A Wedding Wager Read Online Free PDF Page B

London, not the provincial town she was used to. She could have demanded the company of a footman, or even her maid, but a recklessness was in her blood, unusual because, in general, she was not one to stir the waters. She tossed her head, relishing its bonnetless freedom, and set off up the street, walking quickly, looking behind her once or twice, half expecting an arresting shout. But she reached the end of the street undetected and turned down towards Piccadilly.
    Already the scene was livelier, the sounds of the city noisier. People glanced curiously at the well-dressed young woman, hatless and coatless and unescorted, but Abigail didn’t care; it merely added to the excitement of the adventure.
    She walked slowly along Piccadilly, looking in the shop windows, ignoring the stares, until a young buck in a flamboyant gold-and-scarlet-striped waistcoat put up his quizzing glass and ogled her, beckoning to her. She turned away with a toss of her head and increased her pace, aware as she did so that he was following her. Suddenly frightened, she ducked into a narrow opening and found herself in a noisome court, enclosed on four sides by the high brick walls of surrounding buildings.
    Her eyes darted from side to side as panic threatened to engulf her. A slatternly woman leaned against a wallat the far side of the court, watching her, a corncob pipe between her lips. Beside her, a man leaned, whittling a piece of wood. They both regarded the new arrival with a speculative air.
    Abigail turned to run back the way she had come and found herself confronting the man in the striped waistcoat. “Well, well, what pretty little thing have we here?” he asked. His voice was rather unpleasantly high, with a whining note that set her teeth on edge.
    “Let me pass, sir,” she demanded as confidently as she could, but she could hear the tremor in her own voice.
    “Oh, I don’t think I wish to do that,” he said, holding her upper arms tightly. “That would be looking the proverbial gift horse in the mouth. Such a tasty tidbit to run into my arms. Let’s have a kiss, chuck.” He bent his head, the full, glistening mouth descending.
    Abigail screamed and kicked at his shins. She could smell the wine on his breath, his sweat overlaid by a heavy perfume. She screamed again just as his mouth engulfed hers, and she thought she would suffocate in the vile, heated stench of him.
    And then he was spinning away from her, falling back against the wall, spluttering. A voice said quietly, “Are you hurt, my dear?”
    She let her hand drop from her mouth, where she had been desperately rubbing at the imprint of those foul lips, and looked at her savior. A young man, his fair hair tied at his nape with a black velvet ribbon, shining in the gloomy courtyard, bent his concerned blue eyes uponher. And Abigail thought she had never before seen such a beautiful creature.
    “No … no, I don’t think so, thank you, sir,” she stammered.
    Sebastian blinked at the well-modulated tones of a young woman of breeding. He had assumed the buck’s victim had been a servant girl running an errand or even a denizen of a Covent Garden nunnery, but now, as he took in the girl’s clothes, the freshness of her complexion, the elegance of her speech, he realized he had been mistaken. Her assailant, still bent double against the wall, coughing and choking as he struggled to get breath back into his lungs after the powerful blow to the pit of his belly, had obviously assumed that a lone young woman, hatless and seemingly fancy-free, was fair game.
    “Come.” Sebastian took the girl’s arm and led her out of the fetid court and back into the sunlit street, where the air immediately smelled fresher, and Abigail’s breathing slowed, the panic fading.
    “Where is your maid … your governess … whoever’s with you?” Sebastian asked, looking up and down the street.
    Abigail shook her head reluctantly. She knew what this man would think of her the minute he