Page 4

She wriggled, hoping to dislodge the man from her. “Please, remove yourself from my body.”

“I am not in yer body.” On top of a drunken slur, the man had the hint of an Irish brogue.

Her nose scrunched and bile rose to her throat. Splendid! The only thing she needed now was to cast up her accounts. That ought to help with the situation.

He tried moving again, but his hands were underneath her body, while he pinned her down to the ground with his weight, making it impossible for either of them to get up.

The man shifted to raise his torso, but the attempt proved unsuccessful, and he collapsed against her chest once more.

“Why are ye still on top of me?” he slurred, his unpleasant breath hitting her face.

Her face burning, Emily pushed at his chest. “You are the one on top of me!”

“Impossible,” the man mumbled by her ear. “Yer arse is on my hands.”

He flexed his hands, to prove his point, squeezing her buttocks.

Emily gasped. “How dare you! Get off me, immediately!”

He was lying indecently in the cradle of her thighs, and if that wasn’t bad enough, her skirts hiked up her knees.

“Are they copulating?” A horrified, loud cry sounded from the crowd forming around them.

“In public?”

“Look away, darling!” someone else called.

“Hold on a moment,” the man murmured, before grasping her tighter, and rolling over until she was the one on top of him.

Emily pushed off his shoulders and tried to move away, only to be held back, by the stranger’s hands, still holding on to her rump. She sat up, still on top of him, and wriggled, trying to get away, shaking in humiliated horror.

The sounds of gasps and hushed whispers intensified as the crowd continued their speculation of what was going on.

“I said, hold on a moment,” the man growled.

“I am straddling you like a gelding in front of the entire world. Please, forgive me for not being patient!” Emily cried.

“If you were to compare me to a horse, I’d prefer a stallion, if you don’t mind,” he answered gravely. “Ah, there it is!” He finally let go of her bottom, pulling his hands out of his gloves. “The gloves were stuck to your gown. Now, off you go.”

She slid sideways onto the pavement, her hands still shaking, while the man stood ungracefully and tugged on his coat repeatedly, before staggering away.

A hand appeared before her—a masculine, large hand enclosed in a fine white silk glove. Emily raised her head and was met by an angel with glinting blue eyes and golden-red hair.

Emily took his hand without thinking and was quickly helped to her feet.

“Ow!” Before Emily was able to collect her wits, a blinding pain accosted her ankle. She almost fell—would have fallen—if not for the ginger-haired stranger’s steady arms. “Apologies, I think my ankle is twisted.” To her immense horror, her voice came out shaky and her eyes filled with tears.

“No need to worry,” he said softly in a soothing baritone. He was the opposite of the man who had crushed her just a moment ago. Young, gorgeous, polite. “Let me escort you to my carriage.”

“No, I can’t—” Emily moved her head, only to wince from the piercing headache that was gone as quickly as it came. When she looked around, she finally saw the gathering crowd around them.

Oh, heavens!

Emily glanced down at herself and was horrified at the state of her clothing. Her skirt was ripped, a couple of gloves were stuck to her derriere, and patches of red paint were all over her gown.

She raised her hand to her head and realized that not only was her hair tumbling out of her coiffure, but a part of it was covered by paint, too!

“You can’t walk. And I can’t leave you here. So, we’ll need to compromise. Either I carry you to your house in my arms, or you take my carriage.”