Compromising Miss Milton - Michelle Styles Mills & Boon Historical

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deep rage filled her. She had risked life, limb and reputation to save this man and he was drunk. More than likely uninjured. She should have let him drown.

      She coughed softly, but when he did not move, she tried again, reaching forwards to prod him with her basket as water dripped from her gown.

      At the sound of her squelching boots, his lashes fluttered and his amber gaze pierced her. His eyes were a myriad of shifting browns and golds and his lashes provided the perfect frame.

      The sound of laughter filled the air—his laughter, low and husky as if they were sharing some private joke.

      ‘Are you hurt? Or merely drunk?’ she asked through gritted teeth. ‘I have spoilt my best gloves and soaked my gown in the rescue attempt. The least you can do is answer civilly instead of laughing at the spectacle.’

      The man groaned and buried his face in his arms. ‘Do you have to speak so loudly? You would wake the dead, ma’am, with your tones.’

      ‘Not the dead, just you.’ Daisy raised her eyes heavenwards. English, and with the arrogant tones of someone well bred. That was all she needed—a rake who had made a drunken wager to swim the Irthing. All she asked for was a bit of common decency, but when had a rake ever possessed such a thing? ‘Do you know how you came to be here?’

      ‘Not by choice. Wrong sort of clothes to swim in for a start. Always swim in my birthday suit.’ A great cough racked his body. ‘Swallowed most of the river as well. Definitely not my preferred tipple. It lacks a certain something, don’t you agree?’

      Daisy wrung out the hem of her skirt. Definitely a rake and one of the worst sort. Her only hope was that he would begin to make a certain amount of sense and she could leave him. ‘Have you any idea why you are here?’

      ‘Carriage halted. I escaped and the dogs followed. So I went into the river.’ His frown increased and his hand fumbled about the rocks as if he were searching for something. ‘My boots! What have you done with my boots?’

      ‘I have not touched your boots. A pair may have gone over the falls, but forgive me as I was otherwise occupied with saving you.’

      The man swore, loud and long. Daisy made a tutting noise at the back of her throat, so that he would understand that curses were always unnecessary in the hearing of a lady. She then made a great show of picking up her basket.

      ‘Someone stole those boots.’

      ‘You still have your signet ring.’ Daisy pointed at the dull gold band he wore on his little finger. Did he take her for some green girl? Easily conned by a smile and a pair of fine eyes? As if she would take a pair of boots. He was probably the sort that could not take his boots off without a valet. More than likely the boots were with his friends.

      A frown appeared between his two dark eyebrows. His fingers curled about his ring. ‘Not that. Curious.’

      ‘Why did they do that? Why not take it if they were thieves?’ Daisy shifted the basket to her other hip and watched him through narrow slits.

      ‘You would have to ask my attackers. I was too busy trying to stay alive.’ The man’s sardonic voice echoed in her ears. His long fingers explored the back of his head. ‘And while you are at it, you can ask them why they left me with a lump the size of a goose egg on the side of my head. The violence was unnecessary.’

      ‘If that is the case, then perhaps I had best go and find them immediately. You are obviously in no need of assistance from me.’ Daisy opted for her most withering tone.

      ‘Why did this attack happen?’ His hand shot out and encircled her wrist. ‘The truth this time, phantom of my mind, or I shall be forced to destroy you.’

      Chapter Two

      Adam fastened his gaze on the slender wrist and the embroidered glove of the woman. Until his fingers closed around her, he had been nearly convinced she was another apparition, part of the never-ending parade of ghosts and phantoms that had plagued him ever since he had found a log to cling to, to keep his head above water. Always mocking him and then vanishing, always keeping that elusive answer of why the attack had happened beyond his reach.

      He glanced upwards, following the line of the shiny black sleeve to the white collar fastened at her neck with a blue cameo and finally coming to rest on her glorious eyes. For a brief heartbeat, her features blurred and merged with the shadows, becoming the countenance of one of the dead. He blinked and the image vanished.

      He swallowed, tasting once again the foul residue in his mouth. It had been at the last inn where his driver had insisted they change horses. Newcastle by mid-morning, Hawkins had said with a laugh, pressing a pint of foul ale on him. Had Hawkins survived? Or had the thieves saved Adam a job and slit his throat?

      He pushed the thought from his mind. Later there would be the time for vengeance and retribution. Now, he had to survive. To get away from here. Alive.

      His captive moved her hand upwards and silently tried to break free.

      Adam regarded her with a jaundiced eye. The fates were definitely laughing at him. He had asked for help as he had struggled against the current, and this is what had appeared—a governess, someone who was more concerned about propriety and giving lip service than actually aiding anyone. Or, worse yet, a parody of a governess intent on harm. She had been about to search him for valuables. He was certain of it. The woman was no angel of mercy, but a black-hearted harpy.

      ‘Who sent you here?’ he asked, grinding out the words. ‘You might as well confess. I will find out in the end.’

      ‘Let go of my wrist,’ the woman said, her hideous straw bonnet slipping to one side and her golden-brown hair tumbling free.

      Her tones were clear and precise like a bell, echoing in his mind, reminding him of someone, someone he should know. Adam willed his mind to clear. He had never seen this woman before. Ever. He would have remembered the eyes and the heart-shaped face.

      ‘Let. Me. Go. Now. Before I scream very loudly indeed.’

      Adam concentrated on tightening his grip. It would come to him in a moment, the connection. He drew in a breath and his body protested once again at the pain of moving. He had thought lying in the river that he might have been in India again, lying in a pool of blood, waiting for the final blow, when he had been unable to get to Kamala, but had desperately wanted to. When he still thought Kamala might have feelings for him and he could redeem his earlier failure.

      He was supposed to die then but didn’t. If he could cheat death once, he could do it again. But he had to know if this woman was friend or foe.

      ‘I am warning you.’ The woman tapped her foot and her eyes shot sparks. ‘Cease this nonsense immediately.’

      ‘I doubt anyone will hear you, save the odd sheep. Possibly a hawk.’ He permitted a smile to cross his lips and promptly regretted the pain. ‘Unless you have friends nearby.’

      ‘Friends?’ Her voice went up an octave and her being quivered. ‘Do you think I would have dragged you from the river if I could have sent a man? I saved your life—an act of mercy and one I will regret to my dying day.’

      Adam levered his body to a sitting position and concentrated on the frivolous daisies embroidered on his captive’s gloves. Would a governess really wear such gloves in contrast to her severe costume? Not any that he encountered. But then the ones he remembered had too-big teeth or casts in their eyes. And their figures were not like this woman’s.

      Suddenly he wanted done with it, to face his enemy instead of having him lurk in the shadows. He nodded towards the river and empty riverbank on the other side.

      ‘Go head, scream. Or else keep silent.’ Adam glared at her. ‘My head aches enough as is. I have no desire to hurt you. I only require a few answers—Answers you will give me sooner or later.’

      She caught her bottom lip with neat white

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