Rapture Becomes Her Read Online Free

sudden awareness sent a trickle of unease down her spine and she glanced over to the man in the bed. Her heart skittered in her chest when she saw that the stranger was awake and staring at her.
    Forcing a smile, she walked over to the side of the bed. “You’ve had a miraculous escape, sir,” she explained. “If Jeb hadn’t spied you when he did, I fear it would have gone badly for you.”
    Eyes black as midnight studied her face. “Where am I?” he asked flatly. One hand shot out from beneath the pile of quilts and fastened like an iron vise around her slender wrist. “And who the hell are you, boy?”
    With a swiftness Barnaby admired, a small knife appeared in the boy’s other hand and a second later the blade was pressed against his throat. The boy smiled fiercely and said softly, “I think, sir, that should be my question. Who the hell are you? ”

Chapter 2
    T he moment his hand closed around that slender wrist, Barnaby had a sensation of wrongness, but that feeling vanished in a flash, and he was left looking at the boy’s tense features. A very pretty boy, he thought frowning.
    They stared at each other for a long moment, Barnaby’s black eyes boring into the boy’s gray ones. Neither was giving an inch and, reading the cool determination in the boy’s gaze, Barnaby decided, considering his dip in the Channel, that he might be wise not to find out precisely how handy the boy was with the knife.
    Slowly letting go of the boy, he muttered, “Forgive me. I fear that I am not at my best at the moment.”
    Her breathing ragged, Emily prudently put several feet between them. Keeping her knife handy, she said levelly, “Indeed, I would agree—especially if that is the way you greet someone who is trying to help you.”
    The boy was insolent and Barnaby liked his pluck, but staring hard at the boy, he was nagged by the sensation that he was missing something, and that feeling of wrongness swept over him again. Unable to determine its cause but assuming it was a leftover effect from his ordeal, Barnaby glanced around the room and asked again, “Where am I?”
    “In the best room at The Crown.”
    He shot the boy an impatient look. “And where is The Crown located?”
    “In Broadhaven.” His gaze narrowed and Emily added quickly, “It is a small village not far from Alfriston in Sussex. We are only a few miles inland from the coast.”
    Barnaby recognized the name and relaxed slightly. The events of the night were hazy, but he remembered that he’d been told that Windmere, the Joslyn country estate, was situated near the village of Broadhaven. His memory wasn’t clear, but he rather thought that he’d been on his way to Windmere when he’d ended up in the Channel. “And someone named ‘Jeb’ pulled me from the Channel?”
    Emily nodded. His speech was not that of an Englishman, but had a soft cadence that she found attractive. She frowned, trying to place it. It wasn’t French or Spanish. . . . A bit of gossip she’d heard recently flitted through her mind and she gasped, “You’re the American.”
    The sound of raised, angry voices and a sudden crash below distracted them, preventing Barnaby from answering. The boy’s gray eyes widened and the already fair skin paled as the boy swung to face the door, the slender body braced.
    Not liking the boy’s reaction or the noise of a violent altercation filtering up through the floorboards, Barnaby struggled to sit up. A sharp burst of pain lanced across the back of his head and he groaned, falling back against the pillows. Dizzy and afraid he was about to cast up his accounts, Barnaby fought to gain control over his body.
    Footsteps pounded up the stairs and a second later, the door burst open. It was Flora, the middle daughter, her cheeks flushed and her expression grim and frightened at the same time.
    “He’s here!” Flora exclaimed, hurtling into the room. She slammed and locked the heavy oak door behind her before turning to look at Emily.