“So what the hell am I supposed to do now?” Foster asked uneasily.
“I have an idea,” Nicholas said, even as the thought occurred to him. “I have nothing to offer you—nothing that can make up for what I did to you. I can’t give you money, and I can’t give you back your arm or your lost career. But perhaps I can offer you a better life than the one I’ve had.”
“Meaning what?” Foster asked, eyes full of suspicion.
“Meaning…” Nicholas glanced at Samantha and then at Masud for approval. “How do you feel about Italy?”
Venice, 1743
Bright sunlight filled the piazzas of the San Marco district with spring’s fresh warmth and dozens of cittadini, townsfolk enjoying an afternoon stroll. Several of them smiled or waved at Sam, who happily returned her neighbors’ greetings as she carried a basket along the winding Calle Botteghe street, heading for a shop near the Palazzo Pisani overlooking the Grand Canal.
When she reached her destination, she glanced up at the sign overhead as she opened the door and stepped inside: CANDELAIO JMF. JMF Chandlers.
“Permesso, excuse me,” she said, trying to ease through the crowd of ships’ captains, sailors, and clerks speaking several different languages. She made her way around wooden barrels and chests, past polished counters displaying lanterns and coils of rope and twine. Samples of sailcloth, iron hooks, and awls and axes hung on the walls, and the scents of linseed oil, tallow and rosin almost overwhelmed the tantalizing aromas wafting up from the basket in her hands.
Finally, she reached the back of the establishment—where she found the owner in his office, booted feet propped on his desk.
He looked especially handsome today, wearing a dove gray waistcoat and breeches and a ruffled white shirt that set off his tanned skin and dark hair and beard.
He was studying a stack of ships’ cargo manifests while his two co-owners were engaged in a noisy argument from either side of him.
“We can’t possibly fill another half-dozen orders by next week,” Joseph was saying, nodding at a long column of figures in his ledger. “Masud—”
“It’s our busiest time of year, lad. We’ll manage.”
“We’ll manage, we’ll manage,” Joseph grumbled. “That’s what you always say.”
Nicholas looked up at Sam with a smile, dropping the sheaf of papers. “Have you come to steal me away, wife?”
“I’ve come to bring you lunch.” She plunked the basket on the corner of his desk.
“I’d rather you steal me away.” He slipped out from between his partners. “Besides which, what are you doing walking such a distance on a warm day like this?”
“It’s a lovely afternoon. And Signora Marchetti’s lace shop is only on the other side of the central piazza. Besides, I’ve been doing this every Friday for a year now. It’s tradition.”
His emerald eyes full of warmth, he took her by the elbow and led her into Joseph’s adjoining office, closing the door. “It was tradition before you were with child,” he said tenderly.
She smiled back at him, still glowing with the news that they had just begun sharing with their friends. “Nicholas, I’m only four months along. And I’m not that fragile.”
“It seems to me we’ve had this conversation before.” He kissed her. “Allow me to remind you…” He kissed her again, nuzzling her cheek, whispering in her ear. “Of just how completely you shattered in my arms last night.”
A delicious little shiver went through her at the memory. She glanced over his shoulder, through the interior window at the adjoining office. “Nicholas, we have an audience,” she reminded him.
“Hell, they’re enjoying their argument too much to notice if I steal a kiss. And I’ve missed you,” he murmured. “I’ve spent every blasted hour for the last three weeks in this office.”
“That’s what you get for owning the most successful ship’s chandlery in the city. You’ve got a reputation for offering the very best merchandise. Not to mention expert advice to go with it.”
“Aye.” Chuckling, he pulled up a chair and eased her into it, handling her as if she were made of the most delicate Venetian glass. “Masud and I made rotten farmers, but between the three of us”—he nodded toward the arguing pair in the next room—“we manage to make a fair go of this.”
“A fair go,” Samantha concurred with a grin, knowing he was being modest. The ruby and the cash she’d earned during her years as a thief had provided enough seed money for the three men to start their business. Their seafaring expertise, knowledge of ships, and reputation for being some of the most honest businessmen in the city did the rest…though rumors about Nicholas persisted.
Some said he had a mysterious past. Now and then, someone even whispered the word “pirate.”
But Venice’s bustling port attracted seafarers and adventurers from all over the world, and many people here had colorful pasts. And anyone who saw the way Signore Nicholas James doted on his wife couldn’t believe he ever could have been a dark and dangerous character.
“Now then,” Sam said, beaming up at her husband, “are we going to have lunch?”
“We don’t dare leave it in there for long,” Nicholas grumbled, glancing at the basket in the other room. “As soon as that young pup shuts up long enough to notice there’s food in the room, he’ll wolf it all down before anyone else can get a crumb.”
“He’s still a growing lad,” Sam admonished, laughing. The relationship between Nicholas and Joseph had been cool at first. It had taken months before they even called one another by their first names. But as they had come to know one another, a mutual respect had grown between them, which had gradually warmed to genuine friendship.
“Did you bring me some gnocchi?” Nicholas asked, toying with the lace-edged sleeve of her gown.
“And fried moleche crab from Antonio’s stall in the marketplace.” Sam nodded. “And I stopped at Signora Cascarelli’s bakery for focaccia bread. She sent along some sweets, to thank me for my work on her daughter’s wedding veil. I have those S-shaped shortbread biscuits you love, and two of her crumbly fregolotta almond cakes.”
He responded with a hungry groan that made Sam giggle. She had discovered that her husband had a weakness for sweets, and she enjoyed surprising him with different varieties every Friday.
She loved taking care of him, in ways large and small, showing him every day how much he meant to her.
Other than their frequent food splurges, the two of them were careful with their money. Sam earned a modest income working for Signora Marchetti, one of the most renowned lacemakers in Venice, and Nicholas, Masud, and Joseph split the profits from the chandlery three ways, so all of them lived simply. Masud and Joseph rented rooms upstairs, while Sam and Nicholas lived nearby.
They had a charming flat that faced the Grand Canal, on the top floor of one of the saffron-colored buildings. Sam’s favorite spot was the small terrace where they shared breakfast al fresco every morning and enjoyed the moon and stars at night. They couldn’t afford a villa on the Adriatic just yet…but someday. Nicholas had his eye on some land overlooking the sea where they might build their home—near the chapel where they had been married, at sunset on a beautiful autumn day.
“Signora Cascarelli at the bakery suggested some names for our bambino,” Sam said lightly. “She likes Domenico for a boy, or Giovanna for a girl.”
Nicholas chuckled. “Are we telling everyone now?”
Sam smiled down at her pale pink silk dress, ran her hand over the gentle swell below her waist. “I don’t think we can keep this particular secret any longer.”
Certain other secrets were theirs to keep forever…such as the wedding present Nicholas had given her. She wore it pinned to the inside of her bodice, over her heart, since it would be rather hard to explain to anyone who saw it.
Fashioned by a talented Venetian goldsmith, it was a special piece of jewelry: a tiny pair of shackles, embedded with sparkling rubies.
Nicholas had instruct
ed the jeweler to make it using the best cuts from the gem, before selling what was left to raise cash for his new business.
Glancing up at her husband, Sam realized his face had taken on a serious expression. “What?” she asked, concerned. He so rarely looked serious these days. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” he whispered, gazing down at her with eyes full of wonder. “Everything’s fine. It just…still astonishes me sometimes.”
“Why?” She reached up to stroke his bearded cheek.
“Because I once thought that you…” He closed his eyes. “I thought you were some kind of punishment, sent to make me pay for my sins. But that’s not the truth at all. You’re a gift,” he whispered, opening his eyes. “Despite all I did in the past, God loved me enough to bring you into my life. You and…” He lightly covered her hand with his, caressing her abdomen. “Our child.”
He couldn’t say any more, he was so overcome. Sam rose into his embrace, holding him tight. “And you’re a gift to me. I love you, Nicholas.”
He wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair. “I promise,” he choked out. “God above, I promise I’ll treasure these gifts all the rest of my days.”
Sam felt her heart swell with emotion so strong it spilled over as tears. They kissed, a long, slow kiss, and then he swept her up into his arms.
“Nicholas,” she protested breathlessly.
“Yes, wife?” he asked, heading for the back door.
“Where are we going?”
“Home.”
“But what about your lunch?”
He grinned wickedly. “I’ve something even better to nibble on.”
Smiling, she wrapped her arms around his neck as he stepped out into the warm, golden sunlight. “I do believe I’ve married an incorrigible scoundrel, Mr. James.”
“Aye, Mrs. James.” He laughed. “I do believe you’re right.”
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I’d like to express my deepest gratitude to my critique partners LaVerne Coan, Beth Manz, and Linda Pedder for their creative insights and steadfast support while I wrote the original manuscript of Escape with a Scoundrel.
And above all to my husband, Mark, who has always held me through the darkness and helped me find the light again. Every day, you show me the true meaning of the words love and hero.
ALSO BY
The Escape with a Scoundrel Series
These sexy bad boys are on the wrong side of the law—and willing to break all the rules to protect the women they love.
ESCAPE WITH A SCOUNDREL
HER SCOUNDREL EARL
ONE NIGHT WITH A SCOUNDREL
A SCOUNDREL’S KISS
The Stolen Brides Series
These regal brides are about to discover that falling in love with a warrior is the most dangerous adventure of all.
HIS STOLEN BRIDE
FOREVER HIS
HIS FORBIDDEN TOUCH
HIS CAPTIVE BRIDE
Stand-Alone Novels
AFTER SUNDOWN
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Bonus Excerpt: His Stolen Bride
(Stolen Brides Series, The Prequel Novel)
An RWA Golden Heart Award Finalist: Best Historical Romance of the Year
An aristocratic heiress is kidnapped on the morning of her royal wedding—by her groom’s most dangerous enemy, a battle-hardened Highland lord.
The door opened and her captor returned, carrying an armful of clothing.
“I know these are not the sort of garments you are accustomed to, milady. But they are necessary for our disguise.”
“Our disguise?” She watched as he set each piece on the bed. All matched the brown homespun that her captor and his friend wore: a pair of leggings, a long tunic, a belt, and dark leather boots.
“Those searching for us will be looking for a pilgrim traveling with a finely dressed lady,” he explained, “not three pilgrim men returning from their journey to Chartres.”
“Clever,” she said tartly. “But I have already said I will not help you.”
Sighing, he sat on the bed next to the garments, rubbing his eyes. “Milady, I will not argue any more this night. ’Twould be so much easier if you would cooperate—”
“Easier for you.”
“Think on it,” he snapped. “You would be foolish to try and escape. De Villiers has every one of his guards out searching for you by now. You would stand no chance on your own. And you do not even know where you are. Even if you did, where could you go?”
She stiffened. “You do not know where I might run. And I am certainly not going to tell you.”
“I wager you would go straight to Tours,” he said coolly, “to the convent where you have lived since you were nine.”
Laurien stifled an exclamation, surprised and irritated that he knew so much about her. When he had abducted her from the wedding procession this morn, she had assumed that this man was an unthinking knave, all muscle and brawn.
But his intelligence was as sharp as the wicked blade hidden in his boot.
“You have planned this in every detail,” she said in frustration.
“You would do well to remember that, demoiselle. Be warned, if you attempt to escape, you will not get far.” He rose from the bed, grabbed the rope he had left on the floor, and stepped toward her.
This time Laurien did not back away from him.
“So you at least trust me that much. You are safer with me than you would be out there alone, and you know it.” He reached for her hands. “Shall I trust you as well? If I left you unbound tonight, you would be better able to sleep.”
She lifted her chin and returned his unyielding gaze. “Do what you will.”
His blue eyes darkened to the color of a moonlit sky. “You should be careful, milady, about issuing such an invitation.” He lifted one hand to stroke her unbruised cheek. “Did de Villiers take you after the betrothal last night?”
Laurien gasped, not sure which shocked her more—his gentle touch or his blunt question.
But she knew it was not uncommon for a groom to claim his bride after the betrothal, rather than waiting for the wedding night.
Which gave her an idea.
“Aye,” she said quickly. “Aye, he did, and I was a terrible disappointment. He will not want me back. I doubt he will go to any trouble at all to reclaim me. He is probably glad that I am gone. There are other heiresses in France for him to choose from. He will find himself a better bride. You might as well release me. At o
nce.”
She stopped herself, realizing she had perhaps said a bit too much. She never seemed to know when to stop talking.
The abbess had always said it was her greatest fault.
Sir Darach regarded her with curiosity, amusement…and something more. The look in his eyes brought an odd flutter to her stomach.
Then, to her astonishment, he tilted her head up and kissed her.
He covered her mouth with his—and she felt as if she had suddenly been enveloped in a cascade of sparks. The tingling warmth from his touch did not compare to the sensations that whirled through her as his lips moved over hers. It was as if every part of her body had at once become brilliantly alive.
His beard was a startling, silky roughness against her skin. His other hand came to rest at her waist, drawing her in tight, and her body seemed to meld to his hard, lean lines, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Her thoughts scattered. A sound escaped her, soft and deep, unlike any sound she had ever made in her life.
Then his tongue touched her lower lip and she gave a startled little squeak.
He suddenly lifted his mouth from hers, his eyes midnight blue, his voice husky. “You have never even been kissed before, leannan. You are as innocent as the day you first set foot in the convent.” He did not let her go, his hand still at her waist. “De Villiers did not take you after the betrothal, did he?”
She felt dizzy, as if she had drunk a tankard of honeyed wine all in one gulp. “Nay,” she admitted, her mind spinning, the truth spilling out. “I-I am a maiden still. I claimed illness to avoid spending any time in his company.”
The Scotsman brushed his thumb lightly over her chin. “I thought as much. A French demoiselle who has never even experienced a kiss in the French fashion.” He chuckled. “Only an innocent would be so shocked at the slightest thrust of my…” He left the rest unsaid, releasing her and stepping away a pace. “He will want you back, milady. No man would find you a disappointment, not in any way. There may be other heiresses in France—but the comte will want you back.”
Escape with a Scoundrel (Escape with a Scoundrel Series Book 1) Page 33