Page 3 of Lord Ashley's Beautiful Alibi
“Colorful.” He snorted as he reached around for his baguette and aimed it at her mouth. “Ferme la—!”
“Laisse-moi partir!” She spat the bread out in bits. “Fils de pute!”
Son of a…?A girl with a dirty mouth. He huffed and jammed another piece of the old roll in her open mouth. “Silence!”
Her eyes blinked up at him. They were big green and gold orbs, and for a split second, he opened his mouth, dumbstruck, and then he went blind. But she wrestled him like a wounded cat, writhing and digging her heels into the soft muck of springtime soil—and he subdued her with arms she could not budge.
Still, he had to give it to her—she fought like one of Madame Josephine’s well-muscled guards. All limbs, all energy, she pummeled him when she could, but he wrapped her flush to him and dragged her further off the trail. Caught by branches and leaves, she sputtered and cursed. But he had her to ground finally and managed to turn her around. Clamped in the vise of his arms, she stared up at him. Once more, for one stupid moment, he was mesmerized by the beauty before him.
That was when she lifted her knee to aim for his balls.
But he squeezed her so tightly she fought for breath, lowered her leg, and gagged. Then she surrendered to his power and went limp.
“You must stop,” he told her quietly in his very good French. “Be quiet.”
She choked and pushed more breadcrumbs from her mouth with her tongue. Her long black hair curled around her face and shoulders, and her green eyes popped with indignation. “Let me go.” She did not beg or plead, but simply ordered him. In English.
Good English. Without any French accent.
Who was she?
“Quiet.” He raised his head. He had to listen…but the woods were silent. Too silent. As before, he heard no bird calls that were not the normal early morning chittering of robins.
“Who else was with you and your friend?” It was silly to think she might tell him, but he could ask and hope for an answer.
“Only us two.”
“Out—?”
“Oui!Before the morning toilette.”
Whatever that meant, he could only wonder as he fell into the verdant green of her eyes and wondered once more who she was and why she spoke perfectly fine English but lived in the home of the new first consul.
His bevy of mice slithered around inside their sack and around her ankles.
“Ew. Eww. What…what is that?” She folded up her legs, bare and sleek, and tried to inch away. She only wound up more deeply in his embrace.
With one booted foot, he pushed part of the sack away from her. “Nothing for you. Don’t worry.”
A loud whistle ofchuck-chuck-chuckhit his ears. Brussard, north on the road.
“What? What is that?” she asked, her round face strained with shock. “You… What are you doing here?” She was scrambling away from him, but he hauled her back into this embrace.
“Be quiet. Let me—”
“No!” She pounded his chest, and he clamped her to him again. “Hell.” She burst into angry tears.
“Quiet!”
Another bird call came from the north. Brussard. Loud and…broken.
Meaning what?Was he discovered?
Whatever Brussard’s message, it was now time to go!
Kane looked at his lovely captive—and something in his face told her she was both angry and afraid. He understood. But she didn’t. He did not kill people. But she could not know that.
She opened her mouth to scream, and he did the only thing he could to shut her up. He kissed her.
