He returned his gaze to Foster. The gunman facing him was barely more than a lad. He could hardly believe that the blackmailer who had made his life a living hell was no more than eighteen or twenty. “If it’s money you want—”
“Oh, I’ll get money and plenty of it. Ten thousand pounds. And probably a commendation from the admiralty for bringing you in.”
“How did you find out I was still alive?”
“I didn’t have to find out,” Foster retorted hotly. “I was there! I was on the ship that went down. I saw you escape, saw your African friend here helping you to safety. And I swore right then that if I survived, I would devote the rest of my life to bringing you to justice. I vowed I would make you pay if it was the last thing I did.”
Nicholas frantically searched his memories of that night. “I don’t know you.”
“Of course not. Why should you? I was only twelve. I was a cabin boy on the navy ship you attacked that night. I worked for Captain Eldridge.”
Nicholas stared at him in stunned silence. The deck suddenly seemed to shift beneath his feet. The horizon tilted dizzily. The wind felt unnaturally cold against his face.
Sweet Jesus, it all made horrible sense. That was why it had taken six years for the blackmailer to make his demands...
He had been growing up.
But even in shock, Nicholas felt another, unexpected emotion: relief. The innocent life he thought he had taken had in truth been spared.
But the final irony was that in order to save himself, he had to kill Foster now.
And he wouldn’t do it.
He threw his knife aside. “Go ahead and shoot.”
“No!” Samantha cried, scrambling to her feet.
“Stay back,” Nicholas ordered her.
Foster looked from one of them to the other, his gun swiveling left and right, his expression confused.
“I’m not going to kill you,” Nicholas said forcefully. “I won’t do it.”
“How noble.” Foster raised his gun, aiming right between Nicholas’s eyes.
“No, please!” Samantha threw herself between them, sobbing. “Don’t do this. Don’t you see? You’re him twenty years ago.”
“Samantha—”
“Get out of the way, Miss Delafield.”
“No. You can’t do this! He was just a cabin boy, too. He was as innocent as you were. He spent years seeking vengeance, just like you. You’re the same!”
The lad’s eyes burned. His jaw clenched.
“When does it stop?” Samantha’s voice softened to a whisper. “When does all the killing stop?”
A second passed. Another.
“Foster, I’m sorry,” Nicholas said with genuine feeling. “I can’t make you believe that, but it’s the truth. I can’t make up for all the losses and pain I caused, but I can give you what you want—”
“Nicholas, no!”
“You can go ahead and kill me.” He raised his hands, palms up, in a gesture of surrender. “Get your ten thousand pounds. It won’t bring you peace, and it sure as hell won’t bring you happiness. You’ll find that vengeance solves nothing.”
Foster cocked the gun. “But it will bring me satisfaction.”
“Then go ahead,” Nicholas said, his voice steely. “Destroy your life the way I destroyed mine. I took the vengeance I wanted and it brought me nothing but years of misery and anguish.” He lowered his voice to a soft accusation. “Fire that gun and you’ll become what I was. You’ll be me.”
The young man swallowed hard. The gun in his hand wavered, unsteady.
“Joseph,” Samantha pleaded, her voice desperate, “you asked me not to judge you by appearances. Don’t judge Nicholas. It’s a mistake to judge any man by appearances or by his reputation. You can never know what’s in his mind.” Her gaze shifted to Nicholas. “Or in his heart.”
Foster’s hand was trembling.
“You can either shoot me,” Nicholas said slowly, cautiously, “or you can choose a different way. Let me give you what I didn’t have at your age.” His voice turned rough with emotion. “A second chance.”
“It’s too late for that,” Foster replied. “I’ve come too far to change now. It’s too late.”
“Too late?” Nicholas asked ruefully, hearing the two words that had haunted him for years. “No, Foster, you’re wrong. If there’s one thing I’ve learned”—he glanced at Samantha—“it’s that it’s never too late to become the man you were meant to be.”
Masud cleared his throat. “No matter how far you’ve gone down the wrong road, turn back,” he said quietly. “Old Turkish saying.”
Foster’s eyes burned into Nicholas’s, just as they had in the middle of a blazing deck six years ago.
Then, slowly, his hand shaking, the young man lowered the gun.
Nicholas watched it happen, almost blinded by the light of the sun rising over the waves. He felt a warmth that flowed not only through his body, but through his soul—a sense of forgiveness and renewal, as if he himself were getting a second chance. A chance to regain the years he had lost to violence and vengeance.
“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?”
Epilogue
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 moeche 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 instructed 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 rogue, Mr. James.”
“Aye, Mrs. James.” He laughed. “I do believe you’re right.”
Acknowledgments
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 Run Wild.
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.
Dear Reader,
I hope you enjoyed spending time with Nicholas and Samantha in the pages of Run Wild. I’d love to keep writing books that touch your heart for many years to come. Readers like you make it possible, and I’m so thankful for your support and enthusiasm.
If you enjoyed Run Wild, could I ask you for a small favor? I’m just getting started in indie publishing, and with hundreds of new books published every month, it’s difficult to stand out in the crowd. I need a little help (actually, a lot of help) getting the word out about my books. If you’d be willing to share your enthusiasm with
other readers, I’d really be grateful.
The easiest way is to post a reader review on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, the Apple iBookstore, or wherever you bought the book. Just visit this book’s page on that site and scroll down to where it says “Customer Reviews.” Your review doesn’t have to be long. Short and sweet is fine—just a line or two about why you enjoyed the story. The more reviews a book has, the more it encourages other readers to sample an author they’ve never read before.
If you’re active on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, book sites like Goodreads or Shelfari, or review blogs, those are also great places to post a little note about the author you just discovered and the book you enjoyed.
Thanks so much for your support. I really appreciate your kindness!
Warmest wishes and happy reading,
Shelly
~ ~ ~
Website: http://www.shellythacker.com
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Bonus Content:
Sneak Preview Excerpt from MIDNIGHT RAIDER
(Escape with a Scoundrel Series)
Dear Reader,
If you enjoyed Run Wild, I think you’ll love my next book, Midnight Raider. I’m currently working on a new, fully revised edition of this award-winning historical romance about a lady highwayman and her handsome rival who form a dangerous alliance to defeat a powerful mutual enemy. The odds of both of them surviving the scheme are not good—and falling in love was never part of the bargain. Enjoy this exclusive, advanced sneak peek!
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
London, 1735
“Lord Pierce Wolverton, fourth Earl of Darkridge. So pleased to make your acquaintance.”
He spoke with the smoothness of a man born and bred in Cavendish Square, but Elizabeth got the impression he would be more at ease trading curses with a Thames ferryman. If he were truly a lord, he was strangely attired, for he wore neither wig nor hat nor any face powder. His hair was tied in a simple queue at his neck, one dark brown lock straying over his right eye.
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