Dark Ransom by Sara Craven Read Free Book Online Page A

mind forever.
    The very last thing, she thought, surrendering her mind and body to
    weary oblivion.

    She was back in the boat, but they were making no headway against
    the current, and the small craft was rocking wildly, crazily. Oh,
    God, she thought, we're going to capsize. She seemed to be alone,
    but somewhere a woman's voice was saying, 'Senhorita?' A voice
    she dimly recognised.
    She opened bleary eyes to find Rosita standing over her, shaking her
    shoulder vigorously.
    For a moment Charlie stared at her, completely disorientated, then
    the memory of the previous night's events rushed back to assail her
    in all their appalling detail. After a cautious glance to ascertain that
    she was alone in the bed she rolled over on to her stomach, burying
    her face in the pillow with a faint groan.
    'Senhorita e tarde.' Rosita gently touched her shoulder again,
    indicating that she'd placed a cup of coffee on the bedside chest.
    Charlie didn't want any coffee. She required no more of Riago da
    Santana's dearly bought hospitality, she thought, shuddering. Just
    her clothes, and a boat-ride back to Mariasanta. Although, at the
    moment, her most pressing need was for some warm water.
    Her precious phrase book was nowhere to be seen, so she had to rely
    on memory.
    She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. 'Faz favor—de me
    preparar um banho?' she managed awkwardly.
    Rosita nodded, a stolid expression on her brown face as if she
    sensed Charlie's embarrassment and was constrained by it too. She
    produced the amethyst robe and held it out for her to put on.
    'Nao.' Charlie pointed to the foot of the bed. 'Leave it there—please.'
    She lay staring into space while Rosita busied herself in the
    bathroom. She felt desperately tired. Not surprisingly her night's rest
    had been fitful, probably because she'd been terrified that Riago da
    Santana might waken and demand more from her. But he hadn't—
    and, thankfully, he'd also spared her the humiliation of finding him
    beside her this morning.
    In fact, she hadn't even heard him leave. And now, hopefully, she
    could wash last night away from her. She hoped she could erase it
    from her mind just as easily.
    She looked at the robe with disfavour. She never wanted it
    anywhere near her again. It was altogether too potent a reminder of
    Fay Preston—whose place she'd been forced to take in the most
    devastating way.
    Forced. The word stuck in her throat. Could she really justify it? she
    asked herself bitterly.
    She should have fought. She should have hit him over the head with
    his own whisky bottle- kneed him in the groin. It had been crazy—
    cowardly just to... submit like that.
    Reason told her that, in the end, her struggles would have made no
    difference. Riago da Santana would have been too strong. Even now
    the memory of his sheer physical power made her shiver. He would
    have prevailed—eventually.
    But I would still have had my pride, she thought. Whereas now...
    Her mind quailed from the remembered reality. She'd become
    another person—a stranger at the mercy of her own desires. She'd
    disgraced herself totally.
    When Rosita returned to tell her the bath was ready Charlie
    responded with a vigorous mime, demanding the return of her own
    clothes. She shook her head when the older woman went to the
    wardrobe and began offering yet more of the garments that hung
    there.
    No way, she thought grimly. She wanted her own stuff back.
    Accepting the cornflower dress, even on a temporary loan, had been
    a big mistake, but there would be no more such errors.
    But she was grateful for the bath. As she lay in the water she began
    to feel refreshed mentally as well as physically. She trickled a
    handful of water down her face and between her breasts, idly
    listening to Rosita, who was moving around in the bedroom, talking
    to someone, presumably another servant, in a high gabble of
    excitement.
    No prizes for guessing what the prime topic of conversation was,
    she thought,