Run Wild (Escape with a Scoundrel) - By Shelly Thacker Page 0,18

the blasted guards was sure to notice.

Minutes passed, each like a knife that scraped across his nerves, as he waited for the strength to return to his arms and hands.

He looked past her, studied the woods. Tried to find a suitable... aye, just ahead. Perhaps thirty yards away. The forest dipped into a ravine, a steep hill thick with evergreens and underbrush right next to the road. About fifty feet deep.

Perfect.

But with the cart jolting and rattling so slowly over the ruts, it would take ten minutes to reach that spot.

And the girl was a hairsbreadth from giving his plan away.

He tried again to convince her he was spent, weary. Harmless.

He yawned. She remained tense.

He closed his eyes as if to take a nap. She kept breathing so fast and shallow he could hear it.

Damnation, did she enjoy making trouble for him? He opened his eyes, tried glaring at her.

Instead of cowering in response, she faced him squarely, just as she had earlier—not backing down, not terrified, not even intimidated.

The chit clearly had no idea whom she was dealing with.

Another ten yards and they would reach the ravine.

He flicked a glance to the right, to the left. Leach and Swinton remained half-asleep in their saddles. Just far enough away. He hoped.

Seven yards.

He looked at the girl again. Gauged the distance between them one last time. He had to take her with him.

He had no choice.

Those golden eyes burned into his. Her small pink tongue darted over her lips. That full, lush mouth formed a silent, imperious command.

Don’t.

He smiled in reply. Captain Nicholas Brogan did not take orders from females.

Three yards.

He flexed his hands. Tensed the muscles of his thighs. Gathered every ounce of his strength.

The cart clattered toward the ravine.

The concealing shadows of Cannock Chase beckoned.

One wheel struck a rut—and the crunch of dried mud seemed deafening. The entire cart lurched, unbalanced. Tilted precariously.

And he jumped.

Like a panther. Like a swimmer diving into the sea. He launched himself forward in a headlong leap. Straight at the girl.

She screamed. Tried to get to her feet, get out of his way. He grabbed her as he came at her. Caught her with both arms. Yanked her hard against his chest as the momentum of his leap carried them straight over the edge.

Time seemed to slow for an endless second. He could feel air all around him. The girl’s slender body against his. Her heart pounding wildly. Heard shouts and startled curses erupt. A wrenching groan of wood as Bickford’s bulk and the sudden shift in weight unbalanced the cart. Felt muscles straining as he twisted, tried to roll, to aim his shoulder at the ground. Heard the horse’s panicked neighing. A scream. The girl, screaming.

The sound of the cart crashing onto its side.

Then the ground rose up. Too fast.

He slammed into the dirt, taking the worst of it, grunting as his bruised ribs hit something hard and unyielding. The girl’s scream cut short with a yelp of surprise and pain.

And they tumbled down the side of the ravine.

The forest floor fell away beneath them at a sharp angle and they fell with it. Trees and sky and grass blurred in an insane jumble as they plunged down the slope. Out of control. A spin of legs and silk skirts and flying blonde hair and jangling iron shackles. The girl was helpless with her hands tied behind her back. Nicholas grabbed for branches. Missed. They kept rolling, faster and faster. He could only hold on to her, one arm locked around her. Branches and thickets snapped and scraped as if the forest itself were trying to kill them.

Until by some miracle they reached the bottom, rolled to a stop.

The girl had gone limp in his arms. Nicholas released her, falling onto his back, feeling as if every inch of his body had been battered into fragments. He lay dazed.

Until a bullet whizzed over his head.

The report of the pistol shot cracked through the woods a second later.

“Don’t move, ye bloody bastard!” Swinton snarled from somewhere above them.

Nicholas could hear him crashing through the underbrush, one of the other marshalmen close behind him.

He opened his eyes. Blue sky and branches tilted dizzily in his vision. The girl groaned.

“Get ’em, Swinton!” Leach shouted.

Nicholas could see them, out of the corner of his eye. Swinton and Leach, charging down the hillside. They had left their mounts at the top. The animals couldn’t make it down the hill—not through the tangle of low-hanging evergreen branches and thick