by Tanya Wilde
To her chagrin, her inward reflections made for a silent travel companion, which she might have preferred, had Blackcress not been shooting her heated glances throughout the day.
What a confounding man.
At first glance, he had appeared a hardened rake, one that gave no thought to anyone but himself. On second glance, he seemed to expect the world to bow down before him. But on third glance, something of the man behind the mask began to rise to the surface and he appeared almost redeemable.
Did he ever allow anyone close enough for a third glance?
Anastacia did not imagine so. But she also could not imagine how redeemable he might be. Could he be fully reformed, perhaps?
Oh botheration! Surely she was not considering his proposal again? How miserable she must be to be swayed by heated glances. In any case, by some miraculous stroke of happenstance, he had decided her worth saving.
With a small sigh, Anastacia wondered how long they had been on the road. Approximately eight hours would be her guess. She spared a sidelong glance at Blackcress, her brows furrowing when the carriage started to slow before it came to a complete halt.
He appeared just as surprised as she and rapped on the door. “What’s going on, James?” he called out.
“Two riders on the road, your grace.” The muffled reply came from the driver.
Then a louder shout from outside, “Blackcress!” The sickening familiar voice of her uncle called, “I will give you one chance to deliver my niece without incident.”
The blood in Anastacia’s veins turned to ice.
Blackcress, however, only snorted and started to rise. She rose, too, wedging herself between him and the door. It would be a blazing hot day in Scotland before she allowed him to die because of her. The duke was her uncle, which made him her problem.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going,” he snapped and snatched her hand, yanking her back down.
Anastacia frowned up at him, his eyes flashing with indignation. “My uncle has found us,” she said reasonably. “It’s over. There is no need for you to die on my behalf.”
His eyes hardened, stubborn and unyielding, as he considered her. She knew she must look a fright, with most of her hair escaping from their pins and her face most assuredly pale and still bruised, but she was nonetheless determined not to let him get hurt.
At least that much was in her power.
She tried to shrug out of his grip and rise again, but he held her wrist shackled against him.
“Your self-sacrifice is touching, love, but sit your derriere down and let me think.”
“I do not—”
“You have three minutes to decide, Blackcress,” her uncle bellowed.
Blackcress shot her a pointed look.
Even though she was resigned to her fate, a sharp terror cut through her. Anastacia started to struggle in earnest. “Let me go.”
“No. Listen to me, Anastacia, we are going to exit the carriage, and when I say run, you bloody run into the woods and hide. Do not come out for anything.”
When she said nothing, only blinked up at him, he snapped. “Do you understand?”
She nodded even though uncertainty tormented her. This was her uncle, a ruthless and deceitful man. There was no telling what he would do, or how he would hurt them.
Blackcress’s features suddenly softened, and he cupped her face in his hands. “Sheffield does not have us yet, and as long as you elude his clutches, you fight. You do not, under any circumstances, give up. Can you do that for me?”
Anastacia nodded, finding renewed strength in his words. Had she not already endured unimaginable suffering? He was right, why give up now? She would fight, by Jove! She would fight until her last breath!
Following Blackcress’s lead, they exited the carriage slowly; her wrist still gripped in his hand.
“Don’t stop running until you are well away from here,” he whispered in a low, urgent voice.
“What about you?”
“Do not concern yourself with me; just run.”
But Anastacia could not help but be troubled by this turn of events. She did not particularly think Blackcress would be a good husband, being such an arrogant, commanding beast and all, but she did not wish him dead either. Besides, she would not get very far in her escape without him. For better or worse, she needed him.
Her eyes wandered past him until they settled on her uncle, who stood in the dirt road along with Bloomington, two pistols trained at Blackcress.
Her heart plummeted in her chest. Then started up again, thudding at an alarming pace.
Anastacia wanted to disobey the duke’s orders and rush forward and beg her uncle to let Blackcress go. Two things stopped her: uncertainty whether her uncle would listen to reason and the duke’s grip on her wrist, which tightened, refusing to release her, as if he’d guessed at her intentions. He took an easy step to the side, placing his body as a protective shield before her.
“So eager to dash off to your death,” he muttered under his breath so only she could hear.
Anastacia rather thought she could say the same of him, but only released a small sigh and allowed him to direct her, fear causing her hands to dampen. She had been hurled from one tyrant to another, the only difference being Blackcress was a lot less clever and a lot less cruel than her diabolical uncle. If he did not hand her over to her uncle, they would both die.
“If you want her, you crab-face bastard,” Blackcress’s voice whipped through the air, “you will have to come and get her.”
Her uncle snarled, his face contorting into a monstrous fashion before those devilish eyes fixed upon her. “You dare defy me?” he roared.
“Run,” Blackcress hissed, and Anastacia’s feet obeyed. She twisted and ran straight into the woods, her uncle’s furious bellow echoing after her. She would trust Blackcress. He had come back for her. He had taken her away from her torturous uncle, and he’d proven the best chance at survival so far. And also . . . his commanding voice was much less terrifying to her.
So she lifted her skirts, ran, and ran when all her body wanted to do was collapse. The jostling of her feet hitting the earth had caused the dull ache in her ribs to heighten again. But the pain was nothing compared to her uncle’s retribution if he caught her now. She would rather die than face that, which at this moment, appeared to be a distinct possibility.
The unmistakable sound of a pistol firing reverberated through the woods, and birds scattered, causing her to stumble. A cry lodged in her throat, but she dared not stop. She pushed all thoughts of Blackcress aside and ran at full pace until her lungs could no longer take the strain and every breath turned to flames in her throat.
Only then did she fall to the ground with a hard thud.
Her eyes burned.
Anastacia swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked away the tears that threatened to shatter her composure. Two pistols had been trained on Blackcress. There was no way he could escape two pistols unscathed. This also meant that now she alone must administer her escape.
An image of him, lying in the dirt road, dead because of her, sprang to mind, and she lost the battle with her tears. They flowed freely over her cheeks, each drop perforating her heart until it wanted to burst open from anguish.
Somewhere to her right, a twig snapped, and her eyes darted wildly around. Oh! Were they almost upon her? Clamping her hand over her mouth, she scrambled up against a big tree and made herself as small as possible. It occurred to her then she might have fared better hiding in a tree, above her enemy. Anastacia made a mental note to do so if she ever found herself in the same predicament again.
Motionless, she strained her ears to listen for any sign that she was about to be caught. But the woods had gone eerily silent. No footfalls, snapping twigs, or scattered birds, reached her ears. The only sound was the rustling of leaves from the slight breeze.
She shivered.
Hours passed, or maybe it was minutes. The shivers that set about as slight tre
mors began to overtake her entire body as she listened for any sound indicating that her uncle had set pursuit or that, perhaps, the duke had survived. A part of her held out hope for that. It seemed so wrong that he managed to save her, only to die in the attempt.
What would she do now? She could not return to England, unmarried. Her uncle would only hand her over to Bloomington. Yet not even in Scotland would she be safe enough to find a husband now—her uncle had been on their trail from the start. Where did that leave her? The colonies may be the only place large enough and far enough that her uncle might not attempt to search.
Another hour, or minutes, elapsed, and Anastacia lost herself in her grief, her vision a blur when a hand suddenly clamped over her mouth, stifling the scream that lodged in her throat. She struggled in the strong arms that wrapped around her, caging her against a solid chest before a voice hissed in her ear, “It’s Sebastian.”
Anastacia stilled.
Blackcress?
Overwhelmed by a remarkable sense of relief, she sagged against him. Then the sobs started.
Curse these mortifying emotions!
“You are safe now, love,” he comforted, pulling back to search her for any sign of pain.
“What happened? I heard a shot and believed you hurt. I assumed . . .” she could not finish, not if she wanted to gather her composure.
Blackcress lived.
She was not alone anymore.
That was all that mattered. Why? She really couldn’t say. But he made her feel protected. And that is all she had ever wanted to feel since her father’s passing.
Perhaps protection might be enough, then.
“It’s all right, love,” he soothed.
“But how?”
“Well, Bloomington has shockingly poor aim, to start,” he said with a grin.
“Do not jest about such things,” she scolded. “You put your life in terrible danger.”
“My heart warms with the knowledge that you would have missed me, Anastacia.”
For a mere second, she nearly admitted that part of her had—but instead pushed out of his embrace. “Do not be absurd. It would have been such an inconvenience for you to die. Now, tell me. How did you survive?”
“After you ran, your uncle took off after you. I intercepted, shoving him to the ground when Bloomington took a shot. He missed, needless to say. I managed to retrieve the gun from your uncle, and while Bloomington was reloading, the driver pulled out his pistol. So, the tables turned. They ran off shortly after we held them at gunpoint. I left the driver to follow them, and I came to find you.”
“Well, I’m rather grateful for that. I had all but resound myself to travel to the colonies when you came and scared the dickens out of me.”
His eyes flared with interest. “And where would you have gone from there?”
“Anywhere, I suppose,” she said with a shrug.
“Even if you could last a day in the heat, love, you would also have to survive savage pirates and untamed apaches scouring the roads for girls like you.”
“How grossly you exaggerate. What does a pampered duke know about apaches, in any case?” Anastacia replied on a huff. A pampered untamed duke, she reflected. He probably knew as much she—a once-upon-a-time pampered lady.
“Only what he reads,” Blackcress murmured with a teasing glint before his expression sobered and his amusement was replaced by sudden anger. “Pampered or not, your chances to survive are far better with me.”
“My uncle . . .”
“Is a ruthless man. But you are not alone anymore, Anastacia. Do you know why he is so intent on securing you?”
Oh, she knew. Greed was the horse that drove her uncle. Made all the more dangerous by his attachment to power. However, she did not wish to discuss her uncle’s intentions. Not yet. And it certainly was not a conversation to be had in the cold shadows of the woods.
“Perhaps he feels bested by a fumbling girl,” she said instead and offered him an impish smile, “and a marauding duke.”
And for a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to believe that, as well.
Chapter 11
Sebastian wanted to throttle Sheffield. And he wanted to kiss Anastacia. But he could do none of those things. At least not now. Her little quip did nothing to calm the fury churning in his gut. But it was the hope in her eyes whenever she glanced at him that slayed him. Absolutely slayed him.
He was no stranger to responsibility either. As a duke, he had it in spades. Running the vast amount of his estates, balancing account books, governing tenants, presiding over the family coffers, and all that took up much of his time. But none of the teachings instilled in him from childhood or the managing of his current duties had prepared him for her.
Sebastian was now responsible for Lady Anastacia Danvers. Her safety, well-being, happiness, and Lord only knew what else. A sharp ache twisted through his chest. Traipsing through the dense woods with no clear direction seemed too much like failing at his role of protector for his comfort.
The devil must be clapping his hands with glee.
They had decided to set forth further into the woods in search of shelter or until they reached a farm. Anastacia probably had her heart set on the latter, wishing for a hearty meal and a clean bed. Sebastian, on the other hand, had his hopes set on the former. To better woo her, he told himself.
He spared her a sidelong glance when a timber cottage suddenly came into view just as they reached a clearing, searching her expression. Pure delight crossed her features, and he smiled. The fact that she could still manage a bright look in these circumstances attested to her strength. Anastacia was brave. She had defied her uncle, escaped, and almost managed to entrap that oaf Averly, despite the fear that must have overwhelmed her. But then, she was a remarkable being, a woman he wanted to call his.
Damn strange, that.
“How did you know there would be a cottage in the woods?” she asked, pulling him from his thoughts.
“There is always a cabin in the woodlands,” he remarked, inspecting the location for any sign of threats.
“Perhaps, but you could not have known for certain.”
“No, but then I am excellent at these sort of things.”
“Ferreting out cottages in woods?” Her voice held a healthy dose of skepticism.
“Among other things.”
“Such as ravishing unsuspecting women in the cottages you find?”
Now there’s a smashing notion.
“Certainly not unsuspecting,” he said, waggling his eyesbrows at her.
She chuckled, a soft sensuous sound, easing up his spine. Sebastian stared, transfixed. He felt her laughter like a punch in the gut.
“But in any case,” she murmured, her eyes glimmering. “You cannot ravish me. That’s for my future husband to do.”
If her laughter had some magical effect on him, her words had the opposite.
Sebastian scowled after her when she marched past him, her steps hasty to reach the cottage. So the chit still had it in her mind to wed someone else, did she? Well, he’d just have to dissuade her of that notion. For good. With his decision made to marry her himself, the beast within him roared at the idea of her uncle or a bloody highlander or some libertine colonist taking her away from him.
He advanced after her, catching up just as she reached their shelter for the night. She knocked on the door the same time he reached out and threw it open. Ignoring her gasp, and the likely glare she shot at his back, he strode in.
She followed on his heels.
“While I am, to a degree, sorry you have been dragged into my mess, you make it vexingly difficult to act polite.”
He cast a grin over his shoulder. “No need to apologize, love. I have not had this much excitement since my youth.”
“Excitement?” She snorted.
He waved his hand in the air. “Rescuing a beautiful woman, absconding with her, guns blazing, dangerous pursuit . . . marriage.” He said the last softly but firmly so that
there would be no mistaking his meaning.
Large blue eyes locked with his, and Sebastian caught the fear that flashed through them before it was gone. Fear of him or fear of marriage to him? Neither sat well with him.
“And what will happen once the excitement wears off and you find yourself shackled? Marriage is not a thrill you can simply undo. You will resent the union. Not to say you will also gain a family tie with my ruthless uncle.”
“Anastacia, you will not marry a highlander or some free-minded colonist. You will marry me.”
Sebastian found himself holding his breath. He would never force her to wed him. He wasn’t that much of a scoundrel. And also, he wanted her to choose him over a bloody highlander. She had to come to him willingly, or he’d be no better than Sheffield.
“You cannot command me to marry you! I can choose to take my chances with the apaches in their untamed territories.”
Dammit. He had commanded her, again. But he was so used to speaking in commands. Dukes commanded. It’s simply what they did.
“Forget the colonies. I offer you my protection knowing I will need to deal with your evil miscreant uncle.”
She shot him an annoyed frown. “And what, precisely, do you want in return for this offer of protection?”
His lips quirked at her tart reply. “Your company will be well worth the price I pay. I even wager our marriage will be one big delightful adventure, if nothing else.” Though Sebastian planned for their marriage to be much, much more, best not to enlighten her just yet, lest he wanted her to run away.
“Why have you never wished to marry before?”
His eyes bored into hers, and he watched every nuance, every small detail of her expression. “No woman has ever tempted me before now.”
“So I am a temptation?”
“We men are not known for our emotional wits.”
“That is true,” she agreed.
She glanced away, looking disappointed. But before he could address that, he noticed her eyes darting around and taking stock of their furnishings, which weren’t much. There was a cot to the side (to call it a bed would be the worst form of understatement—it would not even hold him, much less two persons) and one cushioned chair facing the hearth, which looked about as comfortable as a bed filled with nails. A small table finished off the interior, one single candle its only decoration.
