The Perfect Stranger Read Free Page B

flared, taking in the scent of her like an animal.
    Thank the Lord it was dark. His body was rampant. He forced his mind to concentrate on the mystery. She smelled fresh. Female. Not a trace of perfume, just that tangy female scent that sent him hard and aching. She looked like a ragged streetwalker, her clothes were grubby and torn, and yet she herself smelled fresher than a number of ladies he could name. Too many people he knew doused their bodies with perfume rather than bathe. Yet in the unlikeliest situation, this waif had somehow kept herself clean.
    Fool woman! What the devil was she doing in French sand hills anyway? An assignation gone wrong? He doubted it. Despite her bizarre clothing she didn’t seem the assignation type. Then what was she up to?
    She sounded gently born. Her accent was pure, untainted by any regional burr, even when she was shaking with fear. In Nick’s experience, affectations disappeared when people were in terror for their lives. So the aristocratic accent was natural to her.
    But gently bred English girls did not venture anywhere unaccompanied, let alone into French sand hills after dark.
    He set her down on the blanket near the fire, pushing aside the guitar he’d dropped when he first heard her cry for help.
    He watched for a moment while, with shaking hands, she tried to straighten her clothes, smooth back her hair, assume some semblance of poise. She was thin and on the scruffy side. Her nose was peeling, her skin was blotchy and scratched, and her face was lopsided. Swollen, he thought, looking closer. Her hair was scraped back in a tight knot. Loose strands straggled untidily from it.
    She didn’t weigh much. She wasn’t much to look at either, he thought, wondering again at the state of his body. Her only claim to beauty were those big, wide eyes fringed with dark lashes. Clear as water and showing every passing thought. Eyes a man could drown in—if he had a mind to. Nick had no mind to drown in any woman’s eyes.
    And then there was her mouth. He could barely look at her mouth. Soft, lush, and vulnerable, it was simply the most kissable mouth he’d ever seen. Not that he was planning to kiss it, either.
    “Th-thank you. I’m sorry; I did not mean to—” Her voice wavered and broke, and Nick braced himself for female hysterics.
    She surprised him by taking a deep breath and mastering herself. In a shaking voice she managed to say, “I’m very sorry for involving you in my troubles, but I didn’t know what else to do. I’m so grateful you helped. You were so brave, taking such a frightful risk for—”
    “Nonsense!” he interrupted brusquely. “I am—was a soldier. I don’t mind a fight, and those three were hardly a serious threat.”
    Her lower lip trembled. She bit it. Nick reached into his coat pocket and drew out a flask. “Have a drink. It will help settle your nerves.”
    “Oh but I—”
    “Even hardened soldiers can get the shakes after a battle.” He thrust the small silver flask into her hand. “Don’t argue. Drink.”
    She gave him a suspicious look. He rolled his eyes and said impatiently, “I’m not planning to get you drunk, girl. Just do as you’re told and swallow a mouthful or two. It’ll do you good. Settle the nerves and keep out the cold.”
    “I’m not cold,” she said, but she took the flask anyway.
    He squatted down in front of her and reached for her skirts.
    “Stop that! What are you doing?” she squeaked and tried to bat his hands away.
    He caught her flailing hands in his and gave her a hard look. “Don’t be stupid! How the devil can I look at your ankle if I don’t lift your skirt?”
    She glared back at him. “Wh-why do you want to look at my ankle?”
    “Because it’s injured of course!”
    She glanced doubtfully at her ankle. “Actually, it does hurt, rather a lot,” she admitted, sounding almost surprised.
    She’d probably been too frightened to register pain, he decided as he released her hands. It happened