The salve smelled of calendula and comfrey, and Mazie smoothed some on her lip. Radford watched her as she gently dabbed the bruise and cut at the corner of her mouth.
She was close enough now. She would hit him once, as Roane had taught her. A strong, flat hand to the underside of his jaw, hard enough to stun him, incapacitate him.
His head would snap back. Maybe it would hit the wall. Maybe it would make a sound. She should be prepared for such unpleasantness.
Her heartbeat thundered. She needed to stop thinking and just do it already. She lowered her hand and his eyes jerked to hers, gauging her.
He was too alert, and she was too nervous. She must stop trembling. She must distract him. She must remember he would hang her. He would hang Roane.
Mazie slid her finger over her lower lip as she had seen the barmaids do. She had no idea if her gaoler would be so easily diverted. But, well, he was a man.
She watched Lord Radford watch her. A lock of dark hair had fallen over his forehead and made him appear much more innocent than he was.
His dipped his gaze to her lips again. Now. It was time to act now, before the footman returned. She stepped back and half-turned away. Her chin dropped down, shy. She hoped she looked coy. She was not much of a flirt, had never had cause to be one. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d been kissed.
The best liars were not actors. One had to believe in their story. Mazie peeked up at her captor, pushed aside her fear and studied him as a man. A very fine man. Dark hair, grey eyes and a face worthy of marble. He was a head taller than she, his shoulders broad and thick with muscle. If it came to a battle of might… She ignored the thought and slid her eyes over him, sought something innocuous to admire. A broad chest and flat belly. Long fingers and an uncanny ability to remain still.
It wasn’t hard to feign attraction to him.
He must have noticed, for he took a small step forward, tested her as she hoped he would. She snapped her head up and met his gaze, let there be fear in her eyes and something else as well.
His lips pressed together in a thin line. He would not make this easy, this attack.
“Thank you for the salve.” She wondered if he noticed that her voice shook. Truly, she shook everywhere with nerves. Her breaths came in little puffs as fear bound her lungs. “The ointment tastes like honey and calendula.” She ran her tongue over her lower lip.
He glanced away, but not before she saw the slight tightening of his posture. The hollows of his cheeks deepened, the jut of his jaw became more pronounced.
She stood up tall, drew in a full breath and pressed her breasts against the worn fabric of her gown. His gaze flashed down.
“Ah, I see how it is.” Radford crossed his arms. “You are playing your last card, and not a very original one at that.”
He called her bluff, but it did not matter. One way or another she would escape. She would be free or she would be killed.
Mazie knew how to march on in the face of impossible odds. She found the strength of her backbone and lifted her chin. “I promise I will be worth the effort.” There was no need to be shy now. She drew the linen fichu out of her black dress. Skin and décolletage gleamed white in the wan light of dusk. “We can talk about my punishment later.”
He cleared his throat. “You must think little of me to attempt such a common ploy.”
She walked toward him and unbuttoned the top of her bodice, her fingers fumbling with the task. It was her last card, and she had to play it well. Her life depended on it.
A muscle leapt in his jaw. “I cannot be seduced by some criminal’s Maid Marian.”
Her bodice gaped open to reveal the plump tops of her breasts.
“It won’t work.” His voice was a growl, and the line of tension deepened between his brows.
She took one last step forward and placed her hand on his chest, above the cross of his arms. She would hit him then run at once, down the servants’ stairs at the opposite of the hall and out into the darkening night.
Hit him!
She stalled, so nervous she could barely feel her feet. Radford uncrossed his arms and placed his hands on her shoulders as if he would push her away. Dash it. She couldn’t hit him now, did not have a good position. Desperate, she wound her arms around the back of his neck, pulled his head down and kissed him.
His lips were soft, smooth and he smelled of man. Virile man. His hands on her shoulders gave a firm push, but she did not budge. She opened her mouth, and he opened his as well, and she rubbed her tongue against his. A shock of sensation jolted through her, a new kind of nervousness curled low in her belly. She did it again.
“Hell.” He breathed against her lips, then turned his head away to end the kiss. But she pursued. Pressed up on her tiptoes, held his face steady in her hands. The scruff of his cheeks was rough under her palms. She sought his lips with her own.