Free Scandalous by Karen Robards Page A

a little straighter, disregarding the strong hands imprisoning her wrists and the big body blocking hers and the mortal danger she might very well be in, she looked him dead in the eye.
    "If you leave this house, right now, and give up your pretense, you have my word that I will not set the Runners on you, nor tell anyone else of your deception."
    For a moment their eyes deadlocked. Then he made a derisive sound that was as much a snort as a laugh, and abruptly stood up. As quickly as that her hands were free. Before she could do more than register the fact— much good would it do her anyway, she thought bitterly, as any blow she could deliver would have about as much impact on him as a mosquito bite— he was bending over her, his hands wrapping around her throat. He did not squeeze, but let her feel the strength in his hands while slowly, easily tipping her chin up with his thumbs.
    His hands were large, long fingered, and warm. Wrapped around her neck like a wide, tensile collar, they intimidated without a word. Gabby's eyes widened. Her heart began to pound. She could feel the color leaching from her face. Clutching the arms of the chair to keep from grabbing his wrists— that, she thought, was just what he expected her to do, and therefore she would not do it— she took a deep, steadying breath. If he meant to strangle her, she had not the physical strength to prevent him. Her only hope lay in her wits.
    "Let us have one thing very clear between us: you are— totally— at my mercy." His smile was detestable.
    He bent over her, his hands almost caressing on her throat, his gaze holding hers. As she stared back into his eyes, trying to present a fearless mien while she searched desperately for a way out, any way out, she could feel the skirt of his voluminous greatcoat puddling on her legs. Something hard brushed her knee.
    His pistol, she realized with a fierce rush of excitement. If she could only get her hands on his pistol he would sing a very different tune….
    "A man who would threaten a woman—" she said with calm precision, sliding her hand stealthily inside his greatcoat pocket as she spoke. The pocket was warm, silk lined, and capacious. To her searching fingers, the pistol felt hard and smooth and, when she hefted it, heavy, and as welcome as a blessing. "—is beneath contempt."
    "Nevertheless…" he began, only to break off as, with the pistol still inside his pocket but now held securely in her hand, she eased the hammer back. The sound of the pistol being cocked was sharp and apparently, to his ears at least, unmistakable. The look of surprised comprehension on his face was almost comical. Gabby permitted herself a savage smile as she pulled the pistol free of his pocket and shoved it hard against his ribs.
    Their eyes met. For an instant, no longer, neither of them moved, or spoke.
    "You will now unhand me." Gabby's voice was very cold, and very positive.
    He glanced down then, as if to assure himself that the object threatening him was indeed a pistol. Then, eyes glittering, mouth tight, he slowly and with obvious reluctance lifted his hands away from her throat.
    "That's very good. Now step back. Slowly. And keep your hands where I can see them."
    He did as she ordered, straightening and taking first one, then a second, then a third step backward. His movements were cautious. His gaze, after that first glance at the pistol, never left hers. Still bothered by the errant strand of hair, Gabby risked removing one hand from the pistol to shove it behind her ear.
    "I should perhaps warn you that that particular pistol is possessed of a hair trigger." The statement was casually conversational in tone.
    Gabby smiled grimly. "Then you had best make certain that I have no cause to flex my finger, hadn't you? A little farther back, if you please. Just there."
    She scooted forward until she sat on the edge of the slippery leather chair, planting her feet firmly on the carpet, the pistol gripped in both hands