Run Wild (33 page)

Nick still didn’t budge.

She stared at his chest. “Goodbye, all right? Are you satisfied?” Her throat seemed to close off and suddenly she knew why she wanted—needed—to get out of there and fast.

Not because she was angry with him but because she was dangerously close to revealing her real feelings for him. Her voice had already turned quivery with emotion, with words that threatened to spill out.

Words she refused to speak.

She lifted her gaze, trying desperately to pierce him with a cold, uncaring look. “Goodbye. Is that what—”

He pulled her close with one arm, drawing her in tight against him as his lips covered hers in a kiss that was hot, deep, possessive. The feel of his mouth on hers sent cascades of fire through her, but this time she resisted. She pressed her fists against his chest.

But an instant later, she didn’t want to break free. The sound of protest in her throat became a sound of longing. She didn’t want her freedom. Didn’t want to say goodbye.
Didn’t want to leave him
.

Her resolve, her anger, her pretense of cool control melted in the heat of his embrace. She surrendered to the intoxicating taste and scent and feel of him. He held her as if he meant to brand her body with his, kissing her until the world spun dizzily around her.

Then he broke the kiss just as suddenly, steadied her on her feet until she regained at least some of her balance. She felt breathless, flushed. Speechless. He looked down into her eyes, for a long time.

For the last time.

The thought pierced her heart. Then his hands were catching her by the waist and he scooped her up, easily lifting her onto the horse’s broad back.

“Stay away from the main roads.” His voice sounded rough. “Keep your guard up. If you see any... if...” He seemed unable to finish the sentence. “Damn it, just be careful.” He handed her the reins and stepped out of the way. “Go and find your dreams in Venice.” He squinted, perhaps because the bright sun blinded him. “Go and forget me.”

Sam could feel her lower lip quivering. “Don’t ask for any promises.”

She couldn’t say any more. Couldn’t bear any more.
She would never forget him. Never
. Touching her heels to the gelding’s flanks, she wheeled her horse and set off toward the east, into the morning sunlight. Hot tears made the forest nothing but a blur of dark shadows and emerald green.

And she did not allow herself to look back.

~ ~ ~

Clouds rumbled in the night sky overhead, obscuring the moon and stars. Lightning flashed in the distance, and the wind that tangled her long hair carried the threat of rain. Sam thought of stopping and seeking shelter. She had left Cannock Chase behind an hour ago, and now followed what must be a sheep or cattle trail across open fields.

Her ruffled cotton chemise and silk skirt would offer little protection from a downpour, but she couldn’t seem to make herself care whether she got drenched or not. She kept going, slowing from a trot to a steady walk. The gelding didn’t seem the least bit weary. She was the one who felt sore from hours of riding.

And from last night. One delicate part of her body felt particularly tender, bringing a constant memory of the innocence she had given away, the sweet intimacy she had experienced.

The closeness she had lost almost as quickly as she had learned to treasure it.

She blinked away the dampness in her eyes, felt too miserable and tired to worry about rain or anything else. Everything was so different from the way it had been last night.

It felt so... odd to be alone.

Once or twice while she was still in the forest, she had heard movement behind her on the path—and even as she had concealed herself in the trees, her heart had fluttered with hope. Was it Nick? Had he changed his mind and followed her?

The first time it had been a deer, the second time a wild goat.

And both times had made her feel like a fool. How could she
still
be so naive, so witless as to think he might come after her? Nick James was not the type of man to chase after a woman. He had enjoyed her, shared pleasure with her for a brief time, and that was that, in his view. She would never see him again.

The sooner she got used to that idea, the better.

Rain began to spatter down from the black sky, matching her bleak mood. The horse nickered softly as the fat drops splashed his sleek brown coat.

“Sorry, old boy.” She sighed. “I promise when we get to Merseyside, I’ll sell you to someone who has a nice warm stall for you.”

Hunching her shoulders against the rain, she decided that perhaps it would be wise to stop somewhere. A hot meal and a roof over her head might do wonders for her spirits. A farm would suffice.

Or perhaps she should even splurge on herself and go to an inn. Order a hot bath sent up. And some scented soap and a pretty nightshift.

The idea made her sigh. A touch of civilization could be just what she needed, after so long in the wild. But she wasn’t sure what kind of indulgences she could afford at the moment. Shifting her weight, she slipped her hand into her pocket.

And felt something lumpy.

Frowning, she glanced down. With the clouds blocking the moon, she could barely see, but there was definitely something other than coins in her skirt pocket. What the devil had she...

As soon as her fingers closed around the object, she knew what it was.

She gasped, pulling it out and holding it up. A flash of lightning brightened the sky, striking brilliant sparks from the red facets that sparkled and winked at her.

It was Nick’s ruby!

She stared at the jewel in open-mouthed astonishment. He must have snuck it into her pocket when he held her in his arms. And she had been so swept up in his kiss, she hadn’t even noticed.

But why?
Why would he give it to her?

Suddenly she remembered what he had said after he kissed her.
Go and find your dreams in Venice.

A wrenching wave of emotions overwhelmed her, a rush of disbelief and surprise and love. The jewel would buy her passage to Italy. Together with the money she had stashed in Merseyside, there would be enough for a villa as well. She could begin her new life in security and comfort.

She barely noticed as the storm gathered strength around her, the gentle rain becoming a drenching cascade. Tears joined the raindrops that clung to her lashes. She closed her fingers around Nick’s gift. This gem had meant so much to him. He had been counting on it to buy him a better life in the Colonies. And after paying the blacksmith, he couldn’t have even a hundred pounds in coins left.

He had sacrificed his own comfort, perhaps more. For her.

Pressing the jewel to her chest, she looked over the fields, west, toward York.

Nick James
did
care about her. He might not be able to say the words, but he cared.

And he had stolen her heart as easily as he had stolen this gem.

But none of that changed the fact that he did not want her in his life.

Sam wiped at her eyes. He was still very much a mystery to her—and always would be. He was gone, out of her life, part of her past.

And she needed to keep moving. Gather up the fractured pieces of her heart and just keep moving. She had to seek shelter. Turning her horse back onto the road, she slipped the ruby back into her skirt pocket... but could not make herself let it go.

In another two days, she would reach her flat in Merseyside. And then, thanks to Nick’s gift, she would be on her way to Venice.

T
he Black Angel.

Clearly, this was not one of York’s finer establishments.

Sitting astride a spirited gray hunter a few yards down the street, Nicholas studied the pub that had been his destination for weeks, a fiery satisfaction pumping through his veins that he could only call triumph.

He flicked a glance into the clear night sky, sending a defiant glare heavenward.

He had made it. Despite all the insurmountable obstacles thrown into his path. Despite the physical suffering he had endured—and the other, more painful retribution God had meted out. He had made it, with three days to spare.

Keeping the horse under control with one firm hand on the reins, he reached up to raise the collar on his greatcoat and pull his tricorne low over his eyes. It wouldn’t pay to let impatience get the better of him now. The streets were almost deserted at this late hour, most of the night’s revelers having already stumbled home, but it was still wise to be cautious. He nudged his mount forward.

The pub huddled in the middle of a row of cheap gin shops and bawdy houses. A pair of grimy oil lamps on either side of the door spilled light onto the street and illuminated the wooden sign that hung from an iron stanchion.

The Black Angel
. The tavern’s name was spelled out in bold lettering, above a picture of a winged creature with a fierce expression—and a pitchfork in one hand.

Nicholas grimaced, certain now that the blackmailer was someone who knew him. Someone who had seen the brand. This place had not been chosen by chance.

Anger and resentment made his heart pound hard against his ribs. He didn’t like the feeling that his unknown, unseen adversary held all the cards. Didn’t like being forced into this game. Whoever the blackmailer was, he was about to discover that gambling carried risk.

That he’d made a grave, greedy mistake the day he’d sent that note to South Carolina.

Dismounting, Nicholas tried to appear calm and casual as he led his horse toward a hitching post. Tried to blend in to his surroundings. Fortunately, at the moment he looked more like a member of the house of commons than a ruthless pirate.

He had stopped at a town after leaving Cannock Chase, where he traded the sluggish draft horse for the fastest animal he could afford, wolfed down a hot meal, and bought himself a new set of clothes. In addition to the greatcoat and tricorne, he now wore a waistcoat and breeches of navy blue brocade, a ruffled shirt with a fancy ascot that was choking him, and a frock coat with wide cuffs.

Appearances could be deceiving. And helpful.

Tying his stallion to the hitching post, he pretended to be loosening the cinch on the animal’s saddle while he surreptitiously glanced around, wariness lifting the fine hairs on the back of his neck.

He didn’t see anyone. No one crouched in a doorway, no one peered from nearby windows. No one had been posted on watch.

Of course, the blackmailer was not expecting his arrival. The cove would come here three days from now expecting to find a package—not Nicholas Brogan himself.

With a grim smile of anticipation, Nicholas opened his saddlebag, pausing to light a cheroot, a daily indulgence that he had missed for too long. The smoke curled into the cool night air as he exhaled. A few days and several drenching downpours had made a marked difference in the weather, the long, humid summer finally giving way to the first chilly bite of autumn.

As he tucked the box of cheroots back into his saddlebag, his fingers brushed the white cotton shirt stuffed into the bottom... the shirt he’d stolen from the gypsy wagon.

The one that carried a light trace of Samantha’s scent.

He withdrew his hand, frowning at the rumpled garment, telling himself he should just get rid of it. Leave it behind with everything else he’d brought out of Cannock Chase.

But somehow he couldn’t. He’d had ample opportunity over the past couple of days to dispose of it, yet he kept carrying it around.

He shook his head at his own foolishness, beginning to realize that time and distance were not going to dull these maddening feelings. He couldn’t stop thinking about Samantha. He couldn’t even get used to the strange sensation of
not
having the shackle around his ankle.

Every step he took reminded him of her.

And while riding in the rain, he had found himself thinking about her thin chemise and skirt, wondering whether she had bought a coat or cape to protect herself from the weather. Or stopped somewhere to seek shelter.

Was she safe? Was she taking care to avoid the lawmen who were almost certainly still searching for the two of them?

Was she afraid?

He closed the flap on the saddlebag with a sharp motion, reminding himself that Samantha had survived on her own for six years before meeting him. She didn’t need his protection. Inhaling deeply of the fragrant cheroot smoke, he blew a blue-gray cloud into the night air.

But he barely tasted what had long been one of his favorite pleasures. He was too busy wondering what Samantha had thought when she found the ruby in her skirt pocket

Wishing he could have seen the expression on her face.

He abruptly realized he was gazing into the night sky with an idiotic grin tugging at his mouth. He blinked hard, trying to come back to his senses, clamping the cheroot tighter between his teeth.

It had been a senseless act of generosity, giving away that jewel. One he would no doubt live to regret. But there was no sense in tormenting himself over it, or anything else concerning his ex-traveling companion. Samantha was no longer his responsibility, no longer... his.