Whisper To Me of Love by Shirlee Busbee

contest, and though Pip did her best and managed to inflict a certain amount of damage before Royce finally had her forcibly subdued, there had never been any doubt about the outcome. Snatching a lap rug from his gig and throwing it over the squirming, astonishingly bloodthirsty creature his pickpocket had suddenly turned into, Royce quickly and efficiently trapped the thrashing little body in its heavy folds. Breathing heavily from his exertions, for Pip, driven by an almost blind panic, had fought with every bit of strength and cunning that she possessed, Royce nursed his bloody hand, which now bore a perfect imprint of the thief’s teeth, and with a decidedly less than gentle movement, picked up the wiggling, rug-shrouded figure and tossed it roughly into the gig.
    Turning to Zachary, who had stood there watching the proceedings with a huge grin on his face, Royce snarled, “If you are through gaping like a country bumpkin at the fair and unless you want me to drive off and leave you stranded here, I recommend that you get into the vehicle at once!”
    Meekly Zachary did as he was ordered, and wisely he kept his mouth shut during the wild ride that followed through London’s streets. Royce was a notable whip, which was fortunate—only an expert could have driven those hot-blooded, high-strung horses at that speed along the crowded, twisting streets without coming to grief. It was only when they pulled up in front of the elegant house on Hanover Square that Zachary realized that he had been holding his breath practically from the moment Royce had set the horses in motion.
    As for the rug-covered object pressed between them, it had continued to thrash about with alarming savagery, and the fluency and originality of the muttered curses that had come from beneath the heavy folds had even caused Royce’s eyebrows to raise. His normally unruffled manner reasserting itself, Royce suddenly grinned at a particularly gruesome fate promised by his captive and shook his head. Alighting gracefully from the gig, Royce said with a hint of laughter in his voice, “Yes, I am quite certain that you would indeed enjoy slicing off my, er, privates and stuffing them in my bone box—but fortunately for me, I shall take great care that you have neither the means nor the opportunity!”
    Trapped beneath the folds of the rug, Pip heard the amused note in his voice and went silent with shock. What sort of depraved monster had captured her? Any man worth his salt would have taken grave offense at the various insults she had hurled at him, but this bloody American seemed to find the entire situation something to laugh about! Blast his eyes!
    But Pip had no time for further reflection. Feeling those strong hands fastening about her, she began to struggle more fiercely, and though she managed to inflict the occasional blow, the big American carried her effortlessly into the house. It was only after she had been dumped unceremoniously onto the floor that she was able to fight clear of the enveloping folds of the rug and face her captor once again.
    Like a spitting, clawing pantheress, she came up off the floor, the gray eyes nearly black with fury and the ebony curls almost bristling with defiance. Breathing heavily, as much from her exertions as from the anger, mingled with fear, that was pumping through her veins, Pip wasted not a moment before launching herself at Royce. She had paid no heed to her surroundings beyond ascertaining that the American stood between her and a pair of heavily carved doors, which she assumed led to freedom, and her one thought, much like a cornered animal, was escape.
    If Royce found the boy’s fierce and persistent attempts to escape surprising, his handsome features gave no clue as he easily blocked the frenzied attack. Catching the boy by the shoulders, with humiliating ease he lifted his attacker off the floor and with no discernible effort held him at a distance, the vicious kicks