by Rebecca King
Rose gasped when she ran out of breath. It was difficult to refill her lungs when she was hanging upside down. Blood rushed to her head making her vision blurry and the world swim alarmingly. The stranger’s hard, heavily muscled shoulder bit painfully into her midriff, but that was of little consequence when it was so difficult to breathe. Her cheeks turned fiery, but that wasn’t because of his intimate hold on her posterior. Her corsets weren’t designed to confine what God gave her while pulling against the forces of gravity. Everything she had was now protected from prying eyes by nothing more than the delicate fabric of her lemon and lace gown, and it wasn’t enough to hide her ample cleavage. It was humiliating. Clamping one free hand over her chest to prevent any further escape, Rose pushed against the small of his back with her free hand. She tried to lever herself upright so she could at least clear the pounding in her head but she didn’t have the strength to maintain the position. In the end she flopped back down only to realise that her nose was now right against his backside.
“Put me down, you great oaf,” she protested.
She tried to look up to see where they were, but it was so very difficult in such an uncomfortable position. Determined to find out which way they were heading, she placed both of her hands in the small of his back and pushed herself upright once more with all of her might so she could see better.
“Will you stop that,” Barnaby growled, when her shifting weight made him stumble.
This was the first time Rose had ever placed her hands on any man’s hips but, given the way he was practically cuddling her rear-end, she didn’t see why she should be shy about it. She was never going to be able to look him in the eye again now anyway, especially given he now knew first-hand just how heavy she was. If the grunting and cursing noises he was emitting at the moment were any indication he was finding it increasingly difficult to carry her weight as well as his.
It serves him right, she thought with a hint of malice. While it was humiliating it also gave her a sense of satisfaction that she wasn’t making his attempt to kidnap her very easy, and she wasn’t even trying.
Well, good. I hope he suffers, she thought snidely, secretly wishing she was a little heavier.
“So heavy that you cannot lift me up at all,” she muttered with relish.
“Shut up,” Barnaby grunted.
A rather spirited side she never realised she possessed began to surface. This man was like a veritable tide, and she suspected he would suck her under if she didn’t stand her ground. But being upside down, tossed casually over his shoulder like a side of beef, didn’t actually give her any platform from which to mount a defence.
What chance do you have? A small voice demanded. How can you stand your ground when your feet aren’t even on the floor?
“I demand you put me down this instant,” she demanded loudly.
Barnaby ignored her and crossed the street. When he glanced behind them he spotted Albert Chadwick not far away. Until now, they had done nothing to make the man suspect they were doing anything more than having a lover’s tiff. However, the more the woman over his shoulder chattered away the more likely she was to say something that would get them both shot. He couldn’t take the risk she would be loose-lipped with Chadwick in ear shot and began to search their surroundings for a way to get them out of sight so he could warn her.
One thing was definite now, Albert Chadwick had seen them both, and was now able to identify not just the woman but him as well.
“Damn it all to Hell,” Barnaby snarled. “Will you just shut up? I can’t think with you caterwauling all the damned time.”
“I will scream if you don’t put me down,” she threatened. It was difficult to think of anything else to threaten him with when she had her nose inches from his bottom; his tightly muscled and very masculine bottom. Coughing uncomfortably at the direction of her thoughts, she tried to turn her attention to something less suggestive. Only to find herself staring at the thickly muscled legs that disappeared into the riding boots encasing his extremely attractive calves.
Wait! How on earth can a man have attractive calves?
Wondering if she had a little too much blood in her head, Rose began to beat on his bottom with her clenched fists.
“Ow,” Barnaby protested when she thumped his posterior. “Pack it in you crone.”
“I demand to be put down this instant,” she declared in her most pompous tone.
She mentally winced when she realised she sounded like old Mrs Lawrence, but quelled the thought. Mrs Lawrence sounded arrogant and pompous whatever the situation. Rose, on the other hand, was being carted off into the night like a sack of flour by a rather handsome man she had only known for a few minutes.
When she placed her hands firmly on the man’s hips again, and pushed herself upright so she could take a look at the street behind them, the cold reality of her predicament hit her with horrifying speed. She knew she would never forget the narrow eyed glare on the face of the wiry man stalking behind them. It was nothing short of evil. As evil as the wicked looking gun he held.
“Er – hello,” Rose called to the man carrying her when her arms didn’t have the strength to hold her upright any longer. “He is following us,” she whispered.
“Jesus, will you shut up?” Barnaby growled. He shook his head in disbelief and wondered why she didn’t just lift her head and have a bloody conversation with Chadwick and be done with it.
“Did you hear me?” Rose demanded. “He is behind us.”
“Yes, I know,” Barnaby swore. “Now shut up.”
Typical woman, he cursed with masculine arrogance. Doesn’t know when to shut up and let a man even think.
“I am just saying,” Rose replied in a voice that was far too casual to bring him any comfort. “I just thought you might be interested seeing as he is holding a gun.”
When her captor didn’t reply, Rose stubbornly she crossed her arms only to realise how awkward a posture it was while upside down. Heaving a sigh, she relaxed her arms again but then watched them hang uselessly against his legs. It was difficult to stop her hands touching him when he walked but she couldn’t hold her hands aloft to keep from having any form of contact with him.
“We might be able to move a bit faster if you put me down,” she sighed. “I mean, this caveman behaviour might be acceptable where you come from but in my world a woman deserves a few manners, even from someone as uncouth as yourself.”
Barnaby forced himself not to rise to her bait.
What a damned time to goad someone, he grumbled silently. He wondered if he should just dump her on her feet and leave her to face Chadwick. The only thing that stopped him simply abandoning her was his position within the Star Elite. He just couldn’t be that coldly ruthless with any member of the public, no matter how irritating or damned attractive they were. He quickly blanked out all thoughts of having any ulterior motive for doing what he was and began to run through the layout of the town.
Thankfully, for several brief minutes at least, silence lapsed between them. It didn’t last long though.
“I say, whatever your name is, do you care that he is getting closer and closer?” Rose called, uncaring if this Chadwick was able to hear her. She wanted the killer to know that she wasn’t there willingly. She bit out the last word in a way that made it sound like a swear word but it didn’t seem to register on the oaf carrying her.
Barnaby felt the tension in her and knew she was in a snit. If he put her down now he had no doubt she would do something foolish, like go up to Chadwick and demand to know what the thought he was doing with that awfully wicked looking weapon.
“Probably challenge the damned man to a duel,” he grunted.
“What was that?” Rose cried. “Did you just call me a damned fool?”
She was outraged. He was the one caring her down the street, creating a spectacle.
“How dare you, you oaf?” she called.
When he didn’t respond, she thumped his backside with a dainty fi
st, but didn’t even elicit a grunt of discontent. She wished she could gain enough purchase to kick him in his Neanderthall-like head, but she couldn’t because of the tight hold he had across her thighs.
“Will you put me down?” she demanded loudly.
To her dismay, a group of revellers chose that moment to pile drunkenly out of the tavern as they passed. They took one look of the dark glower on Barnaby’s face, and the puce mulishness on Rose’s, and turned around and scurried right back inside.
“Cowards,” Rose called after them. The only response she received was the dull thud of the tavern door slamming shut.
Barnaby shook his head in disbelief that his life had descended this far. He could only hope and pray that none of his colleagues were around to witness his total descent into humiliation. He was already going to have to face the indignity of having to ride his horse with a bruised backside. To have to parade through town with a screeching banshee over his shoulder was a downright insult to his years of experience with the Star Elite. He was a fighter; a man of stealth. Right now, he may as well run up and down the main street stark naked and waving a torch above his head. He would draw far less attention than the witch was right now. Not even Chadwick was risking getting any closer.
When she wriggled and writhed, and his shoulder began to ache in protest, Barnaby reached the end of his patience. He had to put her down, and crossed the street for one last time. To see Chadwick still doggedly trailing them was intensely annoying, mainly because he couldn’t do a damned thing about it. A part of him wished he had left her back at the ball now. If Chadwick could manage to identify her in the crowd, and separated her from the pack, he would soon abandon her given the racket she made.
Unfortunately, Barnaby had a duty as an employee of the War Office to protect her now that she was a witness to murder. Given he was the only member of the Star Elite who had been around at the time, it was now down to him to protect the Star Elite’s main witness to the murder of Brian Jones, and Allan Bray; two of Terrence Sayers’ henchmen.
As far as the Star Elite knew, Chadwick was Terrence Sayers’ right-hand man – or one of them. Why they would execute two of their own was anyone’s guess. That was something the Star Elite had yet to find out. However, first of all they had to keep their main witness safe. It was just a shame she was downright beautiful - if a royal pain in the proverbial who didn’t know what being quiet meant.
Rose planted her elbow firmly on the man’s spine and rested her head on her hand. Her reputation, or what was left of it, had already been shredded. She had nothing to lose and therefore could see no reason why she shouldn’t do whatever she needed to do to get free. At the moment she was watching the killer try to pretend he wasn’t there, but follow them anyway. It was galling; as upsetting as being carried down the streets like a, well, like a heavy burden.
“You are never going to outrun him, you know,” she said conversationally.
“Shut up,” Barnaby grunted.
“You are carrying two people,” she added.
“Don’t I know it,” Barnaby snapped.
Rose pulled a face at him. “He is older than you, but isn’t playing at being a stone-age man. If you wanted to drag a woman back to your cave, why didn’t you just grab one by the hair when you got to the ball and drag her off like any self-respecting Neanderthal? I mean, I am flattered and everything, but why me?”
“Jesus, have mercy on my soul,” Barnaby pleaded.
Maybe when he was a hundred years old, he could look back on today and find something in this bizarre turn of events to laugh about, or raise a feeble smile about, anyway. At the moment, he was too busy scouring the streets trying to find somewhere he could dump his torment while staying alive so he could leave the area.
Rose had to admit that this whole episode was a novel experience for her. One that she didn’t want to repeat anytime soon, but it was something she could mark off her list of things to do before she died. However, the handsome stranger her youthful imaginings had dreamt might sweep her off her feet one day hadn’t been rude, surly, constantly praying to Jesus and muttering about Hell all the damned time.
“What is your name?” she asked.
“Shut up,” Barnaby ground out through clenched teeth.
When they turned down another street she was positive they had been down at least three times before, Rose shook her head and frowned.
“Do you even know where we are going?” she demanded. “I mean, please don’t feel afraid to tell me if you are lost. The man following us is looking a little bewildered too. If you don’t know where you are going I can call back and ask him for directions. I think he is getting bored.”
“For the love of God, will you just keep your mouth closed, just for a little while?” Barnaby swore.
“What’s your name?” Rose asked, ignoring him completely.
“As if I would tell you that,” he snapped. He intended to give her a reason why he wasn’t prepared to tell her just yet only for her to interrupt him.
“Well, I thought that seeing as you expect me to go along with your every command silently, I should know what to call you besides Caveman,” Rose reasoned.
As she spoke she eyed Chadwick. He was indeed looking as though he was losing interest in following them. He had certainly started to look at his surroundings a bit more – as though he too had realised they were walking around and around in circles and he couldn’t quite figure out why either.
Barnaby couldn’t stand it a moment longer. She was behaving as though she was commenting on a day at the races, and he was no sure bet. Scouring the street ahead, he lengthened his stride, waited until they had turned the corner out of sight, and then raced across the street. Breaking into a run, the alley they raced down turned sharply to the right, and ended on a narrow residential side street somewhere about a mile away from the ballroom.
Breathing heavily, Barnaby bent over and deposited her unceremoniously onto her feet. Bracing his hands on his knees he took a few moments to try to get his breath back while he glared up at her balefully.
“Barnaby,” he gasped. “My name is Barnaby.” He stood upright and braced his hands on his hips. “That’s all you need to know right now so don’t ask me anything else.”
He hadn’t got the breath to reply to any further requests for information. Glancing around them, Barnaby touched the gun tucked safely in his pocket and considered their location. There wasn’t much around except houses, but he suspected from the variation in the rooftops that there was a different group of buildings in the next street.
“This way, but keep quiet and don’t speak. The last thing I want is a gun battle out on a street like this,” he warned. The mere thought of the number of people who would come out of their houses to find out what was happening, and the resultant chaos that would ensue, was horrific.
Suddenly feeling less sure of herself now that she was standing upright again, Rose glanced nervously around them and raised no objection when he motioned her to walk before him down the narrow alley.
“Thank you, God,” Barnaby growled when they emerged onto a road that contained a long row of terraced houses, but had a group of sheds at the far end. Heading swiftly toward those outbuildings, Barnaby took a look inside.
“Perfect,” he grunted with relief when he spied what he was looking for.
“What is it? What are you planning?” Rose demanded.
“Keep quiet,” Barnaby demanded. “Chadwick isn’t too far away. Don’t let him hear you.”
He knew they had a few minutes before Chadwick would catch them. Barnaby needed to make full use of the time to get the horse harnessed to the small curricle they had found so they could be on their way before the killer got a good shot. First, though, he had to persuade the harridan to keep still and stay silent.
I will have better luck persuading the horse to wear the dress, he mused darkly but still, maybe the threat of death would be enough to get the woman to do as she was told.
“Right, of course,” he muttered.
Rose frowned. “Are you talking to me?” she asked, trying to ignore the fear that continued to build with the thought that this man might not be mentally functioning normally. He certainly behaved oddly. Since meeting him nothing had been normal. Her entire life had spun out of control and didn’t seem inclined to stop.
“No, I am talking to the bloody horse,” Barnaby snarled.
“Why are you so mean?” she asked with a frown. “This is not my fault you know.”
“I didn’t say it was,” Barnaby replied. “I am just trying to get us out of here alive. It would help if you co-operate with me and I don’t have to argue with you all the damned time.”
“I think I have been surprisingly complacent given the circumstances. After all, you accost me-”
“Accost you?” Barnaby all but shouted. He realised he was talking far too loudly and glanced furtively around them. Stepping toward her, he towered menacingly over her and pointed one long finger at her nose. “I was trying to save your curious backside.”
“You accosted me,” Rose accused him. She lifted her hand up and began to point to each of her fingers. “Then you assault me, swear at me, then start to give me orders as though it is your every right to command me to do anything. Then you carry me off into the night, grumbling and swearing at me as though it is all my fault. Now you have the unmitigated gall to gripe at me for not being agreeable to your domineering behaviour.”
“Stand still, shut up, and you might just live to see daylight,” Barnaby warned, determined not to argue with her. If he was honest, and a little less disturbed by her, he would have conceded that maybe she had a point. However, he was far too attracted to her for his own peace of mind. He had to maintain some semblance of control over his libido and if that was by keeping her at arm’s length and treating her as nothing more than a thorn in his side then that is what he would do. He could consider how he truly felt later, when he was well away from her, and maybe in his cups and too nonsensical to think clearly.
