by Darcy Burke
He peered at her askance. There was a subtle lift to his lips. “Who wears gentleman’s garments, stashes money about her person, and can fire a pistol better than most men. Despite all of that, yes, I realize.” He held out his hand. “Are you still with me?”
She slid her fingers through his. “Yes.”
“Then let’s go.” He led her from the back yard area to a low stone wall. It took little effort to vault the impediment, but he groaned with the effort nonetheless.
She hated that he was hurting. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”
Once they were both on the other side of the wall, he took her hand again. “I can’t stay back there.”
“Dare I hope you’ll tell me why at some point?”
“Something tells me you’ll dare plenty.” The look he threw her was both dark and seductive. It heated the depths of her belly.
She looked away just as a shout came from behind them—from the inn. They both stopped and turned to look, but didn’t see anyone. There was more shouting, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying.
He let go of her hand. “We need to run.”
Without waiting for a response, he took off across the field. She worked to keep up with him, which was difficult in her dress. Why had she changed clothes? If she’d known they were going to be dashing about the countryside, she wouldn’t have. She let go of his hand so she could hike her skirt up and allow her legs more freedom with which to run. And she had to flat out sprint to keep up with him.
How was he moving so quickly? He’d been grievously injured the night before, and he hadn’t eaten anything today. By all accounts, he should be exhausted and feeble. Instead, he was running as if his life depended on it. Perhaps it did.
Audrey chanced a look back at the inn and saw a few figures in the rear yard. “I think they’re coming,” she huffed.
He didn’t turn his head, but increased his pace as he dodged to the left where there was a hedge. He ran along it, and she thought he was trying to find a way through so they could get on the other side in order to shield them from their pursuers.
At last there was a space where the foliage wasn’t as thick, but it wasn’t really large enough for an adult to fit through. He came to a stop and parted the branches. “Go on.”
She was breathing heavily, and pitched slightly forward due to the hitch in her side. Unlike him, she’d had a good-sized breakfast a couple of hours ago and she felt every bite of it like a rock in her stomach. “I can’t fit through there, how can you?”
“Go!” He spoke softly but urgently, and his eyes were the color of winter storm clouds.
She pushed her hands through to separate the branches and stuck one foot into the shrub. Then he shoved her and she fell on the other side of the hedge in an awkward heap. She clamped her jaw shut lest she voice the jolt of pain in the leg she’d landed on. He came through next, barely sidestepping her before taking off again.
She pushed herself up and regained her bearings. Dirt and mud clung to her dress, but she didn’t take the time to tidy herself. Mr. Locke was already running toward a building several hundred yards away. She picked up her skirts again, still breathing hard from the last sprint, and took off after him. Light raindrops fell against her bare head, and again she wished she’d retained her gentleman’s clothing, especially the hat.
It seemed to take a lifetime to finally reach the building, a dilapidated stable belonging to an equally dilapidated cottage situated beyond the stable. Mr. Locke was already inside grabbing implements to ... saddle a horse? She looked around, but didn’t spy any animal at all, let alone a horse.
She glanced outside and saw four men running across the field. There was no door to shut and lock, it was just an open doorway. She stepped further into the interior, toward Mr. Locke. “They’ll be here in another minute.”
He didn’t respond, nor did he look at her. He exited the building through a doorway on the other side. Audrey followed him quickly, her boots kicking the straw and dirt beneath her feet.
The doorway led to a small enclosure, where a single horse grazed. Mr. Locke was already in the process of bridling the animal. Once he had the bit in the horse’s mouth, he threw a blanket over the beast’s back and finally turned to Audrey. “You can choose to stay. All I ask is that you lead them away from me.”
“And how shall I do that when I don’t know where you’re—we’re—going?” She considered staying, she would be a fool not to, but the pull of the adventure was too strong. Or perhaps, the pull of her old life was simply nonexistent. “No, I’m going with you.”
The unmistakable sound of their pursuers entering the stable prevented further conversation. Mr. Locke put his hands together and boosted her onto the horse, then she helped him clamber up behind her. He groaned, and she imagined the movement must have hurt him greatly.
“Can you take the reins?” he asked against her ear.
It would be difficult with no saddle to help her keep her seat, but his support helped. “Hold on to me.”
His arms wrapped around her middle and his chest pressed against her back. She clicked her tongue and dug her knee into the horse’s flanks just as the men came into the yard.
“Stop, Jagger!” There was that name again.
The gate to the enclosure wasn’t open. Audrey hadn’t jumped a horse in a long time. “Hold on tight!”
Mr. Locke’s arms squeezed her midsection as she vaulted over the fence. She felt him slide away from her as they arced over, but then he slammed against her as they hit the ground. She pressed her knee into the horse again and urged her faster. Shouts and curses sounded from behind them, but faded quickly. Exhilaration and joy swept through her as she left their pursuers behind.
Several minutes later, she allowed the horse to slow to a less frantic gallop.
“What are you doing?” Mr. Locke asked. His breath tickled her neck. “They’ll go back to the inn and get their horses and continue their pursuit. We need to put as much distance between us and them as possible.”
“We can’t run the horse that fast indefinitely, best to conserve her energy. Isn’t that right, sweet girl?” Audrey patted the horse’s neck.
Mr. Locke grunted in response.
“How’s your arm?” she asked, concerned that he’d reinjured himself with all of that exertion.
“Awful. But it’s better than the alternative. Where are you going?”
“I don’t know.” She glanced up at the gray sky, trying to discern the position of the sun and therefore the direction they were headed. The light rain had stopped, but it looked like a stronger downpour might be coming. “North, maybe? It’s going to rain again soon. We should find shelter.”
“We aren’t stopping. Change direction.”
She turned the horse west. She was quiet a few minutes, straining to hear if anyone was pursuing them. She knew Mr. Locke had turned his head several times trying to ascertain the same. “Is there anyone coming?” she finally asked.
“Not yet.”
She had no idea where they were going, besides vaguely west, maybe southwest actually. There was no sign of a road, but she figured he preferred to stay away from them anyway. “Are you going to tell me why you’re running from Bow Street?”
“It’s a long story. A misunderstanding.”
“That’s not terribly reassuring.” Had she fled London with a criminal? It was certainly beginning to seem like it. “You can trust me—haven’t I proven that?”
“I don’t trust anyone.”
It was a simple statement, and one that could be disregarded as the declaration of a man who was weary with fatigue and the effects of his wounds. However, his tone reflected a conviction she felt into her bones. “That sounds very lonely.”
“It is.” His grip around her waist loosened and he sat back from her, though it would’ve been impossible for them to not be touching in some way. His hips were still snug against her backside, and his chest was close enough to her back that sh
e felt his heat.
She didn’t want him to feel lonely. “Well, you aren’t alone anymore, and I’ll tell you again that you can trust me. I hope you will. However are we going to get on if we can’t trust each other?”
“Get on? Just what do you think we’re doing?”
She had no idea, she just knew it was better than what she had been doing. “You have no plan whatsoever, do you? Luckily for you, I do.”
“You do?” He couldn’t have sounded more incredulous, which suffused Audrey with a mixture of irritation and pride.
“I do. We’re about two days from Wootton Bassett.”
“What’s a Wootton Bassett, some sort of dog?”
She smiled in spite of the situation—which she had no means of classifying. “No, a town. I know people who live there and we can at least get decent clothing and rest for a while to get you healed. I would prefer to stop sooner, but I doubt you’ll agree to that.”
“You’re a very smart young woman. The distance of Wootton Bassett from London sounds perfect.” He fell silent a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was low and vibrated through her like a song. “Why are you helping me?”
As he asked, he sounded equally as incredulous as he had a few minutes ago, but there was something more. There was a disbelieving quality that was perhaps at the root of his distrust. “Because you helped me. You saved me and my grandfather from those men. And you let me come with you.” She felt him shaking his head behind her.
“Probably a foolish decision.”
“Why?”
“You really have to ask?” Scorn laced his tone. “Bow Street is already after me, and now I’ve kidnapped a young lady.”
“You didn’t kidnap me.”
“I doubt they’ll see it that way.”
“They will see it that way. I had the inn post a note to my grandfather telling him I was safe.” She felt him tense behind her and rushed to say, “I didn’t tell him where we were going or who I was with. I’ve made that mistake before.”
“What?” Was there a bead of respect in his question?
Her lips curved into the softest of smiles. “I ran away with the blacksmith’s son two years ago.”
“Good Christ, you didn’t.”
“I did.” She sighed, exhaling the regret she always felt when she thought of the ill-fated venture. “Unfortunately, I left a note and it didn’t take my parents too long to find us at an inn.”
“Were you eloping?”
“No, I wasn’t in love with him, nor was he in love with me. We were friends who wanted different lives. I didn’t want to be married off to some rich lord I didn’t like, and he didn’t want to become a blacksmith.”
“So you simply ran away.” Again his breath tickled her neck, causing a shiver to cascade down her spine. She tried to keep herself stiff, lest he become aware of her reaction to his proximity.
“We had a plan—we were going to America. My mistake was in telling my parents that in the note. They were able to track us to an inn on the way to the coast where we’d planned to book passage on a ship.” Memories of that awkward evening crowded into her mind, but she pushed them away.
“Who financed this excursion—you or the blacksmith’s son?” He asked the question in a way that inferred he already knew the answer. Damn him for asking, for reminding her of her poor judgment.
The familiar heat that accompanied recollections of her failed adventure crept up her neck. She was glad he couldn’t see her face. “I did.”
“And what happened to the blacksmith’s son?”
Her jaw clenched, but she forced the words out. “My parents let him go off to America—they paid his passage.”
He pulled his hands back from her waist so that he only barely gripped her sides. “How convenient for him.” He splayed his palms against her ribcage. Though the shift in his touch was subtle, she felt suddenly and wholly caressed. Then his mouth was close against her ear, closer than it had ever been. “If I ever find my way to America, he’d best watch his back.”
There was no quashing the appreciative tremor his words provoked within her. She only hoped he didn’t feel it.
Chapter Four
Though they were tired and hungry, Ethan had forced her to ride to the outskirts of Reading. They’d found a small inn where they’d pretended to be a young couple by the name of Miller. Such a ruse had required them to rent just one room, which also happened to be all the tiny facility had to offer.
Ethan liked the place because it was on a quiet lane with an easy escape route. Their bedroom faced the road and he left the window open so he could hear anyone approach.
Dinner had been a simple affair of beef and potatoes, but both he and Audrey had satisfied their hunger. Then they’d retreated to their chamber, a small square room with a bed, a fireplace, a spindly table with implements for washing, and one chair.
Audrey strode directly to the pitcher on the table and poured water into the washbasin beside it. “Time to tend your wound. Sit.” Her tone was so adorably commanding that he allowed himself to be managed.
The chair was situated near the fire, which had been stoked by the innkeeper while they’d eaten. His arm was sore, but he’d become accustomed to the dull ache, and it was better than the sharp pains he’d endured last night as he’d fought to keep them safe.
She came to his side and helped him out of his coat. He winced as the garment moved over his injuries. She’d tied his cravat before they’d gone into the inn earlier, and now he unthreaded the linen and pulled it from his neck. She took the cloth from him and set it over a hook on the wall where she’d hung his coat.
Now his shirt would have to come off. He looked up at her standing beside his chair. Her gaze was focused on the hearth behind him, giving proof to the discomfort she felt. But what was causing her discomfort? It could be any number of things, and he had no indication she shared the undeniable attraction he felt in her presence. What a bloody nuisance that was too. This entire escapade would be a damn sight easier if he didn’t like her or find her alluring. He wished he could put her at ease, but the fact was he needed her help. “You’ll have to assist me with my shirt again.”
She nodded imperceptibly. “Put your left arm up.” He did as she bade and she eased the garment up his arm and over his head so that only his right arm was still encased. Then she slid it from him without causing him even the slightest discomfort.
“Well done.” He looked up to find her watching him.
Her cheeks pinked. Then she snapped her gaze to his arm as she worked to undo the bandage she’d affixed that morning. Presumably. He had absolutely no recollection of anything she’d done.
She pressed lightly at his flesh, causing him to bite his cheek and to question why he hadn’t asked the innkeeper for a bottle of brandy. “I think the poultice the innkeeper’s wife used last night is working. And she was kind enough to give me a small jar.” She pulled the medicinal from her skirt pocket.
He looked over at the wound—or wounds; he actually had two, he recalled—seeing them for the first time. His eyes widened in surprise. “I slept through someone sewing my flesh together?”
“Not exactly.” She went to the basin where she dipped the edge of a towel into the water. When she returned, she cleaned around the stitches of the knife wound. The gunshot’s graze looked like it had barely pierced his skin, for a long, red welt was all that remained.
She opened the jar and smoothed some of the liniment over his injuries. “You swore even worse than you do when you’re conscious. You condemned both me and the innkeeper’s very pleasant wife to a fate worse than hell. I shan’t repeat the specifics.”
This made him feel a bit better, or maybe it was the slight humor playing about her lips. “How long do the sutures need to remain in? And who will take them out?” He didn’t fancy trying to cut them out himself.
She retied the bandage around his arm, her slender fingers working deftly. “She said maybe as long as a fortnight, but t
hat I would be able to tell, and she told me how to remove them.”
“I see. And how did this estimable woman come about her medical knowledge?”
She peered at him, her aqua eyes luminous in the firelight. “You don’t trust anyone at all, do you?”
“No. But you admit it’s odd to find a woman with the ability to stave off putridity from setting in. That knife wound cut fairly deep, did it not?”
She grimaced as she tied off the bandage. “It did. We were very fortunate that she was able to help you. Don’t question a gift from Fate.”
He wouldn’t, particularly in his current predicament. “I should like more of them.”
“Wouldn’t we all?” she murmured. She moved away from his chair and stood before the fire. “There’s only one bed.”
He knew this would be a problem, but didn’t care to sleep in the chair or on the floor. His entire body was aching and sore from the events of last night and from spending all day riding a horse. He hadn’t ridden that much since his father had taken him to his country estate, and that had been fifteen years ago.
“It’s big enough for both of us,” he said. “I promise to keep my hands to myself. It’s not as if I can move very well.”
She glanced at him, her gaze briefly landing on his bare chest. She wrung her hands, then smoothed them down the folds of her skirt. Apprehension and anxiety radiated from her and filled the tiny room.
“I’ll sleep on the floor.” She didn’t look at him. “You should take the bed.”
“Horse—” He caught himself before swearing again. He really needed to stop doing that around her. “Nonsense. There’s a blanket at the edge of the bed. Roll it up and put it between us as a barrier. Will that suffice?”
She snuck a quick glance in his direction. “I suppose.” She still sounded doubtful.
What he was about to ask wasn’t going to help matters, but it had to be done. “I, ah, I’ll need your help removing my boots.”
Her head snapped up. “Oh.” She came toward him and he prayed she wouldn’t kneel at his feet. He recognized he was attracted to her, but he hadn’t taken things further in his mind. He hadn’t allowed himself to feel outright desire. But then, dear God, she kneeled, and for the first time, his body tightened with lust in her presence. He forced himself to look away and steeled his nerves for her touch.
