Read Online Just Another Lady (Xcite Romance) by Penelope Friday - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Penelope Friday
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moved towards the chaise longue, but instead of sweeping her onto it, as Elinor had feared he would do, he pulled her into his arms as they stood. Her heart was beating fast within her breast, and there was a slight tremble in her fingers which she could not prevent.
‘I am but a woman,’ she said diffidently. ‘I do not like weaponry, you understand.’ Then, loathing herself even for saying it, ‘I am made for love-making, not violence.’ She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat as she said the words aloud. Whether she escaped with her chastity unsullied or not, she knew these moments would live in her mind, humiliatingly, for too long.
‘Quite so,’ said Sir Hugo.
He kissed her, and Elinor closed her eyes and thought a desperate apology to Lucius, that she should submit – indeed, to seem to like – these kisses from his enemy. Her breathing was ragged, not from passion, as Sir Hugo appeared to believe, but from fear. She knew what he intended to come next; she knew what she intended to come next. They were not the same. Nevertheless, she would need to make her move soon. Sir Hugo had started to unbutton her dress. She had given in to his kisses, and he seemed to believe that she welcomed them. Much longer, and the opportunity might be lost.
‘My Lord …’ Elinor’s voice sounded weak and unconvincing to herself, but apparently not to Sir Hugo. He looked up at her, his face pink with arousal, and looking in Elinor’s eyes like an over-dressed pig. She wondered how she could ever have thought him handsome. She swallowed hard. ‘I …’
Without warning, she brought her knee up, sharply, against his groin, hearing her petticoats rip under the strain. If she had got this wrong, his punishment would be vicious indeed. But no. She had hit the spot. Sir Hugo doubled up as the pain gathered him in, and his grasp on Elinor’s dress loosened. She tugged herself away, leaving a scrap of the delicate silk still in his hand, and ran. Her original captor, to her relief, was not in sight as she dashed for the door. Sir Hugo had chosen his hidey-hole well. Elinor found herself in a part of London she knew not at all, but which was certainly one of the less salubrious places in which she had found herself. She knew she must look a sight: her dress ripped at the shoulder and dirty at the ankle, her hair trailing loose over her shoulders. If it weren’t for the quality of the materials she was wearing, she thought wearily, no one would believe her to be part of the ton. Even as it was, she suspected that people would presume the clothes stolen.
She took another look round, and realised she hoped they would think the clothes a robbery. Wherever-she-was was not a safe place for elegantly dressed ladies of the polite world. A sick feeling arose in her throat as she wondered whether she had escaped one horror only to be plunged into another. The two men on the far side of the road were staring at her – as she watched, one nudged his companion and said something that drew a ribald laugh.
Trying to ape a confidence she did not feel, Elinor slowed her pace to a purposeful walk, as if she knew precisely where she was headed and had no doubt of her ability to get there. She was relieved to see the men turn away.
Five minutes later, she was alone. And totally, utterly, lost. All the famous landmarks of London were invisible in this world of tumble-down warehouses and broken bricks. It was like a different world; and Elinor knew that whatever happened, she would be irrevocably changed by this long, frightening walk. She had thought she knew what poverty was when she and her mother had been struggling to survive in Carryleigh, but the grimness of what surrounded her now showed her that she had barely scratched the surface. Occasionally she caught sight of a few ragged children, playing games along the alleyways, the strong Cockney accent strange to her ears. A woman came right up to her, pawing at her clothes. Her breath
‘I am but a woman,’ she said diffidently. ‘I do not like weaponry, you understand.’ Then, loathing herself even for saying it, ‘I am made for love-making, not violence.’ She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat as she said the words aloud. Whether she escaped with her chastity unsullied or not, she knew these moments would live in her mind, humiliatingly, for too long.
‘Quite so,’ said Sir Hugo.
He kissed her, and Elinor closed her eyes and thought a desperate apology to Lucius, that she should submit – indeed, to seem to like – these kisses from his enemy. Her breathing was ragged, not from passion, as Sir Hugo appeared to believe, but from fear. She knew what he intended to come next; she knew what she intended to come next. They were not the same. Nevertheless, she would need to make her move soon. Sir Hugo had started to unbutton her dress. She had given in to his kisses, and he seemed to believe that she welcomed them. Much longer, and the opportunity might be lost.
‘My Lord …’ Elinor’s voice sounded weak and unconvincing to herself, but apparently not to Sir Hugo. He looked up at her, his face pink with arousal, and looking in Elinor’s eyes like an over-dressed pig. She wondered how she could ever have thought him handsome. She swallowed hard. ‘I …’
Without warning, she brought her knee up, sharply, against his groin, hearing her petticoats rip under the strain. If she had got this wrong, his punishment would be vicious indeed. But no. She had hit the spot. Sir Hugo doubled up as the pain gathered him in, and his grasp on Elinor’s dress loosened. She tugged herself away, leaving a scrap of the delicate silk still in his hand, and ran. Her original captor, to her relief, was not in sight as she dashed for the door. Sir Hugo had chosen his hidey-hole well. Elinor found herself in a part of London she knew not at all, but which was certainly one of the less salubrious places in which she had found herself. She knew she must look a sight: her dress ripped at the shoulder and dirty at the ankle, her hair trailing loose over her shoulders. If it weren’t for the quality of the materials she was wearing, she thought wearily, no one would believe her to be part of the ton. Even as it was, she suspected that people would presume the clothes stolen.
She took another look round, and realised she hoped they would think the clothes a robbery. Wherever-she-was was not a safe place for elegantly dressed ladies of the polite world. A sick feeling arose in her throat as she wondered whether she had escaped one horror only to be plunged into another. The two men on the far side of the road were staring at her – as she watched, one nudged his companion and said something that drew a ribald laugh.
Trying to ape a confidence she did not feel, Elinor slowed her pace to a purposeful walk, as if she knew precisely where she was headed and had no doubt of her ability to get there. She was relieved to see the men turn away.
Five minutes later, she was alone. And totally, utterly, lost. All the famous landmarks of London were invisible in this world of tumble-down warehouses and broken bricks. It was like a different world; and Elinor knew that whatever happened, she would be irrevocably changed by this long, frightening walk. She had thought she knew what poverty was when she and her mother had been struggling to survive in Carryleigh, but the grimness of what surrounded her now showed her that she had barely scratched the surface. Occasionally she caught sight of a few ragged children, playing games along the alleyways, the strong Cockney accent strange to her ears. A woman came right up to her, pawing at her clothes. Her breath
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