a grave infection of some kind. Two of my other horses are sick also and Bernard thinks maybe this disease will run rampant through my stable.” He stood abruptly and nodded to the young messenger. “I will leave at once. Have them saddle a mount. I’ll take Zeus. He’s the fastest.”
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Emma Wildes
“Yes, monsieur.” The young man bowed away and ran back the way he came.
“How terrible,” Lara murmured sincerely, knowing how he loved his racing bloodstock. “I am sorry, Anton.”
“And I am sorry, chérie , to leave you at what should be a tender moment between us.” Lifting her hand to his mouth, he kissed her fingers, but his expression was abstract, worry evident in the tension in his body. “I will be back tomorrow or send word. If you need company, send for Helena. She will always be glad to entertain you.”
“I know,” Lara said dryly.
For an instant, his expression lightened. “Not that way,” he said firmly. “Save your delectable charms for me from now on.”
“Yes, Monsieur de Comte,” she said demurely. Then, more gravely, she added, “Travel safely and come back to me soon.”
“I will.”
He was gone in minutes, calling out orders in his cultured voice, collecting little more than his cloak before he rode away like a whirlwind.
Lara still sat on the terrace, the remnants of their breakfast on the table. Aside from her concern over her future husband’s beloved horses, she felt deliciously content and happy. This coming child had changed her world, not just because of Anton’s proposal. She felt whole again, not so flawed, not at all the restless woman who had decided to risk her life spying for England because she felt she needed to give something meaningful to the world around her.
“Well, well, this is a bucolic picture, is it not? Roussel’s English whore basking in the sun, no doubt dreaming of the next opportunity to spread her legs.” The mocking, repulsive voice came from behind her, startling her out of her lethargic contentment, sending a deep chill down her spine. “Luckily, that will be very soon indeed.”
Standing and whirling around, to her horror Lara saw that Jacques Lacroux stood only paces away, obviously having crept up from the shelter of the gardens. He was the lean, ravenous man of her
Incomparable
81
nightmares, attired in plain country garb, his glittering gaze utterly without mercy as he stared intently at her. The expression of livid hatred on his face was borne out by the twist of his mouth as he leisurely examined her body with undisguised lust.
He was too close for her to run. Lara managed only one choked cry before he lunged forward and caught her roughly, his hand going over her mouth. In her ear, he hissed, “I have been waiting for this since the first time I saw you, Countess. So female…so regally proud, with every man in your range fawning at your feet. You spying bitch…you want it, all women do. I will stick you so hard, you’ll scream. I want to hear you beg and whimper…
God, I have dreamed and plotted for this. Your lover won’t ever touch you again, I’m afraid. You are mine now. He’s a fool, so easily mislead, valuing his horses over your charms. When he returns, you will be used and dead.”
Terrified, in disbelief, Lara struggled, protective of the precious life inside her. This baby also belonged to Anton. He obviously wanted it, and no one was going to take it away from them.
Biting down hard on his hand, she tasted blood and heard his outraged cry as he released her. Hampered by her long skirts, she only managed to run a few paces before she stumbled and felt Lacroux grab her again, this time yanking her long hair.
She screamed then, a hollow cry of despair, the stable so far from the house, she wasn’t sure anyone would hear her. Mrs. Bourges was inside but half-deaf, and the older woman was hardly someone who could help her.
Tossed to the flagstones of the terrace, she tried to crawl away, seeing
80
Emma Wildes
“Yes, monsieur.” The young man bowed away and ran back the way he came.
“How terrible,” Lara murmured sincerely, knowing how he loved his racing bloodstock. “I am sorry, Anton.”
“And I am sorry, chérie , to leave you at what should be a tender moment between us.” Lifting her hand to his mouth, he kissed her fingers, but his expression was abstract, worry evident in the tension in his body. “I will be back tomorrow or send word. If you need company, send for Helena. She will always be glad to entertain you.”
“I know,” Lara said dryly.
For an instant, his expression lightened. “Not that way,” he said firmly. “Save your delectable charms for me from now on.”
“Yes, Monsieur de Comte,” she said demurely. Then, more gravely, she added, “Travel safely and come back to me soon.”
“I will.”
He was gone in minutes, calling out orders in his cultured voice, collecting little more than his cloak before he rode away like a whirlwind.
Lara still sat on the terrace, the remnants of their breakfast on the table. Aside from her concern over her future husband’s beloved horses, she felt deliciously content and happy. This coming child had changed her world, not just because of Anton’s proposal. She felt whole again, not so flawed, not at all the restless woman who had decided to risk her life spying for England because she felt she needed to give something meaningful to the world around her.
“Well, well, this is a bucolic picture, is it not? Roussel’s English whore basking in the sun, no doubt dreaming of the next opportunity to spread her legs.” The mocking, repulsive voice came from behind her, startling her out of her lethargic contentment, sending a deep chill down her spine. “Luckily, that will be very soon indeed.”
Standing and whirling around, to her horror Lara saw that Jacques Lacroux stood only paces away, obviously having crept up from the shelter of the gardens. He was the lean, ravenous man of her
Incomparable
81
nightmares, attired in plain country garb, his glittering gaze utterly without mercy as he stared intently at her. The expression of livid hatred on his face was borne out by the twist of his mouth as he leisurely examined her body with undisguised lust.
He was too close for her to run. Lara managed only one choked cry before he lunged forward and caught her roughly, his hand going over her mouth. In her ear, he hissed, “I have been waiting for this since the first time I saw you, Countess. So female…so regally proud, with every man in your range fawning at your feet. You spying bitch…you want it, all women do. I will stick you so hard, you’ll scream. I want to hear you beg and whimper…
God, I have dreamed and plotted for this. Your lover won’t ever touch you again, I’m afraid. You are mine now. He’s a fool, so easily mislead, valuing his horses over your charms. When he returns, you will be used and dead.”
Terrified, in disbelief, Lara struggled, protective of the precious life inside her. This baby also belonged to Anton. He obviously wanted it, and no one was going to take it away from them.
Biting down hard on his hand, she tasted blood and heard his outraged cry as he released her. Hampered by her long skirts, she only managed to run a few paces before she stumbled and felt Lacroux grab her again, this time yanking her long hair.
She screamed then, a hollow cry of despair, the stable so far from the house, she wasn’t sure anyone would hear her. Mrs. Bourges was inside but half-deaf, and the older woman was hardly someone who could help her.
Tossed to the flagstones of the terrace, she tried to crawl away, seeing
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