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Authors: Tarah Scott
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kill you—slowly.”
Leaves rustled to her right. Annabelle tensed. Had Lena heard them and come to help her?
“Run, Lena,” she shouted.
A large figure appeared beside them. Lord Harley cried out and tried to roll away. The newcomer seized him and yanked him to his feet. Annabelle scrambled backwards away from the men.
One of the men drove a fist into the other’s belly and he doubled over. Annabelle bumped into something hard. She jumped, then saw she had backed into a tree. She yanked up her skirt and, one palm against the trunk, pushed to her feet.
“Bastard,” one of the men growled, and he threw an upper cut to the other’s jaw.
Annabelle squinted in a vain attempt to distinguish which man was which—and who the newcomer was. One of them screamed. Lord Harley. No man could be more of a coward. Who was the other man? My God, she didn’t care who he was. Annabelle whirled.
“Lady Annabelle,” came a shout.
Annabelle ran faster. She banged into something and tumbled forward. Hard fingers seized her arm and yanked her back against a hard body. She screamed and twisted violently in an effort to break free.
“Lady Annabelle,” the man said.
She swung a fist at his face.
He grunted when her fist made contact, then he seized her arm.
“My lady, it is I, Mr. Waterson.”
A wave of vertigo slammed into her and the blackness made a vicious twist that tilted the murk around her. She clutched at the man’s coat and buried her face in his chest. Her knees buckled and she cried out when the ground gave out beneath her. Then her face pressed against soft linen and a warm body.
* * *
James’s chest tightened when Lady Annabelle began to weep. She struck at his face. Her small fist smashed into his left cheek.
“Lady—”
She twisted hard. James stumbled, felt himself falling, and twisted so that he hit the ground with her on top of him. She kicked his legs and his hold on her slipped. He rolled on top of her.
“No,” she cried out between tears, and thrashed beneath him.
“Lady Annabelle.”
She screamed. He wanted to release her, but she struggled so hard he feared she would break free and injure herself by running blind in the darkness. James hugged her so tight her hands were trapped between them and she couldn’t move. Her sobs tore at his heart, but the quick rise and fall of her breasts told him she was close to hysteria. He shifted his mouth to her ear and she stiffened.
“It is I, James Waterson,” he said. “You need no’ fear.”
An instant of silence followed, then she whispered, “Waterson—Lord Ruthven?”
“Aye, my lady.”
He expected her to demand that he get off her. Instead, she burst into tears. James lay frozen for a moment, uncertain what to do, then became uncomfortably aware of her lush hips beneath his. He pushed to his feet, pulling her up with him. Her legs buckled and he swung her into his arms.
His walk back to the shack seemed to take an hour, though he knew no more than fifteen minutes passed. They emerged from the trees and he spotted Benning standing beside the open door of Harley’s carriage. Light flickered through the door of the coach and James glimpsed a lady’s skirts draping the seat cushion. James’s shoulder tension eased a fraction. Lady Annabelle wouldn’t have to face the death of her cousin. When he and Benning had discovered her, James feared Harley had left her for dead.
He neared the carriage and Benning said, “I am pleased to see ye, my lord. I feared I would have to come looking for you.”
“Quit calling me ‘my lord’,” James said, and lifted Lady Annabelle into the carriage.
“Annabelle,” Miss Summerfield cried as he settled onto the cushion opposite her.
Lady Annabelle lifted her face from James’s chest and she looked at her cousin. Both women burst into tears. They reached for each other and James was startled at his reluctance to release Lady Annabelle. He did, however, and she practically fell into her
Leaves rustled to her right. Annabelle tensed. Had Lena heard them and come to help her?
“Run, Lena,” she shouted.
A large figure appeared beside them. Lord Harley cried out and tried to roll away. The newcomer seized him and yanked him to his feet. Annabelle scrambled backwards away from the men.
One of the men drove a fist into the other’s belly and he doubled over. Annabelle bumped into something hard. She jumped, then saw she had backed into a tree. She yanked up her skirt and, one palm against the trunk, pushed to her feet.
“Bastard,” one of the men growled, and he threw an upper cut to the other’s jaw.
Annabelle squinted in a vain attempt to distinguish which man was which—and who the newcomer was. One of them screamed. Lord Harley. No man could be more of a coward. Who was the other man? My God, she didn’t care who he was. Annabelle whirled.
“Lady Annabelle,” came a shout.
Annabelle ran faster. She banged into something and tumbled forward. Hard fingers seized her arm and yanked her back against a hard body. She screamed and twisted violently in an effort to break free.
“Lady Annabelle,” the man said.
She swung a fist at his face.
He grunted when her fist made contact, then he seized her arm.
“My lady, it is I, Mr. Waterson.”
A wave of vertigo slammed into her and the blackness made a vicious twist that tilted the murk around her. She clutched at the man’s coat and buried her face in his chest. Her knees buckled and she cried out when the ground gave out beneath her. Then her face pressed against soft linen and a warm body.
* * *
James’s chest tightened when Lady Annabelle began to weep. She struck at his face. Her small fist smashed into his left cheek.
“Lady—”
She twisted hard. James stumbled, felt himself falling, and twisted so that he hit the ground with her on top of him. She kicked his legs and his hold on her slipped. He rolled on top of her.
“No,” she cried out between tears, and thrashed beneath him.
“Lady Annabelle.”
She screamed. He wanted to release her, but she struggled so hard he feared she would break free and injure herself by running blind in the darkness. James hugged her so tight her hands were trapped between them and she couldn’t move. Her sobs tore at his heart, but the quick rise and fall of her breasts told him she was close to hysteria. He shifted his mouth to her ear and she stiffened.
“It is I, James Waterson,” he said. “You need no’ fear.”
An instant of silence followed, then she whispered, “Waterson—Lord Ruthven?”
“Aye, my lady.”
He expected her to demand that he get off her. Instead, she burst into tears. James lay frozen for a moment, uncertain what to do, then became uncomfortably aware of her lush hips beneath his. He pushed to his feet, pulling her up with him. Her legs buckled and he swung her into his arms.
His walk back to the shack seemed to take an hour, though he knew no more than fifteen minutes passed. They emerged from the trees and he spotted Benning standing beside the open door of Harley’s carriage. Light flickered through the door of the coach and James glimpsed a lady’s skirts draping the seat cushion. James’s shoulder tension eased a fraction. Lady Annabelle wouldn’t have to face the death of her cousin. When he and Benning had discovered her, James feared Harley had left her for dead.
He neared the carriage and Benning said, “I am pleased to see ye, my lord. I feared I would have to come looking for you.”
“Quit calling me ‘my lord’,” James said, and lifted Lady Annabelle into the carriage.
“Annabelle,” Miss Summerfield cried as he settled onto the cushion opposite her.
Lady Annabelle lifted her face from James’s chest and she looked at her cousin. Both women burst into tears. They reached for each other and James was startled at his reluctance to release Lady Annabelle. He did, however, and she practically fell into her
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