Waiting for a Rogue Like You

by Samantha Holt

  Another man darted out of the alleyway between two cottages, blocking her path. She froze, turned on a heel, and gulped. The other man advanced, the light from the nearby cottage revealing features that could well have been carved in stone. Both men’s clothing was ragged and worn. Just as she had known that man in the inn was a rogue, she knew these men meant no good.

  “I have no coin,” she declared. “I am not rich.”

  The man in front of her smirked. “Could have fooled me.” He stepped close and lifted the golden tie of her cloak. “Oh, aye, you are rich.” He glanced at the man behind her.

  Julianna barely dared to breathe. If she flinched back, she would end up pressed against the front of the other man. Her chest tightened, breathing became harder. Cold fingers grew hot beneath her gloves. She tried to gulp down the knot in her throat and forced herself to eye the man. She had survived her journey alone thus far—she was not going to stumble now.

  “I have no riches.” She forced herself to take a breath to steady her voice. “Nothing to offer you. I swear it.”

  Both men closed in upon her, creating a prison of bodies. The man behind her was the bigger of them. The one in front could hardy claim to be small but he had less breadth to him and he could only be a few inches taller than her. If she had to do something, she would do it to him. The small penknife concealed in her reticule was all she had for protection. She had secreted it away before leaving home, all too aware how easily preyed upon a woman was when alone, but she had never anticipated using it.

  “You have plenty to offer,” the man in front of her sneered. “Oh, plenty indeed.” He skimmed a finger past her collar bone and let it linger on the gap of flesh between her bodice and the tie of the cloak.

  Julianna counted her breaths, ignoring the unwelcome touch. Neither man would back off, so she had to take her chance when she could find it. One...two...when should she act? Three...four...Sooner rather than later. Before one of them grabbed her and truly had her held prisoner.

  “Actually,” she declared. “I do have coin. I just remembered.”

  The man behind her chuckled, and she felt the noise vibrate through her body from his proximity.

  “You said you weren’t rich.”

  “Yes, well, I...” She lifted her reticule. “I forgot.” Opening it slowly, she tucked the knife against her palm and made a show of fumbling around in the bag. “I just know there was something...” She leaned over, blocking the man’s view of the bag. “Ah, here it—”

  Snapping up her head, she whipped up the penknife, dragging it across the man’s face. A startled cry escaped him, and Julianna used his shock to push past him and race down the road. The cobbles were slippery underfoot and made running precarious, even in her practical boots. She nearly lost her footing several times before turning a corner and darting into an alleyway.

  Concealed in the gloom, she pressed herself against the slick wall of the building behind her. Hot, sticky, fear ran through her body, making her palms sweat beneath her gloves. She gripped the tiny knife until the bone handle hurt her palm. Rain continued to hammer the ground. Blasted weather. If it was not raining, she would be able to hear if they were approaching and ready herself.

  Either way, she prepared herself, knife held up. She had not seen the damage that had been done but it was likely minuscule. The small blade was good for opening letters and little more.

  She shrank deeper into the dark as shadows moved past, not daring to move or even breathe. Once she was certain they were gone, she would make her way back to the inn. Julianna peered up the passage. If she could find her way back. She had not been here long enough to be able to navigate the intricate alleyways of the village.

  Heavy heartbeats passed and still she waited. Surely they would have given up on her by now? Whatever they wanted from her, it was not worth waiting around in the pouring rain. She shifted closer to the edge of building and ducked her head out.

  A hand grabbed her, and she screamed. The knife fell from her numb fingers. Another hand clamped over her mouth and she was dragged against a solid body. The body of the larger man. Eyes wide, she peered up at the smaller man whose grin revealed yellowed and rotten teeth.

  “Wanted to play a game, did we?” He pressed a finger to the bleeding mark on his cheek. “I’ll have to repay you for that.”

  Julianna wriggled against the hold of her imprisoner, kicking back with her feet, trying to hit his shins, his loins, anything. Her feet met empty air and she felt him chuckle.

  “We can get plenty of money for you. And for your clothes. Even for your hair.”

  A tremor wracked her as she imagined herself naked with her hair shorn at the mercy of these men.

  He jerked his head behind him. “Take her this way. We can—”

  The man’s face contorted. His eyes bulged. He clutched his shoulder. Julianna watched him sink to the ground, his mouth open in a silent scream of pain, revealing the man from the inn—the one who had said he had known her brother. He held a pistol in one hand and a knife in the other. She did not need daylight to know there would be blood on that knife.

  “I can blow your head off or you can let the lady go,” he offered the man who held her so tightly that her ribs felt as though they were being crushed.

  The man gave a grunt and squeezed her harder. Julianna could not help release a distressed sound, fearing he would crush her body entirely, leaving her nothing more than a crumpled mess of blood and bones.

  Her rescuer’s eyes narrowed at the sound. He shook his head and lunged forward.

  Chapter Three

  Drake had been lucky to come upon the woman. Though the village of Penshallow was small, it had been built in a sprawling manner, fisherman’s cottages radiating out from the harbor with the slanting walls and close proximity to one another. It made getting lost here far too easy.

  It also made kidnapping a woman and hiding her away too easy.

  As the man’s arms crushed around the woman while his friend writhed on the ground in pain from the wound in his shoulder, Drake lifted the pistol. He was a fine shot, but it would be too easy to hit the woman with such an unreliable weapon. He had little intention of using it.

  The woman made a pained noise, combining with the fear in her eyes to make Drake spring into action. He moved swiftly, whipping the butt of his pistol against the man’s jaw. He lunged with the knife as the brute recovered, stabbing it into his upper arm. The man let out a yowl of pain.

  The woman darted back as soon as she was released, toppling onto the soaked cobbles and into a puddle with a splash. Drake ignored her for the moment. Twisting his pistol around in his palm, he aimed it at the large fellow then the man on the road. “If I see you again, I will kill you both.”

  Neither man responded. He pulled back the hammer of the pistol.

  The smaller man held up his hands from his position on the ground. “Yes, yes, we’ll be gone.

  “See that you are.”

  The larger man helped his friend from the ground and they hobbled off together. Once they were out of sight, Drake allowed himself a little gasp of pain. His leg panged from the sudden movement. He eased the hammer of the pistol back down and turned his attention to the woman. She gaped up at him as he held out a hand.

  “You can spend the rest of the night in that puddle if you wish.”

  She shook her head and grasped his hand, allowing him to draw her to her feet. The minimal lamp light from surrounding buildings revealed her soaked clothing and bedraggled appearance. She still managed to look remarkably beautiful, though.

  He caught sight of the blood tingeing the blade of his dagger, and his vision turned into a pinprick. Not even the beautiful stranger could cut through that. His breaths grew rapid and the knife dropped from his numb fingers. He heard it clatter to the ground, the sound too loud—like a cannon shot to his mind.

  The last time he’d had to use his blade had been battle—the battle that had left him with shrapnel in one leg and s
cars riddling his body. Drake gulped down breaths and bent double. Of all the times to be assuaged by these bloody sensations.

  “Sir?” The woman tapped his shoulder. “Are you injured?”

  He shook his head and drew in another breath. If he could just keep breathing, all would be well. He’d forget the cannon fire and the screams of dying men. He’d forget the ship’s deck slick with blood. He’d ignore the pain in his leg that burned as though the wood had torn through it all over again.

  “Are you hurt?” She shook his arm. “All is well. The men are gone. We are safe.”

  Rising, he forced his attention on her, watching her mouth as she muttered more reassuring words. Gradually the world filtered in. The rain was cool on his skin. It pattered gently on the cobbles. The woman’s voice was soft and tender, tinged with that elegant lilt of hers. The pain in his leg dulled to a gentle ache. He straightened his shoulders.

  “Sir?”

  “I am fine. No injuries.” He forced a charming smile. “Just the pain in my leg.” He tapped his thigh. “Old war injury.”

  “Oh.”

  He ran his gaze up and down her, taking in the sorry sight of her soaked and muddied gown to the way her dark hair stuck to her cheeks. He couldn’t resist pushing back some of the hair with a finger.

  She jolted away. “Well...if you are well...I should be...” She went to turn but he held up a hand.

  “Do I not even get a thank you?”

  “I...” She scowled. “Yes, of course. Thank you. Now I really must—”

  “Where are you staying?” he demanded.

  “That is really none of your business.”

  “I’ll be damned if I rescued you only for you to get yourself into trouble again.”

  Her shoulders thrust back, and she met him head on with a glare. “I did not get myself into trouble. Those men were responsible for their actions, not me. And I could have rescued myself.”

  “A fine job you were doing of it,” he said dryly.

  “I was simply waiting for the best moment to react.”

  “Would that have been before or after they took you to God knows where and did God knows what with you?”

  A tremor wracked her, and he shook his head. Bloody stubborn woman would die of cold or another attack if he left her alone. He’d be damned if he was going to have that on his conscience.

  Not to mention she was about the most intriguing woman he’d met in weeks. Months even. Perhaps a year. Beauty, courage, and a sharp tongue. A rare find indeed.

  “Where are you staying?” he pressed again. “If you do not tell me, I shall follow you until I find out.”

  She opened her mouth then shut it. “The Boot Inn.”

  He cursed under his breath. What a lady of breeding was doing there, he had no idea, but there was no chance he was letting her return there. It was a minor miracle she had not already run into trouble. While the Ship might be known for smugglers and the occasional criminal sort—they were criminals of a certain kind. Respectful criminals. Or so he liked to think.

  After all, they smuggled for a reason, and a good one too. They did not harm others and could all be considered gentlemen in their way. Well, Red and his brother Nate were actual nobility. Drake had been brought up well-educated and with respectful parents too. As for Knight, well, who knew about that man... but none of them were like those who frequented the Boot. Only the lowest of the low stayed there.

  “Over my dead body,” he murmured.

  She blinked at him. “Pardon?”

  “You’re coming with me.” He closed a hand around her arm and led her forcefully back toward the Ship.

  She gave a tug. He wasn’t even at full strength with the cold and exertion eating into his damaged thigh, but she was no match for him. Though tall for a woman at only two or so inches shorter than he, he could feel the delicateness of her bones beneath his fingertips. He’d only caught glimpses of what lay beneath that cloak, but he was no stranger to the female form. Every part of her matched—she was the tall, willowy sort.

  His favorite sort.

  By some miracle, he kept that thought to himself. If he had to throw her over his shoulder and bind her hands, he’d take her back to the inn, but he’d rather take her willingly.

  “Stop.” She yanked against him. “I am not going anywhere with you.”

  You. The way she said it had him smirking. Said with all the snootiness she could muster, the word had been intended to convey her disdain for him, but instead it challenged him. Despite him playing her hero, she was determined to dislike him. He’d rather like to change that.

  “If you think those two men were bad, spend the night at the Boot. There will be a dozen more men like that, determined to make a penny from you in any conceivable way.”

  “It did not seem...” Her shoulders sagged. “I mean, I have defended myself thus far. I am sure I could...”

  The words withered as he stared her down with a knowing look.

  She sighed. “You are not going to let me return there, are you?”

  Drake shook his head. “I’ll tie you up if I have to.”

  Her mouth formed an ‘O’. “You would not. You could not.”

  He grinned. “I could, and I would. But I would rather not.”

  “Fine.” She shook her head. “I must be mad.”

  Releasing his grip on her arm, he indicated in the direction of the inn. “Quite the opposite. You should not be roaming about on your own.”

  “I suppose you are of the belief that all women should be accompanied by an escort at all times.”

  “Not all women.” He swung a look her way. “Just you.”

  The rain began to let up, but the cobbles were slick underfoot. It put extra pressure on his leg and he had to work hard to keep the wince from his face when they made their way up the hill toward the inn. Cobbles gave way to mud, making the progress even harder. Few things slowed him down. He kept himself in fine health, ensuring he was strong enough to make up for his blasted leg but tonight had been more exertion than he was expecting, particularly when he’d drunk enough whiskeys to put a horse to sleep.

  Not enough, though. He’d intended to have a few more before the evening had been out. A nice dose of alcohol would ensure he’d have slept through the storm. Thankfully it had eased, and he could probably sleep anyway.

  The woman’s breaths came heavily, and he saw fatigue etched into every movement. He doubted she’d take well to him offering to sweep her up in his arms, but he’d need to get her into the warmth quickly. Every part of her was soaked and delicate. A refined woman like her would sicken easily.

  “You said you were here for Knight?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did you want with him?”

  “It’s a private matter.”

  Drake snorted.

  “What?”

  “You sound like him. Everything about Knight is a private matter.”

  She twisted her head to look at him. “You really are his friend?”

  He nodded. “In a way. Knight’s idea of friendship is a little different to everyone else’s. But we spend plenty of time together.”

  “So you know where he is?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.”

  “Is he your husband? Or an old lover perhaps?”

  “Certainly not!”

  “Damn. I always hoped to be able to cash in on that wager.”

  “Wager?”

  He grinned. “We all have wagers on Knight’s past. I said he was running away from a hideous shrew of a wife.” He paused. “Of course, you are far from hideous.”

  “He is not. Married. that is.”

  “So you know him well?”

  “I would not say so. Not really.” She gave a small smile. “You see, Lewis is my brother, but I have not seen him in a long time.”

  A laugh escaped him.

  Her brows lifted. “What is so funny?”

  “You are Knight’s sister?” He gestured up and do
wn her. “You are Knight’s sister? I have been drinking a lot tonight, woman, but you cannot expect me to believe that.”

  “It is true. My name is Julianna Knight. We grew up together in Northumberland before, well...” Her brows knitted. “If Knight has not explained all, then it is not my place to tell you.”

  “You call your brother Knight?”

  She sighed. “It’s a habit. Everyone else always called him by our last name.”

  Drake pictured Knight, his shoulders threatening to stretch every shirt he owned, his jaw like granite and his face littered with more scars than most of the army put together. Then he looked at Julianna. Yes, they shared the same coloring but how on earth did this creature come from the same womb as Knight?

  “Apparently secrecy runs in the family. I do not suppose you will tell me why you are searching him out.”

  “No.”

  He smirked to himself. “That is what I get for helping out a damsel in distress.”

  “I am...” Her footing slipped a little on the mud as the incline of the hill increased and she steadied herself. “I am no damsel in distress.”

  As she took her next step, her feet went from underneath her and she landed in the mud with a thud. A curse rang through the air, making Drake’s lips twitch.

  He folded his arms across his chest. “Well, that was not very ladylike.”

  She glowered at him. Even if it had been pitch dark with no moonlight, he could swear he would have felt that cutting look. He offered her a hand and she eased up onto her feet. Mud caked her already filthy clothing and had spattered across her face.

  Drake reached out to brush some of it away, but she darted back from him. “I can manage it.”

  “Like you can manage this path?” He chuckled. “And to think I am the one with a bad leg.”

  “You said it was a war injury?”

  He nodded.

  Julianna’s shoulders heaved, and she thrust out a hand. He eyed it with a raised brow.

  “You have yet to introduce yourself, Sir War hero. I think we should start again. I am Julianna Knight and I am looking for my brother.”

  A smile tugged his lips and he took her hand, shaking it firmly. “Nicholas Drake, war hero. My friends call me Drake. I can bring you to your brother.”