Run Wild (Escape with a Scoundrel) - By Shelly Thacker Page 0,105
Jasper Norwell?”
Sam just stared at him. She didn’t know what sort of man this Joseph Foster was, what he wanted with Nick, or what he might do if he found Nick. So she held her tongue.
“We can do this the easy way,” Foster said icily, “or we can do it the hard way.” The knife came up to brush her cheek in a slow, lethal caress. “I’m very good with this blade. I could have you begging to answer my questions in a matter of seconds.”
Sam debated frantically, terrified—not only for herself, but for the man she loved. Every unsteady beat of her heart demanded that she protect Nick.
And she didn’t know if Foster would actually carry out his threat against her. Hadn’t he said something about not hurting innocent people? Yes. Yes, he had.
On the other hand, he didn’t seem to consider her innocent.
“I’ll ask again,” he said. “Was your companion the footpad Jasper Norwell?”
He drew the knife downward, pressed it against the hollow of her throat. Tightly.
Another second and he would slice open a vein.
“No,” Sam whispered, glaring at him, hating him. “He wasn’t.”
The young man’s blue eyes went cold, piercing. “I see.” His mouth tightened to a hard line. “The descriptions in the papers mentioned dark hair and green eyes. Did he also happen to have a scar—a brand on his chest, right here?” He drew the symbol over his own chest with the blade. “A downward-pointing pitchfork with three tines?”
Sam looked away. “I... I don’t know.”
“Don’t lie to me, Miss Delafield,” he snapped. “Judging from those marks on your neck, unless there are rather large mosquitoes in Cannock Chase these days, you and your traveling companion became quite friendly. Now tell me the truth.” He pressed the knife to her throat again. “Did you see a brand?”
She resisted for one more desperate, frightened moment.
Then she nodded.
Foster erupted in sudden fury, cursing, pushing away from his chair. “I can’t believe it!” He stalked across the room. “I can’t believe Brogan would risk coming back to England.”
“Brogan?” Sam asked in confusion.
“If he thinks I’m going to walk into his trap, he can think again. He should have simply paid up. I could have demanded forty or fifty thousand. I only asked for a pittance!”
“You’ve made a mistake—”
“Damn him to hell, I never asked for a confrontation. This is exactly what I didn’t want.” He turned on his heel, pacing back toward her. “All I asked for is what he owes me. That bastard robbed me of a brilliant naval career. Of everything. Of my life.” He struck at the empty sleeve hanging from his coat. “He owes me. And one way or another, I’m going to collect.”
“You’ve got the wrong man!” Sam managed to interrupt at last. “The man with me wasn’t someone named Brogan. He was a planter from the Colonies, a man named Nick James. Not—”
The glare turned on her cut off her words and her breath. “I told you not to waste my time. Don’t try to protect him.”
“I’m telling you the truth!”
“The truth? The truth is I’ve got a problem here, Miss Delafield.” He kicked at the chair he had occupied. “I don’t have nearly enough proof to go to the authorities. Just my own suspicions and a few notes gathered from years of investigation. I’ve been bluffing. Never thought he wouldn’t pay.” He stalked to the window, stabbed the knife he held into the wooden sill. “I can’t go to the Old Bailey empty-handed with a wild story about Nicholas Brogan rising from the dead. Not only will they not pay me the ten-thousand-pound bounty, they’ll have me committed.”
Sam’s mind whirled with confusion at the name he had just mentioned. “W-what what did you say?”
“What I need is a new plan.” He paced again. “Brogan’s going to pay for this bit of treachery. Thinks he’s outwitted me, does he? Bastard. I’ll take his money and turn him in for the bounty.”
“Nicholas Brogan?” She gaped at Foster in disbelief. The legendary Nicholas Brogan had been a pirate. One of England’s most ruthless pirates. The very name belonged in the same infamous ranks as Henry Morgan, Captain Kidd, Blackbeard.
She started to shake her head. This was madness. A mad, ridiculous, horrible mistake.
Foster turned toward her again. “Don’t tell me you don’t know. You were shackled to him for almost two weeks, day and night, and you don’t know?”
“Don’t know what?” she cried. “I think you’re insane! The man with me was named—”