Flight to Verechenko Read Online Free

don’t!’ And she marched from the room, slamming the door behind her.
    Catherine, one hand on her stinging cheek, hadn’t the slightest doubt that she meant what she said. It was useless appealing to her father. He was no match for her step-mother. There was only one person who was—her grandmother. But Gianetta was in Paris with a broken leg. By the time she could come to Catherine’s assistance it would be too late. There was only one solution and that was to go to Paris.
    She would need money and the niggardly amount her step-mother allowed her would not be enough for the fare. She would have to borrow it from Caroline. There would be no chance to speak to her tomorrow. Catherine doubted if she would even be allowed out of her room until she had agreed to marry Dominic. If she was to see Caroline it would have to be tonight.
    Even while she was thinking she was dressing, putting on her walking shoes and coat. Scarcely daring to breath she crept from the house and out into the gas-lit street.
    As she headed across Sloane Square and into Symons Street, she was busy making plans. She would leave in the morning, before her stepmother rose. Lady Davencourt would think she was sulking. With luck on her side it might be evening before her presence was missed. Time enough to tell them where she was when she was safely under her grandmother’s roof.
    She turned sharp right into a narrow alleyway that cut ten minutes from her journey. Even if her father brought her back, Dominic would no longer wish to marry her. It would make him a laughing stock. She was so immersed in her thoughts she was not at first aware of the sound of footsteps behind her. When at last they permeated her consciousness she glanced nervously over her shoulder. In the thick darkness she saw a roughly dressed man rapidly gaining on her.
    Remembering Robert’s fate, Catherine did not hesitate. She picked up her skirts and ran. His feet thudded heavily after her. A hand grabbed at her shoulder. Sick with fear she wrenched away, but before she could recover her balance he had her by her coat, pulling her round, tugging at her purse.
    Terrified that he would strike her if she continued to clutch it she thrust it into his hands, hurtling over the cobbles as he let her go and began to rifle through it. Dimly she heard it being tossed to one side. She ran faster, exerting every ounce of strength, but he was gaining on her, his breath harsh on her neck as his fingers grasped her shoulders ruthlessly. This time she swung round with a desperate cry, scratching wildly at his face.
    He swore, grabbing her wrists cruelly, forcing her back against the wall, pressing the heavy weight of his body against hers.
    She struggled frantically, screaming for help, twisting her head from side to side to avoid the leering mouth and foul breath. She gave one last piercing cry and then, so suddenly that she almost fell, she was free. She stumbled, gasping for breath, sobbing with relief.
    A lithe figure hauled her attacker into the centre of the alley, punching him forcefully on the jaw, knocking him into the gutter. He staggered to his feet, head down, rushing at her rescuer like a maddened bull. The dark, cloaked figure stepped adroitly to one side, her attacker’s own momentum sending him sprawling. Then, grasping the back of his collar, he hauled him to his feet, and with a well-placed boot on the rear, sent him reeling and cursing into the darkness. For a few seconds there was only the sound of his fading steps and then her rescuer adjusted kid gloves and turned to her.
    â€˜Are you hurt?’
    â€˜No. Thank you …’ Her voice was unsteady, her breath coming in harsh gasps.
    The moon sailed from the bank of cloud and she saw him clearly. He was young, tall and well-built, with thick black hair tumbling low over dark eyes. Deep frills of lace adorned the front of his shirt and emerged beneath the cuffs of his jacket, proclaiming him to be a