Run Wild (Escape with a Scoundrel) - By Shelly Thacker Page 0,101

uncle, well-known London magistrate Prescott Hibbert, claimed to be deeply concerned about his “mad” niece. He was in the area to join the search personally. And he had offered a substantial reward for any information on her whereabouts. Anyone who had seen her in the vicinity in the past few months was asked to contact him.

Nicholas felt bile rise in his throat as he read Hibbert’s sentimental pleadings. It was all lies. Bilge water. Hibbert was the one who had hurt her.

And the bastard would no doubt do worse if he caught her.

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” Masud was saying, sounding jubilant. “There’s very little mention of you at all. It’s her they’re after. Really rather comical, isn’t it? That they think you’re just some catchpenny footpad?”

“Hilarious.” Nicholas shoved the paper aside. He didn’t have enough breath for more than that one word. Samantha was in far more danger than he was—and that irony wasn’t the least bit amusing.

A feeling he had never known before went through him, one that cut far deeper than worry or concern.

Cold, stark, overwhelming fear.

Had Samantha stopped at a town on her way to Merseyside? Had she seen a newspaper?

“Cap’n?”

Masud sounded confused, but Nicholas barely heard him. The roar of his pulse filled his ears. There was no way to warn her. No way to get to Merseyside and back before the blackmailer arrived here in York.

He had to stay here and kill whoever showed up to collect the package. It was the whole reason he’d come to England. Risked his life. He couldn’t walk away now.

What the hell was he going to do?

Samantha was alone—and she was riding straight into a trap.

Chapter 22

Trudging through the dark streets of Merseyside, Sam rubbed her arms, the night wind biting through her thin garments, even through her cloak. After three days of riding, she felt exhausted, her entire body sore. She had sold the bay gelding at the first stable she’d come to upon arriving in the village—and if she never saw another horse again, that would be just fine with her.

Shivering, she tried to cheer herself up by thinking of how good it would feel to sleep in a real bed tonight. She had avoided all the towns between here and Cannock Chase, deciding that an inn would be a dangerous indulgence, since she couldn’t know where the lawmen might be searching. She had stopped to rest only once, at a remote farmhouse, trading a few coins for food and shelter and the hooded cloak to keep her dry in the rain.

But even with a roof over her head, she had barely been able to close her eyes for long. It felt so strange to have no one watching over her while she slept. She missed that feeling.

She missed Nick.

Even when she did manage to slip into unconsciousness, he invaded her dreams. And the first time she’d seen her reflection, in a mirror while washing up at the farmhouse, she had been shocked by how different she looked. Changed, somehow. Even washing and neatly braiding her hair hadn’t brought back the appearance of the girl she had been only a fortnight ago.

She had also discovered marks on her neck that no amount of soap and scrubbing would remove—and realized they were tiny bruises from Nick’s passionate kisses.

He had marked her, body, heart, and soul.

Swallowing hard, she tried to banish that thought—just as he had banished her from his life. She squared her shoulders and kept walking. She had to face facts, stop wishing for what could never be. In time, she would grow used to being alone again. The days and nights would get easier. Eventually.

She hoped.

Without thinking, she slipped her hand into the pocket of her green skirt, her fingers closing around the ruby.

The moon was almost full, shining on the rain-splashed streets beneath her slippers. Normally, she looked forward to the time she spent in Merseyside. Whenever she completed her work in a given district, she would travel here to add the money to the cache concealed in her room. Then she would rest a week or two between jobs, living peaceably, visiting the village marketplace, chatting with neighbors. Enjoying brief glimpses of a normal life.

But tonight her mood remained as bleak as the worn, wet cobbles underfoot.

Finally, she came to the ramshackle building that housed her room. Glancing up at her window, at the cramped space in the attic that she had called home for five years, she couldn’t