literature for the young ladies of Madame Lavaliere’s. Constance couldn’t wait to read it. In fact, her only concern in running away was that she wouldn’t be returning the book. Perhaps, when she reached the valley, she could send some money to the French teacher for its replacement.
Her eyes had adjusted to the dark, and the path was well marked. However, it took a moment to discover the exact location of her bundle. Pulling it out from under the shrubberies, she tossed aside her fan, kicked off her silly dancing slippers, yanked off the irritating silk stockings, and put on her deerskin mocs.
Mistress Hillary and Charlotte had refused to let her wear them. But now she didn’t have to listen to them, or anyone. Her toes wiggled in pleasure as she retied her bundle, placing her dancing shoes on top of her clothing. Her money and the book were at the bottom.
Her fingers had just finished the knot when she sensed that she wasn’t alone.
Her heart went still. A pair of booted feet walked up to stand beside her.
Relief flooded Constance. It wasn’t Mistress Hillary.
“Are you gardening, Miss Constance?”
Mr. Lachlan’s soft burr surprised her. She looked up. His face was in shadows. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, what he wanted. She considered making an excuse—and decided not.
She was too close to freedom to give up now.
So, doubling her fist holding the bundle of clothing, she started to rise to her feet. And, as she did so, she swung at him with all her might, aiming for his groin.
Castle Rackrentgave a nice heft to her attack and it was all that was needed.
The Scotsman doubled over in pain, and Constance took off running.
Page 19
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Three
Gordon had not expected the attack. He had anticipated anger, perhaps a tear or two—but an attempt to neuter him?
He dropped to one knee. For one sharp, dizzy moment he couldn’t breathe let alone think. She had a surprising amount of strength and determination for a woman, not to mention that he felt as if she’d struck him with a brick.
Meanwhile, she’d taken off running in the opposite direction of the school.
Through the haze of pain, Gordon realized the contradiction.
Where the devil was she going? There was nothing surrounding the school but woods—She was running away.
The moment he had the thought, he knew it to be true. The question now was where was she running to, or to whom? Young girls didn’t take off on their own. There had to be a secret lover waiting in the forest.
He knew that if she reached him, he would lose his best opportunity to reclaim the sword.
Gordon stood and took off after her. Although he ran like a lame bear, his longer legs outpaced her before she reached the treeline.
This side of the house was dark and deserted, so there was no one to shout out when Gordon tackled Constance around the waist just as she was turning to see if he’d followed. He fell on top of her, his body weight pinning her down. For a second the air was knocked out of them both, but Gordon was taking no chances. He slapped his palm over her lips.
“Don’t,” he warned. “Not one word.”
She put up a struggle, hitting him again and again with her bundle.
These blows were not as mortal as the first had been, and he easily fended them off, yanking her bundle out of her hand.
“What do you have in here?” he snapped, shaking the bundle so the knot came loose. The contents spilled out, clothes, shoes, money—“A book?” he said in disbelief. “You almost neutered me with a book?” He tossed it aside and came to his feet, bringing her up with him. She twisted her arm and pulled, bending this way and that, trying to escape. He held fast. “Miss Constance, I don’t know where you were running off to but you are mine now—”
Gordon broke off as he realized she held a knife in her other hand. Moonlight glinted off a blade sharp enough to skin a