Which might help make him more real—more desirable—as Alice Morgan had suggested, she reminded herself.
But as Mariana stood under the little waterfall, lifting her face to its fresh drops as if she was seeking the gentleness of William’s lips, a man’s harsh drawl invaded her paradise. ‘A water nymph, by God. What an unexpected pleasure.’ And, transfixed with horror, she realised she was no longer alone. That someone was watching from the other side of the pool, the sound of his horse’s approaching hooves muffled by the rush of the water.
Hugo Cantrell, thought Tallie with immense satisfaction. That was what she’d call her villain. Major Hugo Cantrell—deserter, gambler, rapist and traitor. Maybe even murderer, although she’d have to think carefully about that. But dark, green-eyed, arrogant as a panther and twice as dangerous, with a soul as scarred as his face. Destined to be court- martialled and hanged. Slowly.
Her fingers were suddenly flying over the keyboard, the words pouring out of her, because this was Mariana’s first traumatic encounter with him and she had to make it memorable—not difficult when she had all her own recent feelings of embarrassment and humiliation to draw on. And then she could slowly work up to the moment, building the tension, when Mariana would somehow manage to escape the threatened dishonour.
But how, with the evil Major Cantrell, now dismounting from his horse in a leisurely manner, his eyes appraising Mariana with an expression of lustful insolence that made her blood run cold?
Not that she’d be very warm anyway, standing stark naked under a waterfall, Tallie decided, doing a swift edit.
‘Cool water and a pretty body.’ His voice reached her, gloating. ‘Just the kind of rest and recreation a man needs in the middle of a hot and dusty day.’
For a moment Mariana stood, paralysed with shock and growing fear, as she watched him tethering his horse to a tree, before stripping off his coat and sitting down on a convenient boulder to remove his boots.
Her glance slid to the rock where her own clothes were concealed.
Not all that far away, it was true, but certainly not near enough for her to reach them before he reached her. And how could she hope to outrun him—on foot and carrying her garments?
Somehow she had to devise a strategy, and quickly, because he’d stepped down into the pool and was wading purposefully towards her.
And then she remembered a piece of advice bestowed on her by her Aunt Amelia, her father’s worldly younger sister. ‘If you ever find yourself alone with a gentleman who is becoming altogether too pressing in his attentions, my dear, a severe blow with your knee in his tenderest parts will incapacitate him for sufficient time to allow you to rejoin the company in safety. And, naturally, having allowed his ardour to exceed his breeding, he can never complain.’
Not that the approaching brute showed any gentlemanly instincts, she thought with loathing as she forced herself to wait, eyelashes coyly lowered, as if suggesting that his presence, although unexpected, might not be entirely unwelcome to her. Because, if she was to achieve her purpose, she would have to allow him to come close, even within … touching distance. She had no choice, although the prospect made her stomach churn with disgust as well as terror.
As he got nearer, she saw that he was smiling triumphantly, totally sure of himself and his conquest. At the same time, she became all too aware of the power of his build, the width of his shoulders under the fine cambric shirt, and how the lean hips and long hard thighs were set off by the tight-fitting cream breeches, and felt a curious sensation stir deep within her that was entirely beyond her experience. Found herself wondering how all that total maleness would feel pressed against her when its covering was gone, and precisely how that hard mouth would taste on hers.
Realised, too, that a strange melting lethargy was overtaking her and that the drumming of the cascade was being inexplicably eclipsed by the sudden, wild throbbing of her heartbeat and the race of her breathing …
Hold on a minute, Tallie thought, startled, discovering she had to control her own flurried breathing as she dragged her hands from the keyboard. What the hell is all this? She’s supposed to be about to do him serious physical damage, not melt into his arms. Have I just gone completely insane?
She read over, slowly, what she’d just written, eyes widening, lips parting in disbelief. Then, taking a deep, steadying breath, she put a shaking finger on the delete button and kept it there until the offending paragraphs were erased.
Mariana might be feisty and unpredictable, but she couldn’t be stark raving mad. Because the entire plot of the book was her quest to be reunited with William, her one true love, and her body was intended for him and him alone. Which meant that even the merest contemplation of betrayal should be anathema to her. Especially with someone like Hugo Cantrell, an utter bastard with no redeeming features whatsoever.
She does not fancy him, Tallie told herself grimly. She couldn’t and she never will. Because I shan’t allow it, any more than I’d let myself fancy that Benedict—creature.
Instead, she let herself elaborate pleasurably on the exact force of Mariana’s knee meeting Hugo’s groin, and the way he doubled up and turned away, groaning and retching in agony, exactly as Aunt Amelia had predicted.
Described vividly how Mariana made it to the bank and was already pulling on her clothing by the time he recovered and came after her, shouting she was a ‘hell-born bitch’, and, by the time he’d finished with her, he would make her sorry that her whore of a mother had ever given her life.
How he was far too angry and intent on his revenge to see the large stone in her hand until it was too late. How she hit him on the side of the head with all the force of her strong young arm, and saw him collapse first to his knees, before slowly measuring his unconscious length among the dirt and scrub at her feet.
Leaving Mariana to ascertain first that she hadn’t actually killed him—because having the girl on the run for murder certainly wasn’t part of the plot—then hastily complete her dressing and make her getaway on his horse, having discarded his heavy saddlebags because she was only a thief from necessity not inclination—and also because they might slow down her flight.
Her last action being to hurl his boots into the middle of the pool.
And that, Tallie thought with satisfaction, as she pressed ‘Save’ was altogether more like it.
And I only wish there’d been a handy rock in the shower earlier, she thought vengefully. Because there’s not much damage you can do with a cake of soap, unless, of course, you can somehow get him to slip on it.
She dwelled for a moment on an enjoyable fantasy which dealt Mark Benedict a sprained knee, a broken arm and an even bigger lump on his forehead than Hugo’s, leading hopefully to yet more scarring and a thumping headache lasting him for hours, if not days.
She sighed. She could get the better of him on the printed page, she thought wistfully, but grinding his face into the dust in real life was a different proposition, and so far he was way ahead of her on points.
And she mustn’t forget that she’d come dangerously close to involving Mariana in a full-blooded love scene with his fictional counterpart.
Tallie bit her lip. That brief instant in the bathroom when she’d glimpsed him naked must have had a more profound effect on her than she’d imagined. And, disturbingly, it was still there, indelibly etched into her consciousness.
If only there was a delete button in the brain, she thought wearily, so that all my bad memories—all my mistakes—could be erased at a touch.
And then, with luck, completely forgotten.
CHAPTER FIVE
TALLIE emerged from the