Free The Rake's Inherited Courtesan by Ann Lethbridge Page A

brandy, Mr Evernden,’ Dorkin said, his cheeks puffing in and out. ‘Sorry it took so long. I keeps me best stuff locked up. Can’t trust the help these days, you know.’
    ‘Who was that?’ Christopher asked, his gaze fixed on the doorway.
    ‘Dunno, sir. Just popped in on the off chance, like. I’ve never seen him afore.’
    Christopher picked up the goblet. ‘Cheers, Dorkin, and thank you.’
    He wandered to the bench opposite the shepherd and stretched out his legs to the fire’s warmth. He savoured the smooth amber liquid on his tongue.
    Oh, yes, this was the best stuff all right. Definitely French and certainly an improvement over a cold bath, if not as effective.
     
    A scuffling noise invaded Sylvia’s consciousness. It couldn’t possibly be time to rise. Her eyelids refused the order to open and she submerged into the opaque veil of sleep.
    A sound like fingernails on glass tormented her ears. The maid must be scratching at the door to wake her. She had to get up. She must not miss the coach to London. She groaned.Just a few minutes more, then she would open her eyes. She wriggled further beneath the warmth of the blankets.
    Stupid. The inability to sleep after leaving Christopher Evernden in the dining room did not give her an excuse to lie in bed. He reminded her of a disapproving older brother, except nothing brotherly lingered in the depth of evergreen eyes flecked with brown. His steel-hard resolve to do his duty and his ingrained sense of honour pulled at her like the full moon on the ocean. Not to mention his handsome face.
    An ache squeezed her heart and her breath hitched at the pain. Burrowing into the pillow, she shook her head in denial. No handsome face would lead her down the path to ruin and misery. No. She would not let another Evernden man break down her carefully constructed defences.
    A sliding noise and a bang jolted her fully awake. She stared into the gloom. It wasn’t morning. A pale square of light glimmered on the wall opposite the window; the rest of the room lay in deep shadow.
    She turned over.
    Oh, God! Outlined by moonlight, a head and shoulders filled the window frame.
    Fingers of ice held her body immobile and squeezed her throat. She opened her mouth to scream. A faint croak emerged.
    The dark shape dropped to the floor with a muffled thud. This had to be a dream. She swallowed what felt like gravel.
    The shadow lunged at her. Shivers of dread clawed down her spine, breaking the frigid clasp of fear. She kicked the bedclothes aside. A heavy weight landed on her, driving the breath from her lungs, pinning her down. A warm callused hand covered her mouth and nose. She fought for air. The smell of tobacco filled her nostrils and she tasted salty sweat. She flailed her arms, kicked out at him. Her heart pounded in her ears.
    Not again. This couldn’t happen to her again.
    Her lungs begged for air. Her head swam; darkness creptto the edges of her vision. She flailed her arms. He grunted as her fist made contact in the region of his head. His weight shifted, his grip eased. She closed her teeth hard on the soft flesh of his thumb. Sweat and tobacco soured her tongue.
    He cursed.
    Triumph surged in her veins. She gulped at the sudden sweet rush of air and squirmed from beneath him.
    ‘Don’t touch me,’ she cried. ‘Get out.’
    ‘I’m going,’ he said, shaking his injured hand. ‘An’ like it or not, pet, you’re coming with me.’
    ‘No.’
    She dived off the bed towards the door. Her elbow struck the bedpost and sent agonising tingles shooting to the tip of her little finger. Bent double, she clutched her arm to her chest.
    ‘Help,’ she screamed. ‘À moi.’ Would no one come to her aid?
    He raised his hand, his fist clenched around something black. She ducked.
    The blow snapped her head back. A sharp pain, a flash of light, then sinking blackness rose up and swallowed her.
     
    Christopher opened his eyes, his heart racing. What the hell? It had sounded like a