Smuggler's Glory Read Online Free PDF Page B

hell,” the burly man snarled. “This ain’t your
business.”
    “ I’m afraid you have made it my business,” Simon snarled. “By
picking on a woman.” Simon paused as a thought flittered through
his mind, and he paused to stare at the woman.
    Her eyes
met and held his for a brief moment.
    “ Is either of these men your husband?” Simon hoped he hadn’t
just waded into to a marital argument.
    “ God no, I am not that stupid to marry either of these oafs,”
she snorted.
    “ Shut up, bitch,”
    “ Go to hell,” the woman spat, her eyes shooting defiant sparks
at the man behind her.
    Simon
almost smiled at her spirit, and nodded in sympathy. “Then if I
may?” He lunged forward, planting one fist in the man’s face at the
same time he dragged the beefy arm wrapped across the woman’s
shoulders free. Twisting it around, he heard the satisfying crunch
of bones seconds before they were accompanied by the agonised yowl
from the large man.
    Suddenly
free, the woman fell forward and landed on the floor with a heavy
thump. Several swift blows later, the large man met his accomplice
on the ground.
    Simon
studied them carefully for several moments before he was finally
assured that neither man would pose any more of a threat, before
turning to the woman.
    At first
glance she was probably late forties, or early fifties. Her hair
was swept back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck and,
although they now sat straight, her round spectacles sat perched on
the gentle sweep of her nose that tipped up pertly at the end. But
it was her eyes that captured Simon’s attention.
    Unusual , was the word Simon would use
to describe them. They were the same colour as whisky; a warm
amber, with hints of dark mystery that swirled and collided
intriguingly. The more he studied her, the more his hackles warned
him that there was something definitely odd about the woman, only
he couldn’t quite decide what it was.
     
    Francesca took a moment to collect herself under the guise of
brushing dust and dirt off her skirts. She had no idea who the
stranger was, but he had undoubtedly saved her from a fate worse
than death. Eyeing the unconscious bodies of her two attackers, she
edged sideways out of reach before reluctantly turning to the
stranger.
    A shiver
of awareness swept through her as she studied him. Dressed entirely
in black, his height and sheer masculinity were unnerving to look
at; menacing almost. Her gaze drifted up, over the broad expanse of
chest to the sharp sweep of his jaw. She shivered as her eyes
reluctantly met his piercing blue gaze, and the curiosity he made
no attempt to hide. It made her tremble to realise that he had been
studying her just as carefully.
    If she
was honest, she had seriously doubted her ability to get away from
the two thugs on the floor. They had overpowered her with sheer
bulk and she was only grateful they hadn’t managed to lift her
skirts.
    “ Do you know who they are?” Simon asked, nudging one of the
attackers with the toe of his boot.
    “ Charlie Wick and Tom Simpson,” Francesca replied
automatically, glaring down at them. “They live in the
village.”
    Her
voice was cold and emotionless, but Simon could still hear the
slight tremor underlying the husky tones.
    “ Thank you for coming to my rescue,” Francesca murmured when
the large man made no attempt at drawing any conversation out.
Still trembling with fright, she was at a loss as to how to take
her leave of him. She had thanked him, but was he waiting to be
paid? Did one pay a rescuer? If he was waiting for recompense, she
didn’t have much money on her at all, certainly not enough for him
to feel adequately compensated for his trouble. Besides which, what
was she to do about the two bodies lying on the floor? Did she just
leave them there to wake up in their own good time, or should she
go into town and fetch the doctor? But that would mean that she had
to implicate the man in an altercation, and she didn’t want to