Read Online Fire at Midnight by Lisa Marie Wilkinson - Free Book Online Page A

other than hatred. He might not have stolen her maidenhead, but he had robbed her of her innocence.
    “Believing as you do, the masquerade must have been quite an ordeal for you,” she said. “Yet you never lost the advantage, did you?” Even in her inexperience, Rachael knew he had wanted her. There were moments when he had struggled for control. She noted, with a small measure of satisfaction, that his jaw went rigid at her remark, and his eyes flashed with anger.
    “We’re leaving,” Tarry told her. “I have a horse waiting down the beach.”
    “I trust you left your horse in the open so the wreckers would have an additional reward?”
    Tarry’s jaw dropped and the pistol wavered in his hand.
    “I thought as much.” Sebastién shook his head in disgust as Tarry fixed a look of pure malice on him.
    “We’ll find another horse,” Tarry said.
    “And what if the wreckers stumble upon the two of you,
enfant?”
Sebastién asked. “How will you protect her? With your wits?” He shook his head. “You go about unarmed.”
    “You forget that I hold the pistol,” Tarry said through clenched teeth.
    “The pistol you stole from
me.
I should warn you, it has no shot left. Unless you choose to employ your sword, you have no weapon.” Sebastién smiled unpleasantly. “Other than your wits, of course.”
    “You bluff. You would not have been held at bay by a pistol with no shot left.”
    “It suited my purpose. I wanted to hear what the
mademoiselle
might say when her guard was down,” Sebastién replied.
    Tarry raised the pistol as if to fire it. “I can prove otherwise.”
    “Oui,”
Sebastién sensibly agreed, “and if I lie, you will alert the wreckers to our presence.”
    Tarry muttered a curse and unsheathed his sword. Lunging forward, he attempted a savage blow to Sebastién’s chest that glanced off the Frenchman’s skillful parry and sent Tarry tottering backward.
    “Who instructed you in the art of fencing,” Sebastién taunted, “your nanny?”
    Flushing to the roots of his hair, Tarry launched himself at the Frenchman. So skilled was Falconer with the blade that his actions appeared effortless, while Tarry began to show signs of tiring after only a few minutes.
    The Frenchman seemed intent upon wearing his opponent out rather than killing him. Rachael hopped out of the way with a gasp when Tarry’s blade almost pierced her shoulder as he stumbled under the Frenchman’s relentless assault.
    She fell to the ground when Sebastién shoved her out of harm’s way and pressed his attack, scoring a flesh wound to Tarry’s wrist.
    Tarry dropped both sword and pistol.
    Sebastién speared the sword hilt and flung Tarry’s sword out of reach as Tarry dove to reclaim it.
    Sebastién lunged forward, pressing the point of his blade into the soft flesh of Tarry’s throat. Keeping his eyes on Tarry as he probed for the sword with his boot, Sebastién gave it a fierce kick, sending the weapon skittering down the steep path.
    Tarry’s eyes were huge with the realization the fight had ended and he had lost. The echo of his convulsive effort to swallow was visible in Sebastién’s sword grip. His eyes followed the cautious movement of his opponent when Sebastién stooped to retrieve the pistol with his free hand.
    Sebastién smiled genially. “I found the idea of being killed with my own pistol somewhat repugnant,” he confessed.
    Rachael dashed to his side and tugged at his arm, intending to plead for Tarry’s life.
    “Careful! Or you may just kill him yourself,” he cautioned as he steadied his hand.
    “Please don’t hurt him,” Rachael begged, voice catching in her throat. “Please let him go.”
    “I won’t leave without Rachael,” Tarry warned.
    “Convince him otherwise.”
    The Frenchman’s tone prompted Rachael to pull Tarry to his feet and urge him down the path. “Go, Tarry,” she said. Tarry shook his head and opened his mouth to protest, but she took one look at the Frenchman’s