"All right, then." She stepped out of the stall and looked back. He stretched, a long, lean male wearing black with snug jeans unbuttoned at the waist. Everything that was female in her stirred. And yearned. "Michael?"
"Yeah?"
His eyes were heavy, she noted. Exhausted. But they still focused on her in a way that made her blood tingle. "No one's ever wanted me the way you seem to. I don't know how I feel or what to do about that."
Those exhausted eyes went hot. "That's not the kind of statement designed to make me want you less." Quick as a snake, and deadly, he reached out and snagged her by the shirt front. His free hand circled her throat, squeezed lightly as his mouth came down hard on hers. When he let her go, she stumbled back, her eyes clouded with arousal and panic.
"Go away, Laura," he repeated. "You're not safe here."
She walked blindly out of the stables, into the white flash of morning. Her bones felt bruised, her mind battered. Lifting an unsteady hand, she brushed her fingertips over her swollen mouth. Felt him there. Tasted him there.
Even as she walked toward Templeton House, she looked back over her shoulder and wondered if she wanted to be safe after all. She always had been, hadn't she, and her life hadn't been a rousing success so far. Then again, she had the unsettling feeling that she was thinking with her glands, not with her head. God knew that's what she felt like now, one enormous pulsating gland.
That was a new experience, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to explore it further.
Before she could decide she stepped into the kitchen and all hell broke loose.
"Miss Laura. My God!" Ann leapt at her. While Laura goggled in shock, she was embraced fiercely, yanked back, patted down, and shoved into a chair at the kitchen table. "What did he do to you? That monster, that spawn of the devil. Where are you hurt, my baby?" Eyes wild, Ann smoothed Laura's tousled hair, patted her pale cheeks. "I knew there'd be trouble with the likes of him around, but never did I imagine… I'll kill him, kill him with my bare hands. See if I don't."
"What? Who?"
"She's in shock, Mrs. Williamson. The poor lamb. Fetch the brandy."
"Now, Mrs. Sullivan, calm yourself."
"Calm myself? Calm myself? Would you look at what he's done to our Miss Laura?"
After wiping her hands on her apron, the cook bustled over from the stove. "What happened, darling?"
"I was just—"
"I'll tell you what happened," Ann interrupted, the light of vengeance sword-bright in her eyes. "That man happened, that's what. Anyone can see she tried to fight him off. Oh, he'll pay, he will. When I get through with Michael Fury there won't be anything left to scrape off the bottom of a shoe."
"Michael?" Maybe it wa
s fatigue, Laura thought hazily. Hadn't she just left Michael? "What did he do?"
Her lips in a thin, grim line, Ann sat, took Laura's hands in hers. "Now don't be ashamed, and don't worry. None of it was your fault."
"All right," Laura said slowly. "What wasn't my fault?"
"Sweetheart." Obviously the poor girl was trying to block out the horror of it, Ann thought. "Let's get your clothes off and see how bad things are. I'm praying that's his blood on your clothes."
"Blood?" Laura glanced down, looked at the mess of her cotton shirt and slacks. "Oh, Lord." And it began to come clear. "Oh, Lord," she said again and let out a long, wild laugh.
"The brandy, Mrs. Williamson. Fetch the brandy."
"No, no, no." Fighting for control, Laura grabbed Ann before the housekeeper could spring up to exact revenge. "It's not my blood, Annie, or Michael's either. The foal." She hiccupped, managed to get a grip on herself. "I helped Michael birth a foal last night."
"Well, then." Satisfied, Mrs. Williamson went back to her cooking.
"A foal?" Suspicion still gleamed in Ann's eyes. "You were down at the stables birthing a foal?"
"Yes, a filly. A beauty." She sighed and was tempted to lay her head on the table and drift off. Every drop of adrenaline had drained, leaving only floaty exhaustion. "It's a messy job, Annie. I suppose Michael and I both look like we've been in some sort of bar fight."
"Oh." Shaken, and mortified, Ann rose. "I'll get you some coffee, then."
"I've had about all the coffee my system can take for the next couple of years." She sobered then, took Ann's hands again. "Annie, I'm surprised at you. Michael wouldn't hurt me."