Free A Kiss in the Dark by Joan Smith Page B

instant she was running, the next instant she had run into a human wall. He must have come out of a doorway leading to the hall. She heard a masculine gasp of surprise, and like an echo, her own lighter gasp following it. Strong hands seized her shoulders. As she stood, trembling in fear for her life, the hands brushed intimately down the sides of her body, gauging her size and sex. Her frightened breaths were the only sound; she was too shocked and afraid even to shout.
    Of course, she must call to Beau for help. Even asthe thought darted into her mind, the dark head descended and hot lips pressed on hers. Strong arms encircled her waist, crushing her against that firm wall of bone and muscle. Between shock and fear, she scarcely had the strength to struggle.
    When she recovered her wits, she braced her hands against the man’s shoulders and pushed with all her might, temporarily dislodging him. A low chuckle sounded in her ear, then his arms tightened and he kissed her again, hot and hard and long, as if in punishment for fighting him.
    Iam ruined! she thought. This villain is going to have his way with me.
    Then he lifted his head and rubbed his cheek against hers. “Tu es très méchante, ma chérie,” he murmured, and was gone as suddenly as he had appeared.
    She stood staring all about in the darkness with her heart pounding in painful excitement, forgetful of Beau. A Frenchman! She might have guessed. Only a Frenchie would kiss like that. Shaking herself back to sanity, she looked to the staircase.
    Before her gaze had time to focus, she heard a scuffle and a muffled gasp, followed by a dragging sound. The sounds were congruous with a struggle, and someone or something being dragged along the floor. Fear was left behind in her concern for Beau’s safety. She moved swiftly forward. Her fear for Beau’s life was soon preempted by a fear for her own. Some rough thing—a blanket perhaps—was thrown over her head. It covered her arms and legs, leaving her helpless. She was picked up bodily in a pair of strong arms and carried down the corridor. She heard a door open. She was carried into the room and deposited on the floor. She heard the door close and a key turn.
    She immediately pulled the blanket off her head. The stench of fish and seaweed suggested it had been to sea. Before she had time to examine the room she had been placed in, she heard whispers from beyond the door but close at hand. The words sounded like gibberish at first, but as she listened more closely, she could distinguish that it was two men speaking French.
    “J’ai cherché partout. Elle n’est pas ici.” The man was telling his companion he had looked all over and could not find her—or it. The French had a troublesome habit of ascribing gender to their nouns and pronouns. Was it Dauntry’s chère amie that was missing?
    The reply was also in French. The voice sounded slightly familiar, but the foreign language changed the timbre and inflection beyond recognition. “They must have been looking for it (or possibly her), non ? We’ve got to find it/her. I trust you took care of that fellow?”
    “Ah, out, and the lady.”
    “I hope you didn’t hurt her?”
    “A Frenchman hurt a lady? Jamais! Never! I treated her gently as a babe. As to the gars, I gave him only a tap on the head.”
    “Bon! I wonder if it"—still that troublesome “elle,” for they spoke French-—”could be slid under the carpet. Did you look?”
    “Under every carpet and in every corner.”
    The men moved beyond hearing in the corridor, but one thing was now plain—a woman was not hiding under a carpet. Cressida was nearly frightened out of her wits when a hollow voice suddenly spoke from the shadows within the chamber.
    “Sid, is that you?”
    “Beau! You’re alive! Oh, thank God.” They both spoke in low voices. “I feared they had killed you.” She scrambled out of the blanket and rushed to him. He lay prostrate on the floor, holding his aching