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.
Chapter 21
The 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.
She was never meant to be his, he reminded himself ruthlessly, tying the saddlebag shut. She had been a brief taste of sweetness, a few days of heaven that would haunt him the rest of his life. All he had left were memories.
Samantha laughing as they splashed each other at the stream in the glade. The stubborn little tilt to her jaw when she argued with him. The way she had protected him like a guardian angel during his fever. The emotion and passion in her eyes when he made love to her...
Memories.
And heated images that kept him awake at night.
And a rumpled shirt.
He turned and headed for the pub door, trying to force thoughts of Samantha from his mind. There were only three days left before Michaelmas. He couldn’t allow himself to get distracted at this critical point.
He walked swiftly toward the Black Angel, his shiny new boots barely making a sound on the wet paving stones. Reaching the door, he pushed it open and stepped inside.
A haze of smoke washed over him, carrying the pungent scents of ale and wine and male sweat that thickened the air. The only illumination came from an iron chandelier filled with flickering candles. It cast a dull glow over the hand-hewn tables and benches scattered haphazardly around the room, some filled with drunken patrons, others with men holding conversations in low tones.
He saw that there were no cheery groups of locals sharing gossip and ribald jokes and tavern songs. And there was only one other exit: a door at the back. This was a place well-suited to clandestine meetings and nefarious goings-on.
The blackmailer had chosen well, he noted, his respect and caution growing.
He moved toward the long counter that filled the right side of the room, and summoned the yawning tavernkeeper with a flick of his hand.
But before he could order an ale and ask a few questions, a hand landed on his shoulder and a quiet voice sounded behind him.
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
~ ~ ~
Sitting with his back to the wall, his tricorne on the bench beside him, and one booted foot resting on the bench across from him, Nicholas studied his companion, shaking his head. “Damnation, you are the last person I expected to find here.”
Masud raised his mug of ale in salute, his grin unrepentant. “Glad to see you, too, Cap’n.”
“You never could follow orders worth a damn.” Still scowling, Nicholas took a long swallow from his own glass. “I should have had you keelhauled years ago.”
Masud nodded with a mock-serious air. “Might’ve instilled the value of discipline in me.”
“I suppose it’s too bloody late now.”
“Afraid so, Cap’n.” The African’s grin broadened. “That it is.”
Nicholas fell silent, studying his glass, running his thumb over a chip in the rim. There was no sense in sending Masud away, now that he was here. And to tell the truth, he was glad to have the company. It was good to see his quartermaster, to have loyal help at hand.
A loyal friend, he corrected, the thought coming into his mind unbidden. He frowned, surprised at the word. He had long refused to grant any man his trust, let alone his friendship.
But Masud had stuck by him through a lot of rough seas—steadfast despite all of his captain’s failings and surly ways, always there when needed. Even during the times when Nicholas Brogan had insisted he didn’t need anyone.
Nicholas glanced up, unable to think of a better measure of a friend... or a man more deserving of the word.
He noticed the way Masud even respected his long, moody silences. His frown slowly turned into a grin. “So how long have you been here?”
“Two days. Been keeping an eye on the place.” They both shifted easily to a low, conspiratorial tone.
“Has the package arrived yet?” Nicholas lit another cheroot.
“Aye. The barkeep’s got it. Says no one has inquired about it yet. Other than me.”
Nicholas glanced at the fat man dozing behind the counter on the opposite side of the smoke-filled room. “Glad to see we’ve entrusted something so valuable to an alert, dependable sort.”
Masud chuckled. “Aye. I thought it best to be here whenever the place is open. Though I’ve practically pickled myself. His pub may be a piss-hole but his ale is good.”
Nicholas took another long swallow from his glass, laughing. “It would take more than two days of ale to pickle you, you old sot. So tell me, why aren’t you in South Carolina?”
“I onl
y meant to take a small detour. After I dropped you off on the coast, I decided to sail down to London to have a little talk with a certain lady.”
“Clarice.” Nicholas lifted an eyebrow, curious and a little bemused. “You still think she’s involved?”
“I admit I thought she was. A woman scorned, and all...” Masud shook his head. “But she said she hasn’t given you a single thought in the past six years, and I believe her. Took me a while to track her down—she’s not in the East End anymore. Got herself a town house in Cavendish Square. Paid for by a dandiprat merchant banker who thinks the sun rises and sets in her dainties. She’s not wanting for money.”
“So she finally hooked herself a big fish, did she?” Nicholas blew a puff of smoke toward the grimy ceiling. “Always knew Clarice would land on her feet.”
He felt not a twinge of jealousy. Clarice had been a pleasant distraction during a time when he’d been single-mindedly devoted to vengeance. He had never been able to give her what she’d wanted—what she’d demanded. Money, security, devotion, a future. He and Clarice had spent as much time at each other’s throats as they had in each other’s arms. And after two years together...
A sudden, jarring thought struck him like a belaying pin between the eyes: even after two years together, he had found it easy to leave Clarice. He’d found it easy to leave every woman he’d ever had a liaison with.
Until Samantha.
Somehow, in a little more than a week, Samantha had become as much a part of him as the heart that pumped his life’s blood through his veins.
“Clarice’s feet are traveling in very well-to-do circles these days,” Masud continued. “She wasn’t exactly happy to see me. Her gentleman friend doesn’t know about her past associations.”
“With less-than-savory characters like us.” Nicholas forced his mind back to the topic at hand.
“And she’d just as soon keep it that way.” Masud drained his glass. “She isn’t involved in this business, Cap’n. She swears she never told a soul that you survived that fiery wreck.”
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