Sweet Rogue of Mine (The Survivors #9) - Shana Galen Page 0,110

It felt as though he was pulling half her scalp off. Her nerves screamed and she could barely focus on anything but the pain. She closed her eyes and tried to think of something happy—the peacock’s splayed tailfeathers, her young niece’s smile, Nash’s gentle touch.

And then the world went black.

Twenty-Three

Nash had finally managed to escape the reception line. He’d hoped Pru would appear at his side as soon as he stepped away, but he wandered about the grounds for a good while without finding her. He would have asked where she was, but he’d walked about for at least a quarter hour without a single person speaking to him. He could hardly blame the villagers. They were probably afraid of him. Perhaps they thought he would shoot them.

Nash touched his empty coat pocket. He would have felt better with his pistol in his pocket. Rowden still had it in his possession, and that meant Nash needed to find Pru. She would calm his nerves. Everything would be well with Pru at his side.

“Oh, Mr. Pope,” said a familiar voice. Nash paused and turned to face the speaker.

“Mrs. Brown?”

“Yes.”

Oh, thank God. Finally, someone he knew.

“Are you looking for Mr. Payne?” she asked.

“No.” He could guess where Rowden was. Somewhere there was a group of men who liked a little sport. Rowden could needle the most obnoxious among them, stir up a fight, and make a few pounds from the betting when he knocked the man on his arse. “Actually, I had a question for Miss Howard,” he said.

“Oh, is it something I can answer?” Mrs. Brown asked.

Nash sighed. “No.”

“I see. I saw her in the tent earlier. I believe she was helping with the baked goods competition.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Brown. The tent is...” He tried to orient himself, which wasn’t easy with all the changes to the lawn of late. “This way?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. Straight ahead.”

He started away then turned back.

“Was there something else, Mr. Pope?”

“Yes,” he said. “I owe you my thanks.”

“Not at all, sir.”

Nash clenched his jaw. “Let me get this out, Mrs. Brown.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Thank you for staying here through...everything. I realize I behaved abominably.”

“Not at all, sir.”

“Mrs. Brown.” He drew her name out.

“Oh, very well. You were perfectly horrid.”

“Thank you for not abandoning me. You kept me alive.”

“Nonsense. I practically poisoned you with my cooking.”

Nash laughed. “I would beg you never to cook again, but at least your broths and soups kept me from completely pickling my innards with gin. Thank you.”

“No thanks necessary, sir.” She paused for a moment. “But I appreciate hearing it nonetheless.”

“Good, and I would appreciate it if you would go and enjoy yourself. I’m giving you the rest of the day off. Tomorrow as well.”

“Oh! That’s not necessary. And there’s so much to do here after the festival.”

“You won’t do any of it. Go see your family. Sleep late tomorrow morning. I don’t want you lifting a finger here, Mrs. Brown. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

He could hear the emotion in her voice, and he let out a huff. Why was she crying when he’d given her a day and a half off? “Good day, Mrs. Brown.”

“Good day. He always was a good boy,” she said as he walked away. Nash hoped to earn that praise again someday.

He knew when he neared the tent as he could hear the voice of Milcroft’s mayor. He was making a last call for all sweet dishes to be entered. The judges would begin tasting in just a moment. Nash hesitated at the entrance. He needed a moment before he went inside. He would take a few minutes to breathe just behind the tent. No one would see him there. But as he made his way toward the back, he heard the sounds of a scuffle and then Pru’s sweet voice enjoining someone to...shove a stick up his bum?

Nash didn’t hesitate. One hand on the side of the tent to guide him, he rounded the corner. With the informal gardens on one side, the light was dimmer here, and Nash could see two shapes. One seemed to be kneeling and the other standing over the first. As soon as Nash appeared, they broke apart. The figure he would recognize anywhere as Pru fell backward with a cry and the man who had been holding her stepped away.

“What’s happening here? Miss Howard?”

She didn’t answer, and Nash stepped forward, reaching out and catching the man by the neck. He hadn’t even tried to avoid Nash, obviously thinking he