Run Wild (Escape with a Scoundrel) - By Shelly Thacker Page 0,114

he had made.

But everything Foster had told her was true.

The man she had fallen in love with wasn’t a navy captain or a merchant captain. And he wasn’t a peaceful planter from the Colonies.

He was Captain Nicholas Brogan.

No. God, no! She shut her eyes as he came to stand beside the bed. Feeling the cold touch of the blade against her cheek, she thought it would almost be less agonizing if he would simply cut her throat.

Instead, he cut off the gag.

She coughed, gasping against the misery that squeezed all the air from her lungs. When she was finally able to force herself to open her eyes and look up at him, the last few pieces snapped into place. In the tavern, when the African had accosted her, she hadn’t had the most distant idea who he might be or what was going on.

But he was a member of Captain Brogan’s crew.

A fellow pirate.

She clenched both fists when Nick reached for her hands—and he hesitated, then apparently changed his mind. He did not cut her free.

Instead, he slid the knife into his boot, the gesture so familiar from the time they had spent together.

And suddenly memories tumbled through her, one after another. Every day, every night, every moment they had spent together. Their gazes met and held, and she saw it in his eyes—that he was remembering, too.

“Nick,” she choked out. “Tell me it’s all some horrible mistake. Nicholas Brogan died years ago. You can’t be—”

“Stop it.” His voice was rough. “Damn it, there’s no use pretending anymore.”

His admission tore through her. “No,” she whispered, hot tears welling in her eyes. “No, it can’t be.”

God help her, she wanted him to lie to her. She would believe him. She would believe anything. Anything but this.

He turned his back, raking a hand through his hair, stalking across the room.

“I-I thought you were a... a planter.” She was trembling. “Or—”

“Some kind of naval hero?” he asked bitterly. “Sorry to disappoint you, angel.” He stopped in front of the window.

“But Nicholas Brogan was a vicious murderer! They said that he killed heedlessly, wantonly. That he would sink any ship in his lust for riches.”

He stared out into the fading twilight, his back stiff. “I don’t suppose it would help to point out that ‘they’ are not always accurate. Or that the navy spread a great many lurid, exaggerated tales about my exploits.” He dropped his gaze to the sill. “The admiralty wasn’t overly fond of me—”

“Are you saying it was all lies?”

There was a long pause.

“No.”

A chill rippled through her. Followed by a shock of hurt, betrayal. Fury. “How many people have you killed, Captain?”

His voice was hoarse. “Do you think I kept count?”

“An estimate will do. A handful, a hundred, a thousand?”

His hand came up to grip the velvet curtain that hung beside him. Even from where she sat, she could see that he was shaking. When he finally answered, he spoke so softly she could barely hear him.

“It doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“It does matter! How could you... how could I...” She shook her head, unable to continue, wanting only to curl up on the pillows and sob out all the pain in her heart.

She had believed in him. Trusted him. She had revealed everything to him—all her secrets, all the hurt and loss of her past, offered him her heart, her body, her soul. She had loved him.

Loved a ruthless, bloodthirsty, infamous pirate.

“I hate you,” she blurted, unable to hold back the anger and hurt. “I hate you for what you’ve done!”

His whole body jerked as if she’d struck him. His fingers dug into the curtain.

She buried her face in her hands. It was as if Nick James, the good, decent man she had known, the tender lover who had won her heart, had vanished. As if he’d never existed, been nothing but a dream. A romantic fantasy who had come to life only briefly, in the imagination of a foolish, naive, innocent girl.

And yet...

And yet something didn’t fit.

She lifted her head, fighting to keep her voice steady. “Your friend Masud told me that you were in Merseyside. That’s why you weren’t in that pub in York.” She swallowed hard. “You were trying to save me, weren’t you?”

He wouldn’t reply.

“You risked your life, risked everything, to save me.”

“I told you once before, I’m not in the business of rescuing damsels in distress.”

“Then what were you doing in Merseyside?”

“I thought...” He hesitated a moment, and his voice became brusque when he

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