In Bed With The Duke. ANNIE BURROWS

as he was leaning forward, with his left arm out of one sleeve, about to remove his right arm from the other, the girl gave him a hefty shove in the side. She caught him so off balance that he tumbled right out of the seat, landing between the gig’s nearside wheel and the gatepost.

      Dammit, why hadn’t he seen that coming? Women were never as defenceless as they looked. Obviously she was going to try and steal his horse and gig the moment he let down his guard.

      And why had he let down his guard? All she’d had to do was shiver and look a bit pathetic and he’d promptly forgotten the way they’d met. All he’d been able to think of was shielding her. Just the way he’d wanted to shield her from that repulsive ostler.

      Well, no longer. He surged to his feet on a wave of absolute fury. He might despise the bad-tempered nag harnessed to the ramshackle gig he normally wouldn’t have permitted in any of his stables, let alone take out onto a public road, but it was currently his only means of transport. And he was not going to relinquish it to a slip of a girl! He’d climb back into the driver’s seat and wrest the reins from her hands. And then—

      And then nothing. Because she wasn’t in the driver’s seat, whipping the horse into a gallop and leaving him standing in the lane. On the contrary—she’d scrambled out of the gig while he’d been picking himself up and was currently running away as fast as she could.

      Back towards Much Wapping.

      Her accomplices must still be there. Hang it all, why hadn’t he thought of that? She must have been loitering in the stable yard awaiting them.

      Well, he wasn’t going to let her get back to them and...and do whatever it was she was planning to do. He’d had enough of stumbling about in ignorance. Of being chivalrous, and merciful, and all the rest of it. He was going to drag her back and shake the truth out of her, if that was what it took. For only by discovering the truth would he stand any chance of regaining the upper hand.

      * * *

      Prudence ran as fast as her legs could carry her. Though her shoes chafed against her bare feet and her legs still didn’t feel as though they quite belonged to her.

      But she wasn’t going to be fast enough. She could hear the man’s feet pounding down the road behind her. Getting closer and closer.

      She wasn’t going to be able to outrun him. She had to find another way to stop him. But what?

      Just then she stumbled and half fell to the ground, which was littered with large chunks of jagged rock. Chunks of rock which looked as though they had come away from the dry stone wall that flanked this side of the lane.

      She grabbed one. Turned. Faced the big, angry man who was planning to... Well, she didn’t know what he planned to do with her once he caught her, but from the look on his face it wasn’t anything she’d like.

      In a sort of wild desperation she flung the rock at him as hard as she could.

      To her surprise—and his—it caught him on the forehead.

      He went down like a... Well, like a stone. Prudence stood rooted to the spot. Stared in horror at the blood which was trickling down his face.

      The ungainly sprawl of his limbs.

      His total stillness.

      What had she done? She’d only meant to show him she meant business. To stop him pursuing her.

      Instead she’d...she’d killed him!

Chapter Three

      She ran to where he lay, sprawled on his back in the dirt, blood streaming across his forehead and into his hair. She dropped to her knees beside him. She couldn’t believe she’d felled him like that. With one little stone. Oh, very well then, with a large chunk of rock. She pressed her hands to her mouth. He was such a big man. So full of life and strength. It was unnatural to see him lying so still.

      And then he groaned. She’d never heard such a welcome sound in her life.

      ‘Oh, thank God! You aren’t dead.’ She was almost sobbing.

      He opened his eyes and shot her a cold, disbelieving look.

      ‘No thanks to you,’ he growled, then raised one hand to the cut and winced. He drew his hand away and held his fingers before his eyes, as though he couldn’t believe he really was bleeding without seeing the evidence as well as feeling it.

      She reached into the pocket of her skirt for something to dab at the wound. But there was nothing. She had no handkerchief. Her chemise was of fine lawn, though. Its material would be as good. She hitched up her skirt and started tugging at her chemise.

      ‘What,’ asked the man warily—which wasn’t surprising since she’d well-nigh killed him, ‘are you doing?’

      ‘I’m trying to tear a piece from my chemise,’ she said, still desperately trying to rip the fabric that was proving more resilient than she’d expected.

      ‘Why?’ He looked baffled now, as well as wary.

      ‘To do something about that cut on your head,’ she said.

      ‘The cut you caused by throwing a rock at me?’

      ‘That’s the one.’

      ‘Wouldn’t you rather get another rock and finish what you started?’ he enquired mildly.

      ‘No! Oh, no—I never meant to hurt you. I didn’t think my aim was that good. Actually...’ She sat back on her heels. ‘My aim wasn’t that good. Because I wasn’t aiming at your head. I was just throwing the rock in your general direction, so you’d understand I wished you to leave me alone.’

      ‘Why?’

      While she’d been attempting to explain he’d been fishing in his own pockets and found a large, pristine white silk square which he handed to her with a sort of flourish.

      ‘Thank you,’ she said, taking it from him and applying it to the cut. ‘Why what?’

      ‘Why were you running away? Why didn’t you just steal the gig? Or can you not drive?’

      ‘Yes, I can drive. Of course I can drive. It just never occurred to me to steal your gig. I’m not a thief!’

      He quirked one eyebrow—the one that wasn’t bleeding—as though in disbelief. ‘Not a thief?’ he repeated dryly. ‘How fortunate I feel on receipt of that information.’

      She put her hand around the back of his head to hold it still, so that she could press down hard on the cut. ‘Yes, you are fortunate,’ she said tartly. ‘I could have left you lying in the road for the...the next gang of thieves to come along and finish you off!’

      ‘Well, that would have made more sense than this,’ he said, making a vague gesture to his forehead.

      She couldn’t be sure if he meant her trying to stanch the flow of blood, or the fact she’d caused his injury in the first place.

      ‘You had no reason to run off,’ he said, a touch petulantly for a man who looked so tough. ‘I told you I wouldn’t harm you. But,’ he said, drawing his brows down and narrowing his eyes with what looked like suspicion. ‘I suppose you were desperate to get back to Much Wapping to collect your fee.’

      ‘Fee?’ She withdrew the handkerchief, noting with some relief that the bleeding was slowing already. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

      ‘It’s no use playing the innocent with me. Hugo put you up to this, didn’t he?’

      ‘Hugo? I don’t know anyone by that name.’

      ‘A likely story. If you were not attempting to get back to Much Wapping and claiming your reward, why were you running away?’

      ‘You scared me,’ she admitted. ‘When you started undressing.’