Page 2 of Lord Ashley's Beautiful Alibi
The riders came into his view. Two horses and…
Two…women!
Merde.Girls, they were! One buxom and raven-haired, with breasts that jiggled as she trotted forward. Her friend, a flame-haired witch, was a slender reed with bright white flashing teeth.
He drew back into the shadows.
They came up the road from Rueil. No villagers lived near Madame Bonaparte’s beloved house this far down the road. Bonaparte’s guards discouraged casual visitors or gawkers so near Malmaison. And Pascal should have taken out any strangers when first they entered the lane.
Kane was stumped. No one had passed him this morning. Certainly not these two. He would have noticed. They were too young, too carefree, and too damn beautiful not to make a man drool. Why were they out so early?
He knew. He stilled. They rode bareback. Their journey was nothing but a lark. They stayed at Malmaison and were either guests of Madame Bonaparte or that lady’s servants out for a quick jaunt. They had gone out for a ride, early in the morning, escaping the house and all responsibilities. They were dressed in muddy riding boots and thin muslin shifts bunched up around their shapely thighs. No hats, no coats. No riding crops. Their derrieres were pressed to smooth leather and their chats were open to the slick…
Kane shook his head.Business, man, not pleasure!
Wincing, he spread apart the greenery once more and fought his urge to waylay them. But he was only one. They were two. Did they have pistols?
He froze at another thought. They had to have passed Pascal, the first man on the watch. The same man who had not whistledto the next man, Brussard, of approaching danger. And Brussard had not whistled to him either.
“I will race you, Augustine.” The redhead circled her prancing horse around her friend.
“My aunt’s ruby ring says you lose,ma cherie.” The raven-haired girl chuckled, then tossed her mane of unbound black tresses over her shoulder.
Kane wanted a handful of those windblown curls.
“Not this time!” Her friend jabbed her horse’s belly with her boots and galloped off down the lane toward Malmaison.
Raven did not care. She arched an elegant black brow and serenely sat atop her mount to stare at the departing figure of her friend.
A whistle, loud and clear, rent the air.
Damn.Who was that? No whistling now!
Raven cocked her ear. Lifted her pert chin.
Hell.
She danced her horse around and scanned the woods as she bent low to her horse. “Qu’est-ce que, Mirage?”
Alphonse, at Malmaison’s gate, gave the signal of thechuck-chuck-chuckof locusts.
He warns me of what I already know.
Raven spun toward the sound. Her dark eyes went wide. Her body stilled.
Kane was already lunging at her horse and reaching for the reins.
She yelped and snatched them from him.
But he had one arm around her waist, another attempting to cover her mouth. “No, you don’t,” he ground out, and hauled her off her horse.
“Arrêt! Arrêt!” She swung her head to and fro and evaded his hand. She clung to the reins of her horse so dearly, he had to pry her fingers off.
Once he did, and she was in his hold, the animal took off toward Malmaison.
Shit.A riderless horse would alert them all!
He clamped her plush little body to his and struggled to get a good grip on something other than one of her breasts. She cursed him roundly in a smattering of loud gutter French.
