The Monte Carlo Proposal. Lucy Gordon

wearing.

      Then something happened.

      A man came out of the casino and stood breathing in the night air. He was dressed for a night out—dinner jacket, black bow tie, frilled shirt. All conventional stuff.

      It was the man himself who drew my eyes. He was tall, over six foot, broad shouldered, long-legged, with a head of thick hair that was just on the edge of curling. He looked like someone who was used to living well. Everything about him spoke of a healthy animal who took the good things of life for granted and enjoyed them to the full.

      He probably didn’t have a brain in his head, but who cared?

      Then I pulled myself together. It was men who’d got me into this mess, and now was no time to go misty-eyed over a handsome profile. I was getting a chill.

      He came towards the bush behind which I was hiding, and I wondered if he was the one I should waylay and ask for help. The question was, did he have a ‘Gina’ in tow, ready to shoo me off? A man who looked like that probably did.

      He came closer still, and stopped right by the bush.

      Then he pounced.

      I didn’t see him coming, just felt his hands grasping me. One of them gripped hold of my ear, which hurt, so I lashed out at him as hard as I could.

      I did pretty well. The high slit in the silver dress meant I could kick with some real force, so I did. I landed a few thumps on the shins, and from the yell he gave I might have caught him in a sensitive place as well.

      ‘Come on out of there, you!’ he said, gasping slightly. ‘Oi!’

      That last one came from a punch in the midriff, and it seemed to decide him that the fight had gone on long enough because he tossed me onto my back and landed on top of me.

      I’d been right about one thing. He was a healthy animal. I could feel it in every line of the big body pressed against mine as I lay looking up at him.

      I couldn’t see him so well now. There was a bright moon in the sky but his head came in between and his face was dark. I could only make out the glitter of his eyes and hear the sound of his breathing.

      He was panting after his exertions, and I understood that, because so was I. Every part of me was suddenly warm and tingling, as though the struggle had got me really worked up. I could hear my heart thumping.

      ‘Get off me,’ I snapped.

      ‘Good grief!’ he said, peering at me more closely. ‘What the devil—?’

      ‘I said, get off me!’

      He drew back and rose to his feet, pulling me up with him and keeping hold of my wrists.

      ‘Who the hell do you think you are to jump on me?’ I demanded, trying to kick him again but not managing it this time.

      ‘I’m a man who doesn’t like being stolen from, even if it is just petty cash.’

      ‘I haven’t stolen from you,’ I raged.

      ‘But you were trying to. Why else were you hiding in the bushes? I’ve been crept up on before. I know the signs.’

      ‘Oh, really?’ I seethed. ‘You’re so clever, aren’t you? But you’ve got it wrong this time.’

      ‘Why are you soaking wet?’ he asked suddenly.

      ‘I’ve been swimming,’ I flashed. ‘I thought it would be good for my health. Ow!’

      I’d actually managed to free one hand by then, but in the same moment I trod on something sharp.

      I yelled and hopped about, and then found myself actually clutching him again to steady myself. That really annoyed me.

      He was looking down at me with interest.

      ‘You’re not wearing very much,’ he remarked.

      ‘Ten out of ten for observation.’

      ‘Well, I’m funny like that. When a girl’s wet and half naked I tend to notice, especially up close.’

      I abandoned politeness. ‘Bully for you! And I am not a thief.’

      ‘Well, you sure looked like one, skulking in the bushes until a victim came past. You think anyone who walks out of the casino must be a millionaire—’

      It was madness to get into an argument with him, but I couldn’t stop myself.

      ‘Well, that’s all you know,’ I snapped. ‘I’ve been in enough casinos to know that people walk out poorer than they go in. If they didn’t, all the casinos would close down.’

      ‘You really know the subject, don’t you? I’ll bet you have been in casinos! I expect your accomplice is still in there—’

      ‘What accomplice?’

      ‘The one who signalled you that I’d had a big win—’

      ‘So you say! Every loser says he’s a winner.’

      ‘What do you think all that is on the ground?’ he demanded, pointing down.

      For the first time I realised that the ground was covered with notes.

      ‘Those are my winnings, which just happened to fall out of my pocket while we were struggling,’ he said.

      ‘Don’t try to make that sound like my fault,’ I said. ‘You pounced on me, not the other way around. I was not lurking to steal from you.’

      ‘OK, we’ve exchanged pleasantries long enough. Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing and why?’

      ‘I am looking for the British Consul,’ I asserted, with what I hoped was dignity.

      ‘Dressed like that?’

      ‘It’s because I’m dressed like this that I need the Consul,’ I said through gritted teeth.

      ‘You need help, don’t you?’

      ‘You guessed!’

      ‘I’m clever that way,’ he said, not letting himself be offended by the edge in my voice, which I suppose was lucky for me.

      ‘I’m running away,’ I told him, ‘but I’ve got nowhere to run to.’

      ‘Where are you running from?’

      ‘A yacht. It’s called The Silverado and it’s moored down there. Look.’

      From here we could just about make out Vanner’s yacht, far below us in the harbour.

      ‘That one,’ I said, ‘right next to the big vulgar one.’

      ‘You mean The Hawk?’ he said.

      ‘You know it?’ For a moment I thought he seemed uneasy.

      ‘Why do you say it like that?’ he asked.

      ‘Like what?’

      ‘As though knowing The Hawk is a crime. Are you acquainted with the owner?’

      ‘I know of him. He’s a creep called Jack Bullen, and Hugh Vanner has been trying to crawl to him ever since he berthed.’

      ‘That makes this Vanner character a creep, but why Bullen?’

      ‘Because Vanner would only crawl to an even bigger creep than himself.’

      ‘I suppose that’s logical,’ he admitted.

      ‘He even sent him gold and diamond cufflinks. I ask you!’

      ‘That’s really disgusting. And who needs gold and diamonds? Look at these—’

      He flashed his own cufflinks at me and I was startled. They were really rubbish, and I mean really. My family is expert in appraising jewellery and I absorbed it with my mother’s milk.

      Not