A Dark and Brooding Gentleman Read Free Page B

woman’s purse from his pocket and offered it as if in supplication.
    ‘Throw it,’ Hunter instructed.
    The man did as he was told and Hunter caught it easily in one hand before turning to the woman.
    She was white-faced and wary, but calm enough for all her fear. In her hand she gripped the highwayman’s knife as if she trusted him as little as the villains rolling and disabled on the ground before him.
    Hunter’s expression was still hard, but he let the promise of lethality fade from his eyes as he looked at her.
    He held the purse aloft. ‘Yours, I take it?’
    She seemed to relax a little and gave an answering nod of her head. The man must have taken it from her pocket while they were struggling.
    He threw the purse to her and watched her catch it,then barked an order for the highwayman, who was leaning dazed upon the stile, to pack the jumble of women’s clothing lying in a heap at the side of the road into the discarded travelling bag. Only when the filled and fastened bag was placed carefully at his feet did Hunter move.
    ‘To where are you walking?’ His voice was curt and he could feel the woman’s stare on him as he swung himself up into the saddle.
    She glanced over at the highwaymen and then back at Hunter.
    ‘Kingswell Inn.’ A gentlewoman’s voice sure enough. The pure clarity of it stirred sensations in Hunter that he thought he had forgotten.
    He urged Ajax forwards a few steps and reached his hand down for her.
    She hesitated and bit at her lower lip as if she were uncertain.
    ‘Make up your mind, miss. Do I deliver you to Kingswell, or leave you here?’ Hunter knew his tone was cold, but he did not care.
    She took his hand.
    ‘Place your foot on the stirrup to gain purchase,’ he directed and pulled her up. As he settled her to sit sideways on the saddle before him the woman glanced up directly into his eyes. The attraction that arced between them was instant, its force enough to make him catch his breath. The shock of it hit him hard. For one second and then another they stared at each other, and then he deliberately turned his face away, crushing the sensation in its inception. Such feelings belonged to a life that was no longer his. He did not look at her again, justpressed the travelling bag into her hands and nudged Ajax to a trot.
    ‘Did they hurt you?’ The chill had thawed only a little from his voice.
    Phoebe stared and her heart was beating too fast. ‘I am quite unhurt, thank you, sir. Although it seems you are not.’ She smiled to hide her nervousness. Clutching her bag all the tighter with one hand, she found her handkerchief with the other and offered it to him.
    His frown did little to detract from the cold handsomeness of his face, but it did make it easier for Phoebe to ignore the butterflies’ frantic fluttering in her stomach and the rush of blood pounding through her veins. The bright morning sunlight cast a blue hue in the ebony of his hair and illuminated the porcelain of his skin. Dark brows slashed bold over eyes of clear pale emerald. Such stark beautiful colouring upon a face as cleanly sculpted as that of the statues of Greek gods in her papa’s books. A square chiselled jaw line and cleft chin led up to well-defined purposeful lips. His nose was strong and masculine, his cheekbones high, the left one of which was sporting a small cut that was bleeding. Phoebe could feel the very air of darkness and danger emanating from him and yet still she felt she wanted to stare at him and never look away. She ignored the urge.
    ‘You have a little blood upon your cheek.’
    He took the handkerchief without a word, wiped the trickle of blood and stuffed the handkerchief into his own pocket.
    She could feel the gentleman’s arm around her waist anchoring her onto the saddle, and was too conscious of how close his body was to hers even though he had taken care to slide back in the saddle to leave someroom between them. He might not care for manners, but Phoebe’s papa