“Sounds just like what a spy would say,” the sergeant said, elbowing the man beside him again. Clearly they were itching for a fight, and being bullies, they wanted to pick on an easy target. Worse, their glances kept flicking to Suzanne, who was doing her best to be unobtrusive but was still quietly attractive and undeniably female.
Would a bribe help? Some officials would accept money and wave them through, while others would see it as proof of criminality and they’d be in much worse trouble. Usually he made such decisions in an instant, but he realized that fear for Suzanne was clouding his judgment.
Before Simon could decide on the best course of action, the sergeant snarled, “Get out of the carriage so we can search you.” He smiled viciously. “And ask you more questions. This time, I want honest answers, you traitor!”
If Simon was alone, he’d fight back with a ferocity that would have astonished the sergeant, but if he did that now, what would happen to Suzanne? The soldiers were armed, ready, and eager to shoot someone, and his wife was right in the line of fire. The knowledge was paralyzing.
Impatiently the sergeant grabbed Simon’s arm and yanked him from the carriage, than hurled him to the ground with bruising force. “Take this spy and his wife into the building and we’ll see what they know!” He grinned wolfishly, ready for torture.
As one of the soldiers hauled Simon to his feet, Suzanne said in a throaty purr, “Oh, I’m not hiswife! I scarcely know the man. Except in one way!” She tittered musically. “He has a boring wife in Brussels, but he was in Paris and wanted a little fun so I said I’d accompany him on his way back to Belgium.”
All three men stared at her. While the sergeant had been bullying Simon, Suzanne had slipped off her cloak so it lay on the bench seat of the carriage.
Under the cloak, she wore a dark red morning gown with a white cotton fichu tucked modestly around her neckline, but as she spoke she tugged off the fichu. She’d altered the gown with a shockingly low neckline that revealed a riveting expanse of creamy curves, turning her from a prim wife into a sensual temptress.
A quick tug at her hairpins and waves of shining dark hair tumbled over her shoulders and throat as she swung gracefully down from her side of the carriage. “I’m an honest working girl so I made sure the fellow had his fun.”
Her sultry gaze moved over the French soldiers, coming to rest on the sergeant. She circled the carriage toward him, every part of her body signaling wantonness. “But sometimes I like giving it away for free to arealman!”
Simon and the soldiers were equally stunned. Suzanne took the sergeant’s arm, saying throatily, “Sergeant, let’s go inside and I’ll show you averygood time.”
She cast a coy glance at the other two soldiers. “Don’t worry, my lads, there’s enough to go around!”
Staring at Suzanne, one of the soldiers said in a hoarse voice, “Should we just shoot ’im, Sergeant Fabron?”
Simon saw a pulse jump in Suzanne’s jaw. “Now don’t you go and do something hasty,mon chéri!” she said coaxingly as she reached out to caress the soldier’s wrist. “He owes me half my fee and I won’t get it until we reach Belgium. A girl deserves to be paid, doesn’t she?”
The guards were entranced enough to go along with her wishes. Fabron said, “Lamont, before someone else comes along, take this sod and the carriage around to the back of the tollbooth. Gag ’im, tie ’im to a wheel, and search ’im down to ’is bare bollocks to find the money he’s supposed to give the wench. If it isn’t on him, search the carriage. Berger, you stay out here and man the barricade.”
“Thank you, Sergeant Fabron,” Suzanne cooed. “Now let’s you and I go inside for a little fun.” Trailing the delicate white silk fichu in the air like smoke, she sauntered seductively into the tollbooth turned guardhouse, which was the size of a small cottage. Every movement she made was an exercise in provocation.
Eyes glazed with lust, the sergeant followed her inside, slamming the door behind him. Lamont, the soldier who had been ordered to move Simon, abruptly jammed the butt of his rifle into Simon’s solar plexus with a force that produced temporary paralysis. Then he shoved his prisoner into the carriage and led the horses and vehicle around to the back of the guardhouse. As he struggled to recover, Simon heard muffled sounds coming from inside the guardhouse. Was that a female cry? The sound of a blow?What the bloody hell was going on in there?
Behind the guardhouse was a shed and a small paddock containing a sturdy dapple gray gelding. Lamont tethered the carriage horses, then turned to Simon with an expression of anticipation. “Maybe I should start by shooting your bollocks off? That would make it easy to find out whether you’ve hidden money down there.”
Simon hadn’t fully recovered from the blow, but if he didn’t act now, he was dead. As the soldier dragged him from the carriage, Simon kicked out ferociously, feeling bone shatter as his boot smashed into the soldier’s jaw.
Lamont gave a choked cry as blood sprayed from his mouth. Simon ripped the rifle from the man’s hands and bashed him on the side of his head with the wooden stock. Lamont collapsed and Simon swiftly tied him up and gagged him with his own cross belts and dirty handkerchief.
He checked that the rifle was loaded and half cocked, then raced around the guardhouse, staying low. He paused before rounding the corner and saw Berger, the other soldier, staring avidly at the door of the guardhouse. Suzanne emerged looking deliciously rumpled. “Now it’s your turn,” she purred as she beckoned to the soldier.
She moved normally and her words were convincing, but Simon was sickened to realize that the dark red of her gown bore almost invisible darker stains of blood. She was trembling even though she managed to sound seductive.
Berger stammered, “I . . . I shouldn’t leave the barricade.”
“Sergeant Fabron will be out in a moment when he’s recovered from”—her voice choked off for a moment—“from so much more than he expected! But this is a quiet road, so let’s get a bit of a start for what comes next.” She went up to him and raised her face for a kiss. He eagerly complied—and as Simon watched, Suzanne clamped on the blood vessels of his neck to block the flow to Berger’s brain.
She was shorter than the soldier so the angle was difficult, but the hold worked well enough that Berger sagged away from her, looking confused. Simon closed in on the pair and swung the stock of the rifle into the back of Berger’s skull with vicious force.
As the soldier dropped like a puppet whose strings had been cut, Simon spun around to his wife. “Dear God, Suzanne, are you all right?”
“Did you think I didn’t know how to be a whore?” Her face white, she folded to her knees and vomited into the grass. Simon knelt beside her and wrapped one arm around her cold, shaking body as she breathed in short, frantic gasps.
After long moments, she raised her head and whispered, “Not . . . really hurt. But I had to let himhandleme. He said he liked it rough. Then he lay down on the cot and explained in vile detail what he wanted me to do. He . . . he didn’t expect me to fight.” She drew a harsh breath. “Until I knifed him. Then . . . and then . . .” She retched again.
She stumbled as she tried to rise. Simon helped her up, aching for her shock and horror. A bruise was forming on her left cheekbone and she began to sob as she turned into his arms. He held tightly to her as long as he dared and wondered what the devil had happened in the guardhouse.
Worried about passing time, he said in his calmest voice, “We’re going to have to get out of here as fast as we can on horseback. That will be quicker than the carriage. There’s a riding hack in the paddock in back. Go and exercise your horse magic on him so he can be saddled. I’ll move the soldiers into the guardhouse and make sure they aren’t going to escape anytime soon.”
