A Reckless Runaway

by Michaels, Jess

  “Stupid girl,” she admonished herself beneath her breath as she took the hand he offered.

  She wasn’t wearing gloves, she’d forgotten them in her excitement to escape on this adventure gone wrong. When her palm touched his, she felt a thrill of something, a hiss of awareness that shot up her arm and through her body.

  She stepped into the boat and snatched her hand away as she settled onto one of the hard benches in the middle of the boat. Rook Maitland took the one facing her. He was so big, his knees pushed into her space and their legs almost touched no matter how far back she tried to tuck them. She huffed out a breath at this new invasion and tried with all her might to make her mind go somewhere else. Anywhere else but here.

  Only it wasn’t so easy. Not when her mind kept taking her back to her family. She had to assume that Thomasina would have returned to her chamber after the ball. She would have found the letter Anne had left. The one filled with hopes for a future with Ellis that now seemed so faded and far away and foolish. What would her sister have thought? What would Juliana think? Would they be able to manage their father’s outrage together? Would Harcourt’s fury lead to untold punishments against them?

  She bent her head as the consequences of her selfish action washed over her like the bouncing waves that occasionally crested over the edge of the boat as they rowed farther into the heart of the Irish Sea. In the dark.

  She lifted her head and found Rook Maitland watching her. He was hardly more than a shadow outline in their captain’s lantern light, but his dark gaze glittered as he held it on her.

  “How far must we go?” she asked as the sea bobbed heavier.

  He was silent for what felt like an eternity, but at last he grunted, “It will be a few hours, yet. It’s a long row to Scotland.”

  Her eyes widened. Scotland? She had thought that idea was abandoned when Ellis sent her off with this man. But if they were crossing the sea after all, perhaps that meant Ellis wasn’t the villain he had seemed to be. Perhaps he would return for her after all and this could be resolved just as she’d planned from the beginning.

  She clung to that hope and nodded. “What town?” she asked.

  “You have a great many questions,” her companion said softly. “Why didn’t you ask Ellis about his plans for you, as he is your love?”

  She bit back the retort that she didn’t love Ellis and shrugged. “I thought I knew the plan,” she said. “So I didn’t ask. And here we are.”

  He nodded slowly. “Yes. Here you are.”

  She realized he hadn’t answered her question about the town, but she was too exhausted to ask again. She would find out soon enough, she supposed. And if he was reticent to share with her, perhaps that was for the best. He wasn’t going to be her companion for very long. It was probably best that an unmarried lady didn’t attach herself too strongly to a very handsome cousin of her intended. People would talk, wouldn’t they?

  God, people would already be talking. She knew that. Her running away was too big a secret to keep, especially with the wedding planned for less than a week from now. When she didn’t appear for it, when it was all canceled, there would be no stopping the tale that would rip through Society.

  “You look like you have some regrets, Miss Shelley,” Rook said.

  The little boat careened into a wave and Anne gripped at both sides of it, clawing to retain purchase. “No,” she lied. “Of course not. I know what I’m doing.”

  But she heard the lilt in her tone, the terror and the pain. His expression didn’t change. If he heard it too, it was clear he didn’t give a damn. But why would he? He’d been sent here to collect her, and he didn’t seem particularly pleased by that.

  She wouldn’t give him any more reason to be annoyed, nor to judge her more a fool than he clearly already did. She sat up as straight as she could and did her best to focus on a point just behind him rather than at his handsome, frowning face. Of course that point was the disappearing light of the distant town, of England vanishing into the fog.

  And she gritted her teeth as moments bled to almost an hour of rowing through the endless night. At last she shivered as the air pierced her thin wrap and tugged it harder around herself. The boat rolled endlessly on the waves as their captain rowed on, seemingly unfazed by the cold splash of the seawater or the blowing wind that caused the spray to soak her face and hair and clothes.

  She would not cry. She would not, even as the fog swirled around her, making her colder than ever.

  Rook had been silent during the time they rowed, his gaze fixed behind her, toward whatever their mysterious destination was. But now he suddenly moved, shrugging out of his great coat in one smooth motion. The action revealed a white linen shirt beneath that seemed to strain against broad shoulders and chest.

  He held the coat out. “Here, you’ll catch your death otherwise.”

  She blinked at the offering. His coat, which had just been around him. It seemed very intimate to accept the offer. Too intimate.

  His brow wrinkled. “Take it before it loses its body heat.”

  Body heat. She inwardly groaned, but it was too cold to argue. She took the woolen coat, sliding her arms into the sleeves and fastening it around her waist. It dwarfed her, for he was far bigger than she was. The sleeves came over her hand by at least a few inches and it was more like a shapeless cloak around her shoulders than a fitted coat like it had been on his.

  But it was warm. He was right about that. She felt his body heat curl around her like his arms were there. And his scent lingered on the woolen fabric. It was a nice scent. Something woodsy and clean and masculine.

  Once again her stomach clenched with an awareness she shouldn’t have felt, and she bent her head as she muttered, “Thank you.”

  He didn’t respond, but nodded, and his focus shifted away from her again. She glanced at him now that he wasn’t looking at her. He had a hard line to his very defined jaw and an equally tight quality to his clamped lips. They were full, though. She could tell that despite the annoyance that lined his face.

  He didn’t seem troubled by the roiling of the boat. Her stomach rose and fell, but he didn’t even have an increase in breath. Damn him. She really didn’t want to make more of a fool of herself than she already had, but nausea was rising by the moment as the sea grew heavier and wilder away from the coast.

  It had been such a long night, filled with such disappointment and fear. She had hardly eaten anything since afternoon tea, and now all she could think about was that food and how much she hated everything she’d ever put into her mouth.

  Rook cocked his head and looked at her. “Miss Shelley?” he said softly.

  But she didn’t answer. All she could do was lean over the side of the boat and cast up her accounts as she cursed every decision she’d made since three o’clock that afternoon. Including the ones that had put her in the boat with a stranger, vomiting in front of him.

  * * *

  Rook had to give it to Anne Shelley. She looked like a fragile lady, but she had certainly held her own with an iron to her that was attractive. Yes, she’d vomited up everything she’d eaten, probably things she didn’t even remember eating, but she had said nothing about it when it was all over. She’d sat without complaining or whining or crying, staring straight ahead, her gaze reflecting none of the fear and embarrassment and pain that he was certain burned in her heart.

  As the sea grew calmer when they edged into the tiny outer islands of Scotland’s southern coast, she had stopped being sick. Now she peeked over her shoulder, peering through the dim light of dawn as their destination grew larger in the distance. Their captain expertly drew them into the still waters of the island before them.

  Miss Shelley shifted and turned fully as she stared into the wild, tangled woods just past the rocky beach and the rickety dock where their captain was securing the boat.

  He glared at Rook in expectation, and Rook let out his breath as he got up, climbed over Miss Shelley carefully and grabbed for
her little bag. He tossed it up onto the dock and grasped one of the posts to pull himself up. She had risen and was balancing herself precariously.

  “Come then,” he said, crooking his finger at her.

  Her pupils dilated a fraction, but she did as she’d been told, picking her way closer with tiny steps through the bobbing boat. He held out a hand and she stared at it, just as she had when he helped her into the boat hours before. This would be a much bigger step. He was already calculating if he’d have to lift her. She clasped his fingers at last, but the step was too big for her to make, even with his support. He bent partially, slid his hands beneath her arms and pulled her up. As he set her on her feet, she staggered a little, resting her hand on his chest to steady herself as she stared up at him.

  He released her and she moved away a few steps, her cheeks flamed with color. He refused to acknowledge any of his own reactions to that brief, glancing touch. It had just been a long time since any woman put her hands on him. He had no interest in the one his cousin was swindling.

  “Thank you, Captain Quinton,” he said to the still-waiting old man. “May I get you any refreshment before your trip ’round to the mainland?”

  “No, but ye can get me my blunt,” he grunted.

  Rook blinked at him. “My cousin was to pay you.”

  The old man shook his head. “Yer cousin paid for yer trip to Beckfoot. But I haven’t gotten a farthing for the trip back.”

  Rook pursed his lips. Under any other circumstance, he might have argued with the captain. He might have pushed to determine if he was lying to double collect on his due. Only, when it came to Ellis, there was always a cheat. Rook had no reason to doubt there had been one this time, too.

  “Donkey’s arse,” he grumbled to himself, angrier than ever at Ellis for dragging him into his horseshit yet again.

  He dug into his pocket and drew out what little money he had on him. “This will have to do,” he said. “It’s all I have.”

  The captain took his offering and pawed through it. He glared at Rook before he untied his rig and rowed off into the rising sun of morning. There was one man who would never transfer him to England again. If Rook was unlucky, Quinton would tell the tale of being swindled all over the nearest towns and no one would be willing to take him across the sea. His own boat was far too small to make the trip.

  But he could think of all that later. For now, he had to focus on the matters at hand. The problem at hand. The one who was standing behind him at present. The one he didn’t want to look at when he knew she was starting to realize how far she’d strayed from the good life she once had.

  Finally he turned. She had picked up her little bag and was clutching it in front of herself with both hands. His big coat was still draped around her, making her look smaller and more fragile. He ignored the faint tug in him to help her, take care of her. He was no hero. He was a man who’d been tricked into this situation and he had no more duty to help her than he did any other human on this earth.

  He cleared his throat and strode past her on the dock. “Come on, miss.”

  She scurried after him, switching her bag from hand to hand as they moved up the sandy pathway to the house on the little rise ahead of them. “Can you tell me what town we’re in, Mr. Maitland?” she asked.

  He flinched at her use of his last name. So formal. “Rook,” he grunted.

  She let out her breath in a sound of annoyance. “Please, if you just tell me where I am, perhaps I can find—”

  “We’re not near a town, Miss Shelley,” he said, stopping on the path.

  She careened into his chest at the sudden movement and staggered back, staring up at him in confusion. “What?”

  “I said we’re not near a town. We’re not even on the mainland of Scotland. We’re on an island. My island.”

  She wrinkled her brow. “Your island?”

  He smiled despite her incredulity. “It’s no one else’s and I live here, so I call it mine.”

  Her lips pursed. “I don’t think that’s a valid claim of ownership, Mr. Maitland.”

  “Rook,” he corrected again. “And if someone wants it, they can come get it. Come on now, it’s been a long night for us both, I think, and I’d like to get inside before that storm coming in behind us breaks.”

  She glanced back at the thick, gray clouds that were rolling in from the sea. Her cheeks paled and she nodded. “Very well.” She motioned toward him. “Lead the way.”

  He inclined his head at her permission and finished the slow climb up to the cottage above. He’d always been proud of the place. In the past year since he’d washed himself up on these shores, he’d worked hard at building himself a home that could be more…permanent. He’d never had that and now he wanted it.

  But looking at the place now with its simple construction, he was certain his…guest…would see it as trash. She had to be accustomed to palaces and marble halls. But she said nothing as he opened the door and offered her a respite from the cold breeze that preceded the coming storm. Scotland was like that. Fall and spring and winter were never far from summer’s shores.

  He lit a few candles and loaded kindling from the bin into the fireplace to light it. He turned back for flint and found that Anne Shelley was standing beside the settee in the big main room of the cottage. She had removed his coat and draped it over the back of a chair. Now she stood, arms folded, hands gripping against her forearms, and she was shaking.

  Her face was pale, her eyes wide, and all the bravado and calm she had exhibited in the long boat ride were gone. He stepped toward her and she stumbled just as long a step back. At that he froze and held up a hand to her.

  “Miss Shelley,” he began.

  She shook her head. “Please don’t.”

  “You’re afraid,” he said, trying to find the calm she had lost.

  To her credit, she shook her head firmly and straightened her back with what was a good amount of bravery. “No,” she lied.

  He smiled a little at her spark. “Of course you are. You’re clearly a sensible person, this nonsense with my cousin aside.”

  She flinched at that assessment, but didn’t argue with him about it further.

  He continued, “Let me try to reassure you: I have no intention of touching you. I don’t want to hurt you in any way.”

  Her gaze narrowed and he could feel her reading him, trying out her intuition on him since she had no other evidence to go on when it came to his promise.

  “All you’re going to do is wait here for my cousin,” he said, choking on the additional words that would tell her what folly that was. She’d figure that out on her own—not his responsibility to help her get there. Anyway, maybe he was wrong. Maybe his cousin really had fallen for this beauty and would do the right thing in the end.

  “He knows this place,” she whispered.

  Rook nodded. “He does. You can sleep here.” He moved carefully toward the door just to her right and watched her track the movement like a deer tracking a wild dog or a lion. Prey and predator.

  He pushed the door to his chamber open and motioned inside to the big bed within those walls. “It’s my room and the bed is comfortable.”

  She tensed again at that statement. “I won’t—”

  “I’ll sleep out here,” he added, flicking his head toward the settee, which was fine for the purpose God had intended it to serve, but he doubted it would make a good bed. He was too tall for it, for one thing. “You can lock the door.”

  She glanced at the room behind him and he saw her exhaustion wash over her face at the sight of a bed. “I doubt you couldn’t get into any room you desired to enter, strong as you seem to be.”

  He arched a brow at the backhanded compliment and shrugged. “Perhaps not, but you’ll have to take my word since I have no other proof to offer you to the contrary.”

  “I have little choice,” she mused, he thought more to herself than to him.

  She wasn’t wrong, of course, so there was no comfort he c
ould offer her. She had no idea of his character or his intentions and she wouldn’t until he proved them.

  “May I make you a plate?” he asked.

  Her brows lifted and she glanced at the small kitchen through a door at the back of the main room. Then she shook her head. “No. Just sleep, I think. I want to sleep.”

  “Of course,” he said, and nodded as she moved through into his chamber and shut the door behind her.

  He heard her turn the key on the other side. After a moment he heard the harsh screech of wood on wood, the feet of the dresser, he assumed, scraping the floor as she positioned the furniture in front of the door for an extra layer of protection. He had to hand it to her, she was very intelligent.

  It was quiet for a moment and he sat down on the settee and tugged off his boots one by one. As he settled back onto the cushions, lamenting momentarily the loss of his very comfortable bed, he heard Anne in the other room.

  She was crying. The door was so thin, he heard every hitch of her breath as she wept. His heart hurt for her, even though none of it was his fault or doing. Still, she didn’t deserve what his cousin was doing to her.

  None of them ever had.

  He rolled on his side, closed his eyes and tried to ignore the sound of her heartbreak. But he couldn’t block it out and he listened to it until she quieted, probably sleeping. Only then could he find rest himself. But his dreams were troubled, as he deserved them to be, by images of bright green eyes and a soft hand against his chest before they were both cast into the rolling sea.

  Chapter 4

  It had been three days since she had been abandoned on the dock in Beckfoot by Ellis Maitland, and as Anne opened her eyes and stared at the same ceiling above her on the same bed, her entire being filled with frustration. She knew this room so well, she could likely sketch it with her eyes closed if asked to do so.