and seized her about the waist with a bruising grip.
“Out back,” she said. “There’s a barn with a hayloft,”
“Let’s get on with it, then.” Yanking her with him, he flung open the door and pulled her through it, his breath hot upon her cheek.
After the stifling atmosphere of the inn, Belle welcomed the cool darkness of the yard. Although sickened, Belle pretended to sigh with pleasure when the soldier pressed wet kisses against her neck. As they staggered around the side of the building, his hand pawed at her breasts.
Belle set a slow pace, wriggling her fingers inside the muff toward the pistol, then rejected the notion. The noise would be too great, and she had an aversion to shedding blood unless absolutely necessary. Besides, the stream of moonlight had just revealed to her a much better weapon.
Stacked neatly beside the inn was a cord of wood, one particularly stout log balanced on top of the load. It would serve. This fool’s head was not that thick.
But she needed to act quickly before the aroused drunkard tried to take her in the dirt beside the vegetable patch. He already strove to hike up her skirts.
Hiding a grimace of distaste, she braced one hand against his hairy chest to hold him off. “Oh, dear. I seem to have dropped my purse.”
“Forget it. Can find it later.”
“But I have twenty goldenlouisinside.”
The hand tugging at her gown hesitated. “T-twenty?” He moistened his lips with greed. “Did you say twenty gold pieces?”
“Yes, if you could only get down and help me look?—”
“Take your filthy hands off her!” The piping voice rang out.
