Run Wild (Escape with a Scoundrel) - By Shelly Thacker Page 0,107

help you?” she spat.

“Three reasons. One, your uncle’s dead body is about to be found in your home. The marshalmen were keen on arresting you before—try to imagine how they’re going to feel about you now. You’ll be facing murder charges by morning. I don’t think you want to remain in England any longer than necessary. Two, since I’m not an unreasonable man, as soon as you hand the package over to me, I’ll give you back this”—he tapped his pocket, where he carried her box of money—“so you can be on your way. And three—” He waved the pistol under her nose. “I’m not giving you any choice.”

Sam stared at him, thinking frantically. All her plans, all her hopes had been smashed to pieces. She was right back where she started the day she fled London: terrified, hunted.

Alone.

Except that this time, her heart was in pieces as well, shattered like the porcelain vase on the floor, all the love she had felt for Nick spilled, wasted.

She shut her eyes, feeling hollow inside, as if every drop of light, warmth, life had drained out of her.

Nick.

No. No, that wasn’t his real name. He had lied to her. Used her and discarded her. No wonder he hadn’t wanted her in his life—she had been nothing but a brief amusement to him.

She was shaking, with hurt, with anger. Opening her eyes, she glared at Foster. She needed time to think. To plan. The only safe choice was to play along for now. Look for an opportunity to get away from him, to run.

All she wanted was to curl up in a ball on the floor and sob out all the pain in her broken heart. Instead, she lifted her chin and met his gaze evenly. “Very well. I’ll do what you ask—”

“How wise of you.”

“If I have your assurance that you’ll give me back my money once you have your blasted package.”

He smiled, putting the gun away. “Agreed. You’ve made the right choice, Miss Delafield.” Rising, he helped her to her feet. “You’re working for me now.”

Chapter 23

Wind and rain whipped at Nicholas’s clothes as he bent over the stallion’s neck, urging him to more speed. Hooves pounding, the gray hunter galloped over the fields, his gleaming coat flecked with foam.

It would take another three hours to reach Merseyside. Maybe two. If he didn’t break his neck first. And he wasn’t even sure how he was going to find Samantha once he got there.

And the entire town would no doubt be swarming with lawmen.

This was perhaps the most insane thing he had ever done in his entire reckless life.

But he didn’t care. The disturbing thing was how little time he had spent debating with himself. He had taken all of five minutes to explain the situation to Masud before leaving the pub—entrusting his friend with the vital mission that had brought them to England.

Ordering Masud to kill whoever came to pick up the package, without questions, without hesitation.

The wind drove raindrops into his face like needles, but he barely noticed. If he was too late... if anything had happened to Samantha...

No. He couldn’t tolerate that thought.

By hell, if her uncle had laid a hand on her, he would have the bastard’s guts for garters.

The hunter sailed over a rail fence and Nicholas spurred him on, faster. If—when—he found Samantha, he intended to escort her to London personally. He didn’t give a damn whether she wanted his protection or not. He wouldn’t be able to think straight until he knew she was safe.

He would put her on the first ship bound for Venice. Then he would rendezvous with Masud at Clarice’s, and once their ship was repaired, they would return to South Carolina.

Nicholas wasn’t sure how he was going to endure that—to see Samantha again, touch her, hold her in his arms, only to send her away a second time.

God, apparently, wasn’t through with him yet.

He shot a glare heavenward, beginning to suspect that God had a cruel sense of humor.

Only one thought cheered him as the stallion raced across the hills: by nightfall tomorrow, the blackmailer would be dead.

Masud had promised that, this time, he would not disobey orders.

~ ~ ~

After days of rain and fog and miserable gray weather, Michaelmas dawned bright and clear, the blinding sun and blue skies dazzling by contrast. The change in weather seemed to have drawn every inhabitant of York into the streets, Sam noticed as the hackney coach carrying her and her “employer” jounced over