St. Raven Read Free

coward.
    She swallowed, then turned her head up to the masked and bearded face. “May we have done with this, sir, so I can proceed with my journey?”
    She saw him smile and realized that he might be handsome. His lips were certainly firm, yet in a mysterious way, sensual. Like a painting of a god of pleasure.
    Those lips lowered, and she almost went cross-eyed, trying to keep the danger in sight before it reached her. Shutting her eyes, she felt his lips press against hers.
    His face hair tickled.
    She tried to pull back, but his hand slid behind her head, confining her. His lips parted, and his tongue touched wetly against her.
    Trapped by his strong arms and his controlling hand, she was helpless and she hated it. What’s more, this was no sort of kiss she had ever imagined. This was nothing to do with tenderness or affection. It was a contest between two vile men, and she wished them both to Hades.
    As his lips moved against hers, she sat perfectly still. She would give neither of them the satisfaction of seeing her struggle. If she admitted the truth, she was also still because any sudden movement might upset the monstrous beast beneath her.
    The man chuckled, then licked her lips. She jerked back, then stilled again, but her hands became fists. Oh, but she longed to fight, to pummel, to claw at the monstrous beast who assaulted her.
    But then he moved back and looked at her.
    Thoughtfully. Questioningly.
    And Cressida knew she had made a mistake.
    She stared back. What had she done? Could she correct it?
    He looked at Crofton. Then he pushed the forgotten earrings and banknotes down the low front of her gown. Before she could express her shock at that, he gave a sharp whistle, turned the horse, and rode into the woods, taking her with him.
    Shock upon shock stole her voice for a moment, but then she screamed, “Stop it! What are you doing?
Help
!”
    He pressed her face hard to his chest so she could hardly breathe, never mind shout, as the beast pounded beneath her, carrying her away. Now she fought, with arms and legs, trying to find a place to scratch, to hurt.
    She’d rather fall off the horse than be stolen away like this.
    And her plan.
    Dear heaven, her plan!
    She heard the man curse, and the horse stopped, sidling and jerking. She freed a hand and yanked the highwayman’s beard as hard as she could.
    It half ripped off in her hand.
    “
Damnation
!” He grabbed her hands. “Stay still, woman!”
    She flailed and kicked as best she could. “Let me go!”
    The horse began to rear and was forced down. The man’s grip on her wrists tightened to the point of pain. She tried to land a solid kick on the horse.
    Her ankles were caught by two strong hands.
    “Have your hands full, have you?” drawled a fashionable voice.
    “Stop laughing and think of something to tie her up with.” Le Corbeau’s spoke in the same aristocratic English accent.
    That and awareness of a new enemy stunned Cressida to stillness, but then “tie her up” sank in, and she struggled again. She opened her mouth to shriek, and a gloved hand covered it.
    “Know when you’re beaten, you fool. I wish you no harm. In fact, I’m saving you from a fate worse than death. You’ll thank me when you come to your senses.”
    She glared up at him, longing to scream her opinion of his interfering arrogance, but all she could manage was a growl.
    Despite all her kicking and squirming, her evening shoes were snatched away, her garters—her
garters
!—untied, and her silk stocking stripped off. Then her ankles were tied. Moments later, her wrists were bound, as well.
    “We need to blindfold her,” her infernal captor said.
    She tried to fight, but the bonds and despair turned her feeble. Tears stung at her eyes as they were covered by a cloth tied behind her head.
    Oh Lord—oh Lord, to be safe home again as she had been until so recently, with no deeper concern than the choice of jam for breakfast.
    “Think that counted as a holdup?”