Moonlight Surrender (Moonlight Book 3) Read Free Page B

a sharp tongue.
    Only honey dripped from Elaine’s lips. Until this morning, of course.
    He laughed to himself. This morning, after his refusal, she had shown her true colors, reviling him with a razor tongue she had kept hidden till now. All women developed sharp tongues; it was a basic law of nature. They developed sharp tongues just as surely as they developed breasts, and while he enjoyed the latter, the former was too great a price to endure for being allowed to fondle them.
    He had left her rather quickly, letting the rain soothe his fevered brow—and various other fevered parts of him as well. Freedom, he had learned long ago, often came at a high price. But high or not, it was dear, and worth any sacrifice.
    The crack of the pistol in the not-too-far distance brought Duncan instantly to life. It was like the explo sion of warm whisky in an empty belly. All his senses immediately sprang to attention; he was alert, eager.
    He’d never reach the scene on foot quickly enough, he reasoned. With an oath, he swung himself into the saddle. “Come on, you useless horse, something’s afoot, and I’ve no intention of missing it. You can hobble a bit for a good cause.”
    Anything taking place on or near Sin-Jin’s manor was Duncan’s business. He owed it to his employer to look into the disturbance as quickly as possible.
    Beyond the obvious necessity of employing speed, if there was trouble, Duncan knew he cast a more imposing image astride a horse than he did walking it. He kicked his heels into the horse’s flanks and urged the animal on. At the same moment, he drew his pistol from his waistband. There were highwaymen about, and he had never taken any unnecessary chances.
    With renewed spirit, his foul temper all but forgotten, he rode in the direction of the pistol shot.
    Though his lust was raging in his loins, business always came first for Jeremy Jones. That meant counting riches before mounting bitches.
    He chuckled to himself at his own cleverness. He had been quick to spy the trunk atop the coach and order the women to take it down. He’d been treated to a glimpse of long-stockinged leg as the pretty one had struggled to bring the trunk to the ground.
    The trunk now at his feet, he looked down and found it locked.
    He raised a brow toward the young one. “Open your trunk for me,” he ordered.
    She had brought the trunk down because the highwayman had threatened to shoot Sylvia, but now enough was enough. The money in the trunk might be the only hope she had of rescuing her father. She wasn’t about to lose it because of the likes of him. Anger got the better of her common sense.
    Beth fisted her hands on her waist. “I’ve lost the key.”
    Dismounted, the man stood barely half a foot taller than Beth. His eyes became small slits as he regarded her. He didn’t want to be wasting powder and ball shooting off a lock if there was a way around it.
    “Don’t sass me, you little bitch, or it’ll go harder on you.” To make his meaning clear, he raised the pistol that hadn’t been fired yet and aimed it at her breast.
    “Would seem a pity to ruin such a fine pair. But I will. Make no mistake about it.”
    “Tell him, Beth!” Sylvia bleated, hanging on Bern’s arm. “For heaven’s sake, where’s the key?”
    Beth shook her off. When she made no answer, the highwayman cocked his pistol slowly. “If you kill me, you’ll never find it.”
    “On the contrary,” he countered. “If I kill you, I’ll have the pleasure of searching your person without get ting scratched for my trouble.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at the hint of soft cleavage that peered out from her bodice. His fingers itched. “I’d wager the key’s being kept nice and warm.”
    Beth raised her chin stubbornly, then gasped as a shot rang out. Her hand flew to her breast, but there was no sticky trail of blood, no fiery pain, nothing. She was un harmed. It was the highwayman who crumpled in a ragged heap, his bloodcurdling