The Prince's Secret Bride. Raye MorganЧитать онлайн книгу.
his best friend and comrade-in-arms, had said that often in the old days when they’d been fighting for their country’s liberation. Nico, let it go. You can’t save them all. The irony was, Gordon himself had died in that final battle.
No, he couldn’t save them all. Truth to tell, he didn’t have the greatest track record in saving much of any of them. And what could he do to help this one? Not much. She’d certainly made it clear she didn’t want his help.
With a careless shrug, he turned away and started back toward the other side of the bridge. He needed a drink.
He heard the pub before he saw it, music and laughter an appealing invitation to step into the crowd. But he hesitated in the doorway, peering inside. He would love to go in, order Scotch, neat, and sit back and let that liquid fire burn its way into his soul, restoring him to something resembling real feeling again. It was tempting. He could see himself sitting there in the darkened room, letting the smoke and conversation wash around him while he contemplated life and all its twists and turns.
But he knew that picture was a fantasy. As soon as he sat down, the waitress would look at him sharply, then whisper to one of the other customers. The buzz would begin as people craned their necks, staring, until finally someone would get brave enough to come over and start talking. And once the ice had been broken, the flood would come, people wanting to rehash the war, people wanting to know why everything wasn’t instantly wonderful now that the good guys had taken over again. And who knew if it was a bar full of patriots or a refuge for disgruntled losers. You paid your money and you took your chances. But tonight, he didn’t feel up to testing those waters.
Turning away from the pub, he looked back at the river. He couldn’t seem to shake the image of his distressed jumper, her wild curls floating around her face, her dark eyes filled with mystery. He wondered if she’d found what she’d been looking for, and if she was going to have any trouble making her way home. The bridge looked ominous from this angle, like a path into dangerous territory. The wet streets were empty. It was getting late and time for him to make a decision as to where he was going to spend the next few hours.
He started down the walkway that fronted the river feeling vaguely uneasy, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his gaze running restlessly over the scene. And then it sharpened. Something was moving down by the riverbank, where various debris was piled up around a short pier. He stopped and looked harder, then swore softly and vaulted over the river wall to get to the water’s edge. It was her.
A few quick strides brought him to where she was bending over a large black plastic bag.
“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.
She looked up, startled once again. Straightening, she pushed at her damp hair, leaving wet strands plastered to her forehead. “It’s none of your business.”
She’d been crying. Once he saw the tears on her cheeks, he knew he was a goner. It was none of his business, but there was no way he could stay out of it now. She was far too vulnerable. Only a cad would leave a woman like this to fend for herself in the night.
Still, his impulse was to growl and start ordering her about. He restrained it. He knew enough about women to know that wasn’t going to work out well. Taking a deep breath, he said carefully, “Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing. What’s wrong?”
She stared at him for a moment, then shook her head. “Please, just go. I’m really busy here. I’ve got to find…” Her voice trailed off and she went back to trying to move the huge plastic bag.
Instead of leaving, he moved closer. “You’ve got to find what?”
She shook her head and threw a hand out as though covering the waterfront. “My bag. My things.”
He frowned. She could hardly be talking about this big plastic bag she seemed to be so intent on moving out of the way. He reached around her and moved it for her, revealing only more, smaller plastic bags, all filled with suspicious substances. It was obviously trash someone had stacked there, along with things that had washed up on the shore.
“What sort of bag?” he asked her. “What did it look like?”
She straightened and looked around, her bottom lip caught by her teeth, her eyes worried. “I…I’m not sure…”
He resisted the impulse to throw up his hands. “Then how are you going to find it?”
Tears welled in her dark eyes and she turned her head away, her damp curls flopping limply against her neck in a way that somehow touched him. He could see her finely cut profile against the lights from across the river. Her features were delicate, yet strong in a determined sort of way. Her body was slender despite the pregnancy. Her legs were long and exotic, like a dancer’s, and her short skirt showed them off in a way that would turn any man’s head. She moved like a dancer, smooth, fluid motion, like a song brought to life. But that thought made him want to laugh at himself for thinking it. He wasn’t usually quite so sentimental.
Then she turned and his gaze dropped to her full breasts and the way they strained against the soft sweater she wore under her jacket, and he felt a reaction so quick and so hard, it threw him off guard for a moment.
“I don’t need help,” she said, but her voice quavered and the tears were still in her eyes.
Something caught in his chest and he grimaced. No, he wasn’t going to let her get to him. At the same time, she obviously couldn’t be abandoned here. He’d already noticed someone skulking farther down along the river. No, he was going to make sure she got to safety—wherever that might be.
But he wasn’t going to care. Never again. That part of him was gone—and good riddance.
“Just go away,” she said, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “Just go.”
“I’m afraid to leave you here,” he shot back. “You might try another shot at river-rafting.”
She glared at him. “I was not trying to jump into the river.”
“Really? Then what were you doing? Practicing high-bar techniques for Olympic trials in gymnastics?”
She didn’t answer, turning away instead.
“I’ll admit it seems unlikely for someone in your condition….”
“Condition?” she asked. Then she looked down and gasped softly, her hands going protectively to her rounded belly. “Oh. I forgot.”
“Forgot?”
He stared at her. Females didn’t “forget” pregnancy. There was something very odd about this woman. But something distracted him from the subject. For the first time he noticed there was something dark and shiny in her hair. He touched it and drew back his fingers. Blood.
“Hey. What’s this?”
She reached up but didn’t quite touch it herself. “I don’t know.” She frowned. “Maybe I hit my head when I fell. Or…or…” She looked up at him questioningly. “Maybe it’s where he hit me.”
Her words sent a blinding flash of outrage slashing through him. The thought of someone deliberately hurting her made him crazy for an unguarded moment.
“Who?” he demanded. “Where? What did he do to you?”
A look of regret for having mentioned it flashed across her face and she turned away. “I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t know.”
“Wait.” He grabbed her arm to stop her from starting off. “This is serious. I’m taking you to the police.”
She jerked from his grip and began to back away, her eyes wide. “No, I can’t do that. No.” She glared at him, shaking her head, looking fierce. “I can’t go to the police.”
“Why not?”
She hesitated, looking past him.
He frowned. He could think