Run Wild (Escape with a Scoundrel) - By Shelly Thacker Page 0,113

you just see for yourself.”

“See what?”

Masud led him out the door, down the hallway, and back to the room he had been sitting in front of. “Brace yourself, Cap’n. This may come as a shock.”

He opened the door.

Nicholas felt the package slip from his hands but never heard it hit the floor. Shock didn’t begin to describe the feelings that slammed into him, the deafening roar of his pulse in his ears.

Sitting on the bed on the far side of the room, Samantha glared back at him.

Samantha.

Samantha Delafield.

It took a moment for his brain to resume working, for the fact that she was here to stop crashing into the fact that she didn’t belong here. In this situation. In this house.

Because she was, in fact, here. Wearing a charming gray riding habit. Her hands bound in front of her, a gag knotted at the back of her head—her golden eyes ablaze with fury.

And in the middle of all the shock and confusion pouring through him was another feeling.

Absolute, undeniable pleasure. Something frighteningly close to joy. His heart was beating too hard. He couldn’t catch his breath. He hadn’t even realized how badly losing her had torn him up.

But he felt it now. Now that he saw her again. He had to press one hand against the door jamb to steady himself.

When he finally could speak, his voice sounded dry and strained even to his own ears. “What the hell is she doing here?”

“She’s the one who picked up the package.”

Nicholas looked from his friend to Samantha sitting on the bed and back again, feeling as if he were in a dream. Some kind of hallucination. He shook his head, uncomprehending. “That’s impossible. It’s insane. She was in Merseyside. She couldn’t have anything to do with—”

“She was the one, Cap’n. I was about to do what you ordered, but she turned around just as I was coming up from behind her. And when I saw her face...” He shrugged helplessly. “She looked exactly like the description of the lady in the newspapers, the lady you’re in... uh, that is, the lady you were with.”

Dazed, Nicholas could barely make out what his friend was saying. He felt as if the roof had just come crashing down on his head. Was she in league with his enemy? Had she been from the beginning? Had it been no accident that she’d been placed in the cell next to his that dark night in gaol?

No, he thought furiously, staring at her. God, no.

“I asked her name and she refused to tell me,” Masud continued, “and then she started making a fuss—and I thought it best to get her out of there. I didn’t know whether she was the blackmailer herself or somehow working with the blackmailer, so I figured it was best to just... hang onto her. At least until you got here and could decide what to do with her.”

What to do with her? That was one of a dozen questions Nicholas couldn’t begin to answer.

“She fought like a hellion,” Masud noted ruefully, pulling up his sleeve to reveal a bandage around his arm. “Afraid the blood on the package is mine. I ended up getting cut with my own knife, so I finally knocked her out, loaded her into a hackney coach... and brought her here.”

“And what was her explanation for all this?” Nicholas choked out.

“She wasn’t very forthcoming with any information, Cap’n. But I think she knows more than she’s let on.” Masud fell silent a moment, shifting uncomfortably. “So what are your orders?”

Nicholas couldn’t answer for a full minute, could barely see her anymore, his vision blurred by a haze of confusion and hurt and betrayal.

Then he held out his hand, jaw clenched. “Give me your knife.” As soon as Masud slapped it into his palm, he headed for the bed, gripping the hilt in his fingertips. “And leave us alone.”

Chapter 25

Captain.

Sam stared at him with her heart in her throat as he strode toward her. Her entire body had gone cold, as if she had been drenched in ice.

Captain, the African had called him.

She’s the one who picked up the package.

The pain and horror twisting through her were unbearable. Until the moment he stepped into this room, she had been able to deny, to doubt, to hope. Until she heard those words, she had refused to believe that Nick James had any connection to that tavern in York, to Joseph Foster and his package and all the bitter, angry claims