One moment Phaedra was in Deerhurst’s safe embrace, the next they were forcefully separated, and she was in the arms of another, being twirled—if one could call it that—by a large man that smelled of sweat, spirits, and cheap cigars.
Phaedra tried to break loose of his hold, her gaze attempting to find Deerhurst, but this big ruffian blocked her view. She could only assume that Deerhurst had lost sight of her as well.
“Well, aren’t you a little beauty,” the man slurred. “Care to have some fun with me?” His smile turned foxlike. He had dark eyes and a hideous bird mask covering the upper part of his face. Phaedra wanted to punch the man.
“Unhand me, sir!”
His smile never faltered. “You don’t want to have some fun with me?”
“I’d rather die!”
“You are one ofthose, are you? I seem to have hit a pot of luck tonight.”
“I beg your pardon? One of what?”
“Women who like to make a man work for his prize.”
A shudder ran through Phaedra’s entire body. She had to get away from this man. “Sir, I have no idea what you’re speaking about. Now let me go before I club you over the head.”
He laughed heartily. “You are indeed a prize.”
“I already have a companion, sir.”
“Where is this man?” the rogue asked slyly.
“You stole me away from our dance!”
Still, it was a good question. Where on earth was Deerhurst? Was he in trouble? She craned her neck to try to find him, but to no avail.
“If I was able to steal you away, then he isn’t much of a man, now is he?”
Phaedra refused to argue with a foxed man. She tested her kidnapper’s grip on her, alarmed to find he only held her with one arm, an arm that tightened when she squirmed. The other hand held a goblet-like cup.
Great.
She had to be accosted by a beast who was strong as an ox. She should really start to carry her pistol with her. She attempted another method—and gave him her most charming smile.
“Sir,” she practically purred. “I believe we can come to some sort of understanding if you let me go.”
He blinked. And then his smile broadened as he brought the cup to her lips.
“Have a sip of wine, and I shall consider it.”
Her eyes widened, recalling Deerhurst’s words. “I will not!”
“Come now, little beauty. It’s the best money can buy.”
The wine? She doubted it. “I’d rather eat dirt.”
He laughed. “I’ll let you go if you have a taste. Imported it from Italy myself. Truly, it is the best.” He gave her a sloppy wink.
Phaedra flicked her gaze to the goblet and back to him. This was all he wanted? Someone to praise his wine?
She narrowed her eyes on him. “If I have a sip, you will let me go?”
“On my gentleman’s honor.”
Ha! He was no gentleman, but Phaedra had no other choice. She had to find Deerhurst and see if he was all right. He must be worried to death by now.
