Pale Moon Rider by Marsha Canham Read Free Book Online Page B

solid wall of blinding agony.
    His head tilted to the other side, and the amber eyes glittered with amusement as he watched the successive waves of pain alter the expression on her face. “You do invite these things upon yourself, you know. You persist in throwing these little defiances in my face, as if I have not yet risen to the response you seek. Is that it? Do you prefer a more violent display of passion? Your own countryman, the Marquis de Sade, has written extensively on the subject of women who crave to be broken before they can feel truly fulfilled. Is it the same with you? Is it a penchant you French have acquired through the years of rampant decadence?”
    Renée’s eyes blurred with tears. The pain was excruciating and she could do nothing as he bent his head forward and thrust his tongue into the curl of her ear. Great pooling splotches of darkness began to cloud her vision; her lungs were on fire, her heart was pounding like a fist inside her chest though the blood seemed to have nowhere to go.
    She felt Roth’s mouth slide wetly down the curve of her throat, and she felt the sudden intrusion of his hand beneath her cloak. He grunted appreciatively when he encountered the fullness of her breast and with a rough jerk, he pulled the fabric down and brought her naked flesh into his palm.
    Through the pounding of her fear, Renée could hear the four young lords laughing and clinking glasses inside the common room. They were less than twenty paces away, yet they might as well be twenty miles. So overcome was she by the pain Roth was inflicting on her neck and jaw that he was able to brutalize her with complete impunity.
    “I think,” he murmured, “it would be rather ungallant of me not to escort you home, certainly not with a dangerous highwayman on the loose.”
    Renée managed a strangled, choking sound in her throat. Out of nowhere, it seemed, a tall black shape loomed up behind them. She could not be sure it was not her eyes playing tricks, for they were so distorted by tears and pain she could see very little at all, but in the next instant, she heard a dull thud and the pressure on her throat was suddenly broken. Roth’s head snapped to one side and remained that way for a long moment, his eyes glazed with confusion and not a little surprise. Then he was crumpling down onto his knees in front of her, his hands clutching at her skirts in a frantic, but ultimately futile, effort to retain his balance.
    Finn raised his hand to swing again and Renée saw the glint of a heavy iron candlestick clutched in his fist. Before he could strike the second blow, however, Roth was on his face, his arms and legs spread in an ungainly sprawl across the floor.
    Finn snorted once to express his satisfaction and replaced the candlestick.
    “Are you all right, mad’moiselle?” he asked gently in French.
    With the pressure on her throat eased, Renée was able to breathe again and she did so in great gulping mouthfuls as she clutched at Finn’s arm and nodded. “Yes. Yes, I am all right. He—he was trying to make me …”
    “I can well imagine what he was trying to make you do,” Finn said with disdain, “and I would suggest—if we do not wish the rest of the patrons of this wretched little hostel to know it as well—that we remove ourselves as quickly as possible.”
    “But … we cannot just leave him here.”
    He glanced down and, after a brief hesitation, reached to an inside pocket of his livery jacket and withdrew a slim silver flask. Unstoppering it with his teeth, he dribbled a fine stream of brandy over Roth’s neck and collar, then fit the emptied flask into the unconscious man’s hand. When he straightened, he saw the look on Renée’s face and arched a wiry eyebrow.
    “Strictly medicinal, I assure you. I anticipated it would be a cold evening.”
    She glanced back down at Roth. “Will he not be angry?”
    “Furious, I warrant. But unless he wishes to face a very public charge of attempted rape,