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She put her arms around his neck. It was a simple gesture—clearly this enterprise would go a lot better if she held on. For some reason, though, it touched him. It was a gesture of trust, of acceptance, whether she knew it or not. She glanced in both directions. “Let’s head to the right,” she said at last.
“Left it is,” he replied. And started off.
She should be a great deal more upset, Melisande thought as she clung to Viscount Rohan’s strong neck. Her ankle throbbed like the very devil, she’d lost her boot somewhere and she was being carted around by her arch-enemy as if she were nothing more than a sack of potatoes.
They were in the middle of nowhere, stuck inside a tunnel with no discernible way out, and he’d called her “Melisande. ” He probably didn’t even realize that he had. It had come out spur of the moment, when they’d tumbled down into this subterranean passageway, which made it all the more interesting. When he wasn’t taunting and teasing her, he thought of her as Melisande?
He’d started down one cor
ridor, where they’d swiftly been enveloped in first shadows and then darkness as he’d turned a corner. There was no artificial light down there at the moment, though she could see unlit torches set into the walls as they passed, and scorch marks on the white cave walls. He carried her easily enough, as if she weighed no more than a feather, which she knew was a far cry from the truth. She was, admittedly, curvaceous, even bordering on plump. Carting her around would be a strain on a lesser man. Rohan wasn’t even breathing heavily.
It was getting darker. She wanted to cling more tightly to Rohan’s strong body, but she resisted the need. Really, she had no choice but to let him carry her, given the condition of her ankle, but there was no excuse for cuddling. “Are you certain we’re going in the right direction?”
He let out an irritated growl. “I’m not certain of anything. I was going on instinct. ”
“Instinct being that you do the opposite of what I suggest?”
It was too dark to see his expression, but she knew he would be amused. “Indeed. I wonder…” His voice trailed off as he came to an abrupt halt.
“You wonder?” she prompted, only to be dropped from his arms summarily, though he still supported her, and a hand came over her mouth, silencing her.
And then she heard it. Voices arguing, and a growing pool of light heading in their direction.
He moved, fast, as the light came around a bend in the tunnels, and she felt herself being pushed into a dark hole, onto a padded surface, with his hard, heavy body on top of hers, his hand still covering her mouth. “Don’t say a word,” he breathed in her ear.
She nodded, or tried to, though his imprisoning hand made it difficult, and he moved it away, keeping perfectly still in the darkness.
She could see light in the tunnel beyond, and the voices were clearer now. “Did you see someone?” The voice sounded vaguely familiar. A man, in his middle years, clearly of the ton.
Author: Anne Stuart “Don’t be ridiculous. ” The next voice was younger, slightly petulant, and that of a stranger. “We didn’t see any sign of horses near the ruins, did we? Who else would be down here? We came in the only entrance and it was locked when we got here. ”
“I thought I saw someone moving. Over by one of the training rooms. ” The voice and the light came closer, and Rohan pushed her back into the corner of the alcove with his body, pressing her face against his shoulder. He stayed very still, but Melisande could sense the light beyond him, and panic swelled inside her. They’d been discovered.
Apparently not. “It’s black as pitch in there,” the older man said. “Nothing but bedding and rags. ”
“You could always walk in and look,” the younger voice taunted him. “I promise not to lock you in. ”
The light moved away, and Melisande felt relief flood her body. “Do you seriously think I’d be fool enough to trust you, Pennington? Your sense of humor has always been a bit outré. ”
“Coward. ”
“I could call you out for that. ”
“You could. But we have better ways of settling our differences, do we not?” The man called Pennington had a smooth voice, but there was a chill to it.
The other man chuckled, though. “True enough. There are few things more enjoyable than watching two whores trying to cripple each other. ”
Melisande jerked, sickened, but Rohan simply pressed harder, keeping her still, his hand over her mouth to silence her. She closed her eyes, forcing her body to relax. Much as she wanted to leap up and start beating at the degenerates in the room beyond, she wouldn’t get very far with a sprained ankle and no stout stick to bash them with. She would have to find other ways to stop them.
She could feel him pressing against her, their bodies almost plastered together. Her breasts felt strange up against his chest. Sensitive, almost abraded, and tingling. His legs were between hers, she realized, holding her down, and his hips were cradled against her.
He was getting hard, she realized. She thought about it, concentrating on the sensation, and realized he was becoming noticeably more aroused, the longer he stayed pressed against her. And yet he couldn’t very well move, not without drawing attention to their hiding place.
So she couldn’t shove him away, or slap him, or do any of the dozen or so things she could think of to halt the direction in which his body and her mind were going. Because her mind was most definitely going there, whether she wanted it to or not.
He was lean and strong, delightfully so. She’d never thought whether there was one particular physical form she preferred—she’d done her best to concentrate on the person rather than their appearance. But in truth she liked being around tall men, and she liked strength, and she liked long, lean, elegant bodies. She liked the way Benedick Rohan looked, and felt, and, yes, tasted, and she could feel a slow heat begin to build between her legs.
It was all wrong. They were in danger, and those two men, members of the foul Heavenly Host, could walk in on them at any moment. She should be concentrating on anger and escape. Not on the feel of him, the hardness between his legs pressed against the softness between hers.
