Feisty Heroines Romance Collection of Shorts

by D. F. Jones

  Jeb came back inside, and even though he was dripping wet from the storm, Ann went to him, letting him wrap his arms around her, certain she’d never find herself in troubled water again.

  Ann Keaton Miller stood on the shore of Cockspur Island, the toes of her boots protruding into the sea. This was the place where she’d washed ashore all those months ago, where Jeb had found a broken, frightened woman and mended her through patience, love, and the understanding that a tough façade does not mean an interior that isn’t worth saving.

  The approaching supply boat was overloaded with goods, which was a relief because they’d soon have another mouth to feed. As it drew closer, she realized Pastor Thomas had come along with Ben Simpson and Charlie Pitts. She smiled and waved. They’d saved him from the ocean, and he’d repaid them by going along with the elaborate story Jeb had invented to explain to Ben and Charlie when they’d arrived with supplies a few days after the storm of how he and Ann had come to be man and wife.

  Jeb’s story was almost as fanciful as Ann’s father’s had been. He’d described how they’d met years ago, but only through a few dramatic twists of fate had they been reunited when the storm had washed Ann and Pastor Thomas ashore. It had been a sign to both of them that they were meant to wed, and Pastor Thomas had performed the ceremony. The entire story was unbelievable, but then, so was the true story, and Jeb’s colleagues hadn’t questioned him. He’d never given them any reason to.

  “Good afternoon!” Jeb called to the men, coming from behind her. They waved back, and Ben brought the boat in close, Jeb going out into the surf to help secure it. After some pleasantries, the men began to unload the boat, but Ann wouldn’t be assisting this time; her bulging belly would prevent any strenuous activity.

  Pastor Thomas smiled as he embraced her, and Ann felt his thankfulness in his hug. She was grateful for him, too. If it hadn’t been for the pastor, she wouldn’t have survived the trip across the Atlantic.

  “Go on inside and rest,” Ann said, releasing him. He nodded and headed toward the house as Ben and Charlie took a load of foodstuffs to the shed.

  Jeb’s arms were full as well, but as his wife came over, he set down the crate he had been carrying and smiled at her. “Are you well, Ann?”

  “Yes, I am well,” she said, wrapping her arms around him. “I am better than well. I am wonderful.”

  Jeb leaned down and kissed her, the feel of his warm lips stealing her breath away. He looked her in the eyes, his sapphire orbs gleaming. “I love you, Ann.”

  “I love you, too, Jeb.” She leaned her head on his chest, certain that as long as they were together, she’d never be lost in the darkness again. Jeb would always be there to keep the light.

  About I. D. Johnson

  ID Johnson creates characters you'll want to have as your best friends with antagonists you'll love to hate. Her love for all things princess-y compelled her to write her first medieval romance at fifteen, and she hasn't stopped writing since. Now, her plots are a little more complex, her topics a little more mature, and her romances often more intense, but she's never lost the love she felt the first moment she breathed life into a character over twenty years ago. If you love feisty paranormal heroines, damsels who cause distress, or historical ladies who know how to light up a room, then pull up a seat, get out your eReader, and meet ID Johnson's friends. Soon enough, they'll be your friends, too.

  Check out her author website at www.authoridjohnson.com.

  Also by I. D. Johnson

  Prelude: Ghosts of Southampton Book 0

  Titanic: Ghosts of Southampton Book 1

  Residuum: Ghosts of Southampton Book 2

  * * *

  Cordia’s Will: Forever Love Book 1

  Cordia’s Hope: Forever Love Book 2:

  * * *

  Beneath the Inconstant Moon

  The First Mrs. Edwards

  The Doll Maker’s Daughter at Christmas

  Princess of Silence: When Kings Collide Book 1

  Melody’s Christmas

  Rescuing Lord Faulkner by Tess St. John

  Regency Redemption Series Short

  Chapter 1

  Worthing, England ~ Summer 1821

  The gloomy dusk covered Worthing in a grey haze. People hustled here and there on the downtown street, most certainly hoping to reach their destinations before the sky opened up and drenched the city. Scarlet Cason sat against an abandoned storefront surrounded by her paintings. Oh, how she needed to sell one, or two, or three.

  As if the gods heard her, a man dressed in upper-class finery stopped and picked up a seascape. She created art from her memories of Murdock Castle and the Seaford coast.

  Each time she sold one, a piece of her heart went with it.

  The gentleman flipped it over and checked the price. He pulled a few pounds from his pocket and handed them to her.

  “Thank you.” She stuffed the notes into her skirts, so grateful she was closer to getting the money for her trip to Paris.

  As the man walked away, she stacked the paintings in her wagon, grasped the handle, and started down the street. She turned at the nearest corner and entered an alley, hurrying southward. Halfway through, she realized it was deserted. Hadn’t she learned her lesson about taking abandoned thoroughfares?

  She spun around to return to the busy street. Two men in tattered, dirty clothing blocked her way. She could certainly outrun them, but not with the cart.

  Hell and blast.

  “We jus want yer blunt,” one man said as they stalked her. “We seen the dandy pay ye.”

  A streak of terror spiked through her, the same as it had the other times she’d been attacked. She tamped down her fear and took a calming breath while sizing up her assailants. The man slurred his words, and both men’s eyes appeared glassy. They were half-sprung.

  They charged toward her.

  No time to grab her knives, she kept her back to the brick building. She lashed out with her hands and fingers, gouging the men’s faces as she kicked their shins. The vagrants grunted curse words at her every jab. She kept struggling, in hopes the drunken men would tire of her and go on to their next victim.

  They’d have to kill her to get her money.

  The taller man yanked a knife out from his coat.

  “If you so much as nick her, I will kill you both.”

  She jerked her head toward the deep voice and couldn’t believe her eyes.

  Tomas.

  Lord Tomas Faulkner, Earl of Cochran, marched from the corner with a gun aimed at the men.

  Already breathing hard, Scarlet’s breaths became even more erratic, and her throat tightened. He’d lived through the war.

  Thank you, God.

  But what was he doing here?

  Her attackers scrutinized him, undoubtedly assessing if they deemed him a worthy opponent. Little did they know, Tomas trained in military school and served as an intelligence officer in the Royal Army. He could more than likely kill them with his bare hands.

  “Drop the knife,” he said in a low, lethal growl.

  The men glanced at each other. The one holding the blade threw it on the ground, and they clumsily bumped into each other as they staggered past her in a hurry to get away.

  Tomas placed his gun in the holster at his waist and stepped toward her. “Are you all right?”

  She hardly knew.

  His brown hair and brown eyes would be unremarkable on a lesser man. On Tomas Faulkner, they were captivating. His average height and weight disguised a powerful build that spoke to his vitality and strength. He was easily the most intelligent person she’d ever met. Years ago she accused him of being able to remember things with eerie exactness, to which he responded, Once I see something, I can recall it for accuracy.

  “Your fighting skills are still well-honed, Scarlet. You were doing fine until the cad pulled out a knife.”

  Did she detect pride in his voice?

  He was the one who’d taught her how to defend herself. Leave it t
o Tomas to comment on her fighting skills. His remark almost distracted her from the fact that he stood right in front of her. “It cannot be a coincidence you just happen to be in Worthing, on this street, today.”

  “That’d be a coincidence, would it not?” He righted her wagon, then picked up each canvas with extreme care and studied them before returning them to the cart. “Your exceptional talent has only improved.”

  His praise lit her insides, yet the pressing matter of him finding her still weighed on her. “Why are you here?”

  He straightened. “Your mother has lung fever and asks for you repeatedly. I am here to inform you of her condition and offer you a ride so you may visit her.”

  A prick of pain nipped her insides. Going back might expose her mother’s secret. Plus, she needed to stay and sell more paintings. Yesterday, she received an invitation to study with the artist Madame Le Brun. She had to be in Paris in a fortnight and desperately needed to raise money to fund her travel. “I’m sorry to hear of my mother’s health, but I cannot accept your offer.”

  “I do not profess to understand what happened for you to leave Seaford. Nevertheless, you are not cruel, Scarlet.” His solemn eyes never left hers. “You would not deny your mother her last wish.”

  She looked away. His words would’ve made her feel no bigger than an ant, except the reason she left ten years ago was to protect her mother. “There are things you do not know.”

  “For certain,” he admitted. “But surely these things can be put aside long enough for you to hold your mother’s hand in her final hours.”

  With Mum on her deathbed, Scarlet had one last chance to ask her about the lie she’d told Scarlet her entire life. She would go, see Mum one last time, then promptly return to Worthing.

  She bobbed her head.

  “I am sure you need to pack a few belongings for the trip.” He grabbed the handle of her wagon and started southward.

  Blast. She abhorred bringing him to the hovel where she lived. Of course, since he’d located her, he’d probably already been there. As they walked, she asked, “How did you find me?”

  “I used to take private commissions to locate people.”

  “Is that why you are dressed like you are?” Curiously outfitted in brown trousers, cream shirt, and dark brown coat, he resembled a dock worker.

  “It is easier to gather information if people believe I am a commoner.”

  “Why such a dangerous undertaking? You do not need to work.”

  He shrugged. “It was challenging. Since my original plans following the war were thwarted, what else would I have done with my time?”

  She held silent in an attempt to avoid his comment about his plans following the war. She feared they’d included her.

  Being close to Scarlet again, the tear in Faulkner’s heart ripped further. She’d inflicted the wound over ten years ago, and he’d never been able to repair it.

  Her eyes were still the bluest he’d ever seen. A bonnet covered most of her glorious red hair, and a cape concealed her shapely figure. A figure he remembered in intimate detail.

  His body tensed.

  He could not let this woman affect him so.

  After meeting the man his solicitor hired, across the street from where Scarlet sold her paintings, Faulkner had hurried to catch up to her. When he turned the corner, he found her fighting two men like a hellcat. She didn’t appear to need his help. Yet when the taller man brandished a knife, Faulkner intervened, unwilling to chance her getting hurt.

  She’d been right about the commissions he accepted being dangerous. Most people who chose to disappear did not wish to be found. His last case involved Valerian Hest, a man who’d murdered three other men. Faulkner captured the wretch, but Hest escaped before hanging for his crimes.

  They stopped in front of the rundown building where he’d learned she rented a room.

  “I will only be a moment.” She hustled inside.

  Faulkner motioned to Bricker, who waited a block down with Faulkner’s carriage. Anxious to return home, he pondered how much his life had changed in the last six months. Ever since the fateful day when more responsibility than he ever thought imaginable was hefted upon him.

  Chapter 2

  Scarlet unlocked her door and dragged the wagon inside. The small room she rented barely had enough space for a tiny bed, wardrobe, and chair. She quickly packed her valise and satchel. Before she walked out, she stopped and looked at the unfinished canvas on the wall. She could never portray the details right. She’d been working on it for ten years. It was the one piece of her heart she refused to surrender.

  She left her flat to find it’d started raining. Tomas waited beside a sleek, black carriage. A driver sat up top, his hat pulled low and cape closed high and tight on his neck. Tomas gripped her bags, threw them on the backward seat, and held her hand as she moved inside. He entered and sat beside her.

  Scarlet took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of expensive leather and Tomas’s subtle, sandalwood cologne. Her first instinct was to scoot closer to him. She ignored it. Her time with him, their love affair, was over.

  The drive to Seaford would take a few hours. As she removed her bonnet, she considered topics they might discuss, but everything she thought to ask him seemed too personal. She decided to talk about why he’d found her. “What’s the doctor done for Mum?”

  He adjusted his position on the seat so he faced her. “Bloodletting. After twice, I demanded he discontinue.”

  “Has anyone prepared Mum’s healing remedies?”

  “No. Your mother usually treats the ill. No one else knows how to concoct her cures.”

  “She taught me many. I will make something for her fever.”

  “The servants are using cold compresses.”

  They spoke about different treatments. He explained some things he witnessed the doctors on the battlegrounds try on soldiers. She told him of herbs and concoctions she’d used.

  “Does anyone know you came to Worthing to find me?” she inquired.

  His eyes narrowed. “Is that your way of asking if I am married?”

  She shrugged. “It was more a question about your father, mother, and uncle.”

  He grimaced. “My parents died in an accident earlier this year.”

  Her heart squeezed at his stricken expression. “Oh, Tomas, I am sorry. Were your sisters with them?”

  “No. It has been a difficult time, but they are adjusting. I told them and my uncle of my plans to find you and ask you to visit.” A moment later, he added, “And I never wed.”

  An unexpected peace spread through her.

  He continued, “My cousin and her husband were vacationing with my parents. Their boat capsized. No survivors.”

  “How awful.”

  “Yes. My cousin’s daughter was with my sisters when it happened. I rushed to be with them when I got the news. Your mother has helped in easing their way.”

  She listened, her heart breaking for all of them.

  “I rarely spent time at Murdock Castle before. I loved my sisters, yet did not see them regularly. My cousin’s daughter is only four. I frequently visited her family in London, so she accepted me right away, needing whatever comfort she could find.” He inhaled a breath. “I found myself instantly responsible for a family.”

  “I am sure the girls love you.”

  “What is not to love?” His quick, confident grin reminded her of the one he often wore during their summer together. Then he frowned. “Running the estate has been uncomplicated enough. However, at times, I am at a loss with what to do for the girls, trying to understand their sensibilities and make up for the loss of their parents.”

  “How difficult that must be for all of you.”

  He nodded. “The girls are sweet and innocent. I had lost hope in the world, in life. They have restored my faith in mankind, and in the fairer sex.”

  His words pierced her like bullets. She’d been the one to destroy his faith in women.

  “
Your mother helped after my cousin’s nanny returned to London and my sisters’ governess eloped. I am hoping you will be willing to see to her duties with the girls until I find replacements or until your mother is better. You will be well-compensated.”

  Working for him a couple of days would bring her closer to having the money she needed for her trip to Paris. “Of course.”

  “Thank you.” His sincere expression looked the same as the night he told her he loved her. His exact words still rang in her ears.

  I love you, Scarlet, in full measures.

  In the weak light from the swaying lamp, she studied him as he peered out the window. Most people found his features and appearance ordinary, while she deemed him fine-looking. He possessed a strength she suspected came from his title and position. His intensity, though, that belonged to Tomas alone.

  He turned his head.

  She swiftly glanced out her window, hoping he did not detect her studying him.

  “Scarlet, why did you leave?”

  Spikes of sharp stakes poked her insides. “To pursue painting.”

  “You could not pursue it in Seaford?”

  “I do not believe so.” The lie was necessary. But, oh, how she wanted to tell him everything. Since she’d just lied, she felt the need to tell him a truth. “I have the best news. Madame Le Brun has invited me to study with her. In less than a fortnight, I will be in Paris learning from a master.”