Anita Mills Read Online Free Page A

his slender body past her, falling into her lap.
    “Sorry,” he mumbled, righting himself. “Clumsy.”
    “ ’Tis all right,” she managed, rubbing her cold, wet arms.
    Dominick Deveraux swung up onto the box and grasped the coach whip from its holder. Cracking it, he caught a fellow who tried to grab the lead harness. The four bays sprang to life, surging forward. Inside the passenger compartment, the occupants were thrown back against the seats. As Anne looked out, another foolhardy fellow ran alongside for about a hundred feet, then fell, rolling away from the pounding hooves. Beside her Bascombe wailed, “My cattle—he’ll ruin ’em! Dash it, but I’ve got a packet to catch, come morning! Can’t go racketing about the country! And what’s m’father to say? I’d as lief face the constable as him!”
    But the carriage already careened wildly through rain-slicked city streets, the loud spray of water from its wheels hitting the underside of it like birdshot. Lantern lights emerged from the darkness, hurling themselves into view, then disappeared again with shocking speed. Several times the coach tilted precariously taking corners, then righted itself as dark, silent buildings blurred. The driver and coachman exchanged uneasy glances, while Anne held tightly to the pull strap, forgetting modesty for survival. Lightning zigzagged through sheets of rain, illuminating Bascombe’s pale, frightened face. The thought crossed Anne’s mind that if she survived it, it was a ride she’d never forget.
    Streetlights faded to the occasional twinkle from scattered houses, then to nothing, and the coach still plunged headlong into a black oblivion punctuated by brief flashes of lightning. The only sound beyond the pounding hooves and rattling carriage was the steady rumble of thunder. To Anne it was as though Thor’s fury had dissipated to mere grumbling, and she eased her grip on the strap long enough to rub her icy, aching fingers. The carriage finally slowed to a steady pace, and the rhythmic beat of the wheels against macadamized road kept time to the rain.
    His hands shaking, one of the men across from her tried to spark the wick of the inside lamp. A tiny red speck took hold, then grew to a yellow flame, bathing the dim interior with a flickering, almost eerie light. His companion rubbed at the stubble on his face as though to reassure himself he was whole before casting reproachful eyes at Bascombe.
    “Oo’s got me ribbons?” he wanted to know.
    Whether it was actually so, or whether it was the yellow-orange glow from the carriage lamp, the color appeared to be returning to Bascombe’s face. He took a deep breath, then sank back into the squabs before answering, “It don’t signify, Davies.”
    “Don’t signify?” the driver howled. “Been lookin’ into the pits o’ hell, and it don’t signify?” His voice rose indignantly. “When we stop, I’m-a-gettin’ on the box—else I’m-a-givin’ me notice!”
    As if the Almighty heard him, the coach pulled to the side of the road, stopped, and Deveraux jumped down. Opening the carriage door beside Anne, he stuck his head inside. Water ran in rivulets from his soaked hair and dripped onto the skirt of her ruined gown.
    “There’s none following now,” he announced as though there might have been the possibility. “Everybody all right?”
    “Demned fortunate we ain’t dead,” the coachy muttered under his breath.
    Deveraux’s eyes flicked over Anne impersonally. “Miss Morland?”
    “I am fine, sir.” She did not think she’d ever be warm again, but otherwise she meant it.
    His gaze returned to her face, and he favored her with a faint smile. “Not even a mild case of the vapors?”
    “No.”
    “My compliments, then, Miss Morland.”
    “Well, I ain’t all right,” Bertie announced with feeling. “What was you thinking of, Deveraux? You dashed well could have killed us!”
    The smile broadened boyishly. “But I didn’t—drove to an