Read Online Coach and Four: Allisandra's Tale by Linore Rose Burkard - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Linore Rose Burkard
Tags: Romance, Historical, Literature & Fiction, Historical Romance, Short Stories, Anthologies, Collections & Anthologies
Ads: Link
Dorchester? What business could the duchess be about concerning this indecent man? He was one of the most well-known libertines in existence, and certainly the worst in Charles’s court.
He came into view as the pair outside the carriage exchanged a few words, and Allisandra watched fearfully. She could see him only in shadow, but pounded on the door in alarm.
“Let me out, Elizabeth!” And the door did open—but following a rush of cold air, she was met, and taken hold of—by Lord Dorchester, who eyed her gravely while moving her back to her seat, and then punched the wall with force to signal them off. Allisandra jumped up and threw herself towards the door, even as the coach’s wheels began turning and they moved away from the estate.
“Do not fret!” she heard her friend cry. “His intentions are fully honourable!” But as she caught a last glimpse of Elizabeth, she could see the duchess had put both hands, clasped, up against her mouth, and there were tears in her eyes. Tears!
“What have you done, Elizabeth?” Allisandra’s words bounced back at her, as useless as they were weak. She stood against the door, watching the house recede from view.
Her mind went numb. Behind her, she heard the sound of something striking flint and knew he was lighting the interior lamp. She went into a blind panic. She tore at the handle of the door, ready to jump out of the moving vehicle if that’s what it took to free herself from the power of Lord Dorchester. But the man moved swiftly. He grasped hold of her and forced her to the cushion though she fought against him frantically.
“ Elizabeth! Your Grace! ” Her cry filled the air and she continued to fight against his lordship, who was holding her firmly. She managed to hit him, kick him in the shin, and altogether put up such a fight to make him exclaim, “Madam, you mistake me!”
They were both breathing hard by now but Allisandra was not ready to give up. He was forced to pin her arms to her sides, and then, with terrible timing, the coach went into a sharp turn, sending her fast up against him.
In truth, his arms kept her from falling, but she spat out, “Let me go, you villain, I hate you!” When he ignored this, she yelled anything that came into her head, hardly knowing what she spoke in her panic. She struggled to free her arms and then pummeled his chest, and then his face. He said nothing, and was firm as he subdued her hands once again, but he did not hurt her. Oddly, he seemed hardly provoked, and a sudden beam of moonlight falling through the window and upon his face told her he had stood it all with a firm look of determination.
The coach was hurtling down a road rutted with mud holes and the rocking made her yet more in need of steadying. Each time the carriage bobbed Dorchester’s grasp kept her upright. With delayed shock, and a feeling of despair, Allisandra realized she was trapped. She was a prisoner. And in the hands of Lord Dorchester, a man she had never found the least reason to approve of. In utter dismay, tears filled her eyes, and she went limp. There was nothing she could do.
Woodenly, Allisandra allowed herself to be lowered to a seat. Dorchester then claimed a spot on the cushion across from her but Allisandra did not look at him. Not for a minute, at least, and when she did—curiosity getting the best of her—she saw he was still grave and staring at her with an abashed and almost troubled look. She wondered fleetingly what he was about, but then remembered. This was Lord Dorchester! No, she had no wish to know anything of him, least of all what he wanted of her.
She glared at him, putting as much ice into her gaze as she felt capable of producing. But in return, she received a look which held no anger or sinister intimations. There was nothing but a cautious appeal in his face. He seemed to be expecting the worst, yet hoping against it. His eyes held, in fact, a sort of admiring
He came into view as the pair outside the carriage exchanged a few words, and Allisandra watched fearfully. She could see him only in shadow, but pounded on the door in alarm.
“Let me out, Elizabeth!” And the door did open—but following a rush of cold air, she was met, and taken hold of—by Lord Dorchester, who eyed her gravely while moving her back to her seat, and then punched the wall with force to signal them off. Allisandra jumped up and threw herself towards the door, even as the coach’s wheels began turning and they moved away from the estate.
“Do not fret!” she heard her friend cry. “His intentions are fully honourable!” But as she caught a last glimpse of Elizabeth, she could see the duchess had put both hands, clasped, up against her mouth, and there were tears in her eyes. Tears!
“What have you done, Elizabeth?” Allisandra’s words bounced back at her, as useless as they were weak. She stood against the door, watching the house recede from view.
Her mind went numb. Behind her, she heard the sound of something striking flint and knew he was lighting the interior lamp. She went into a blind panic. She tore at the handle of the door, ready to jump out of the moving vehicle if that’s what it took to free herself from the power of Lord Dorchester. But the man moved swiftly. He grasped hold of her and forced her to the cushion though she fought against him frantically.
“ Elizabeth! Your Grace! ” Her cry filled the air and she continued to fight against his lordship, who was holding her firmly. She managed to hit him, kick him in the shin, and altogether put up such a fight to make him exclaim, “Madam, you mistake me!”
They were both breathing hard by now but Allisandra was not ready to give up. He was forced to pin her arms to her sides, and then, with terrible timing, the coach went into a sharp turn, sending her fast up against him.
In truth, his arms kept her from falling, but she spat out, “Let me go, you villain, I hate you!” When he ignored this, she yelled anything that came into her head, hardly knowing what she spoke in her panic. She struggled to free her arms and then pummeled his chest, and then his face. He said nothing, and was firm as he subdued her hands once again, but he did not hurt her. Oddly, he seemed hardly provoked, and a sudden beam of moonlight falling through the window and upon his face told her he had stood it all with a firm look of determination.
The coach was hurtling down a road rutted with mud holes and the rocking made her yet more in need of steadying. Each time the carriage bobbed Dorchester’s grasp kept her upright. With delayed shock, and a feeling of despair, Allisandra realized she was trapped. She was a prisoner. And in the hands of Lord Dorchester, a man she had never found the least reason to approve of. In utter dismay, tears filled her eyes, and she went limp. There was nothing she could do.
Woodenly, Allisandra allowed herself to be lowered to a seat. Dorchester then claimed a spot on the cushion across from her but Allisandra did not look at him. Not for a minute, at least, and when she did—curiosity getting the best of her—she saw he was still grave and staring at her with an abashed and almost troubled look. She wondered fleetingly what he was about, but then remembered. This was Lord Dorchester! No, she had no wish to know anything of him, least of all what he wanted of her.
She glared at him, putting as much ice into her gaze as she felt capable of producing. But in return, she received a look which held no anger or sinister intimations. There was nothing but a cautious appeal in his face. He seemed to be expecting the worst, yet hoping against it. His eyes held, in fact, a sort of admiring
Similar Books
