My Runaway Heart

by Miriam Minger

  "It's a damp night. I don't want you to be cold."

  "Oh, it could be freezing, truly, and I doubt I'd even notice. I've so wanted to see more of London ever since I arrived here."

  "When was that?"

  "Just over three weeks ago. That's why I'm surprised I'd never seen you before—at any of the balls I attended. Twelve, to be exact—well, eleven if we don't count last night."

  Oh, dear, she was uttering nonsense again, Lindsay thought when Jared didn't readily answer, his handsome face half cloaked in shadow. But her excitement was so great she could barely contain herself, and she decided then and there she wasn't going to worry how she might or might not appear.

  She had considered, since the Oglethorpes' ball, that it might be rash to sneak out of the house and meet a gentleman she hardly knew, a notorious rake, no less, if she believed even an ounce of what Aunt Winifred had had to say—which she did not. More likely, jealous tongues had created false rumors about so daring and valiant a man. And how else would Jared discover that he had found a perfect match for himself if she didn't demonstrate that she could be as bold and fearlessly adventurous as he?

  "Tell me about London, please," she blurted, glancing excitedly out the window. "You must know everything about it—certainly more than Mayfair. That's all I've seen and scarcely much of it, since poor Aunt Winnie is so determined to obey Olympia's demands to the letter."

  "Olympia?"

  Even hearing the woman's name on Jared's lips made Lindsay wish she hadn't mentioned it. "My stepmother, Lady Somerset. She gave strict instructions that I was to attend balls and little else, no trips to the theater or pleasure gardens, no visits to Hyde Park—"

  "We're passing Hyde Park right now. It's dark, but if you'd like, I'll have the driver—"

  "Could we?" Lindsay craned her neck to get a glimpse of the broad expanse of green beyond the gaslights along the way, elated that Jared had seemed to read her mind. "At least then I can say I've been there. Then could we pass by Covent Garden, and afterward maybe Vauxhall Gardens?" She felt breathless as she settled back in the seat and pushed her damp hood off her hair. "And you must tell me everything about what we see along the way, will you? And about the places you've traveled? It must be so exciting to be a spy—oh, but I'm not asking that you tell me any military secrets. I've just never been anywhere else but Cornwall, and it's so wonderful that you agreed to meet me tonight and show me the city . . ."

  Lindsay suddenly fell still, realizing as heat crept up her face that Jared was studying her intently, his expression the strangest mix of bewilderment and irritation.

  "I-I'm sorry. Did I say something to offend?"

  Offend? Jared knew he was staring at her like a simpleton, but suddenly he felt like a blind fool.

  Damnation, if she hadn't said as much, then he would have been the one likely to offend—a bloody virgin's honor, no less! Muttering an oath, he yanked the blanket from across their laps and flung it upon the opposite seat, and would have followed himself if not for the hand suddenly at his arm.

  "Jared? Have I done something wrong?"

  "No, Miss Somerset, you haven't, but I damned well have." He leaned forward and rapped on the front shell of the carriage. "Back to Piccadilly, man! And make haste!"

  "Back to Piccadilly?"

  He heard the disappointment in her voice but said nothing, his own displeasure more akin to utter frustration as he shoved all thoughts of seduction from his mind.

  How could he have so misread the chit? Sitting rigidly beside her, he glanced at her lovely face and felt another raw stab of regret for his foiled plans.

  Big blue eyes stared at him in confusion; a silken tendril of white-blond hair loosened from its comb and brushed against a flawless cheek that he had ached to touch, the tip of her tongue running uncertainly across tempting red lips that he had fully intended to ravage and kiss. But that was before he had realized—as if a doubled fist had slammed into his jaw—that Miss Lindsay Somerset was no cunning wanton accustomed to enticing men, but a young woman both reckless and dangerously naïve.

  "Jared—Lord Giles, please. Don't take me back to my aunt's, not yet! I can't imagine what could have brought on your sudden change of heart, but I can assure you, no one knows I'm here. I'm very good at sneaking out of houses—I did it all the time in Porthleven—"

  "Ah, so this is a common thing for you?" Jared had spoken sharply and he felt another pang of regret, Lindsay's face growing pink with consternation. But the careless wench had to realize the danger in which she had placed herself, her wide-eyed innocence suddenly reminding him so vividly of Elise . . .

  "N-not common so much as a necessity, truly. Olympia didn't like that I spent so much time with my friend Corie—she didn't like Corisande Easton at all, or her father and three sisters, for that matter, so what could I do? And, of course, late at night, I couldn't simply announce that I was leaving and then skip out the front door. Everyone had to be sleeping first, and then I would climb out my window and down the elm tree—"

  "So you're accustomed to being about when most young ladies are tucked safely in their beds? That might have caused you no ill effect in a village in bloody Cornwall, but traipsing about alone at night in London is another—"

  "But I'm not alone, Jared. I'm with you."

  Jared grimaced, Lindsay's simple statement hitting him like a blow to the stomach.

  Yes, so she was with him, and if she knew how closely she had come to . . .

  Shaking his head, he glanced out the window and realized Hyde Park was fading from sight behind them, the very place where he had hoped to indulge himself in Lindsay Somerset's obvious charms.

  He was no saint, but he was no ravager of innocents, either, no matter his soiled reputation. But how many other "proper" gentlemen with spotless reputations would have turned the coach around if in the company of such a tempting companion? And perhaps an heiress to boot, given Lord Ambrose Lamb's ardent pursuit—that spendthrift family making no secret of its need to refill empty pockets in exchange for a lofty title—which made her all the more vulnerable to masculine birds of prey. Not many, dammit, which caused his gut to knot.

  If he didn't indulge her insatiable curiosity about London, no doubt she'd find another man more willing, which made Jared once again think of Elise. His beautiful, trusting, younger sister, so vivacious and full of life and its bright promise before she was laid waste by

  "Enough!" Jared bit off to himself, doubting a razor twisting in his belly could give him more pain.

  "Jared?"

  The small voice, hopeful yet uncertain, was like a poignant echo calling to him from the past. He met Lindsay's lovely eyes, deciding then and there he must teach her not to entrust herself so completely to a man she didn't know. It was time he could ill afford, a night's easy seduction all he had originally had in mind, but for that very reason he resolved to somehow impress upon her that she must take care and guard herself against not only ruthless fortune hunters, but notorious rakes as well . . . if not for her sake, at the very least for the memory of his sister.

  "Driver, to Covent Garden!" His shout clearly startling his delectable companion as Lindsay jumped in her seat, Jared nonetheless was amazed at how quickly a brilliant smile overcame her look of astonishment. He smiled, too, trying to ignore the unsettling effect her transformation had upon him. "Forgive my odd behavior; you're absolutely right. I was struck for a moment about your reputation—how things might look to have you out so late, but, of course, you couldn't be in safer hands than mine."

  "So you're going to show me London? Truly?"

  Finding it difficult to fathom that she wasn't as concerned about her reputation as he professed to be, Jared suppressed a frown and nodded. "As much as you wish to see—with the thought, of course, that we must have you home well before dawn."

  "Oh, this is wonderful!"

  It was Jared's turn to be startled as Lindsay threw her arms around his neck and hugged him, but she pulled away quickl
y as if embarrassed, although her happily glowing face gave no sign of it.

  "I've so wanted to see Covent Garden. But isn't it a bit late for a performance?"

  "Upon the stage, yes, but I thought you might enjoy visiting another place that's very close to the theater . . . a favorite place of mine."

  "Lovely! Anything you enjoy I'm sure I will, too."

  Jared couldn't help smiling grimly at Lindsay's utter faith in him; it was easy to imagine the shocked look on her face that was certain to come once they had arrived at their destination. By the end of their time together, he imagined she would be more than glad to remain snuggled safely in her bed, rather than sneaking out at night to partake in the side of London he intended to show her.

  "Does this place have a name?"

  His grim smile only deepened. "Oh, yes. Tom's."

  Chapter 5

  "Look at the carriages, dozens of them!" Lindsay eagerly accepted Jared's assistance as she descended from the coach, excitement bubbling inside her. "And surely it's past one o'clock. I would never have thought so many people—"

  "This part of London rarely sleeps. Take care to keep your hood pulled down around your face, just as I told you. It would be a pity if someone recognized you and word flew back to your aunt."

  Lindsay nodded, thinking it would be more than a pity. Yet she quickly shoved away a worrisome vision of Aunt Winifred clamoring for her smelling salts and took Jared's proffered arm, her hand settling comfortably in the crook of his elbow as if meant to be there.

  Just as she felt as if she were meant to be at his side as they proceeded down the crowded walk, the strange yet wonderful sensation of gliding on air once more enveloping her.

  The ride to Covent Garden had passed like a dream, Jared pointing out the sights, although Lindsay was chagrined that she had been more entranced by the masculine warmth of his voice than by what he had been saying. And now the strength of his arm and the pressure of his hand covering hers were proving as disconcerting, which made her wonder if Corisande had felt as much about Lord Donovan. Surely she had—

  "Wot'ave you got there, milord, a little mouse hidden under that fine cloak? Ha, it's not even rainin' any longer! Is she afraid she'll melt? Send 'er off and come while away the hours with a woman sure t' please a strappin' gentl'man like yourself."

  Lindsay's eyes grew round at the stylishly dressed beauty posed beneath a streetlamp, several other unaccompanied young women casting admiring glances at Jared as they tittered at their friend's brazen remarks.

  "Was she—did she call me a mouse?"

  "Pay no mind. They're women of the night."

  "I know what they are," Lindsay said stiffly, not noticing the look of surprise in Jared's eyes. Affronted not because of their carnal profession, but because the lovely redhead had spoken so rudely about her, Lindsay watched the woman saunter toward a bearded gentleman signaling to her from a parked carriage. The two exchanged brief words; then the woman spun around with a bold laugh and called after Jared.

  "Too late, luv. Come 'round tomorrow night and I'll be sure to save you a good bit o' my time!"

  Then she was gone, disappearing with a swish of bright green silk into the carriage, which set off at a noisy rumble down the street. Sighing, Lindsay glanced up to find a deep frown on Jared's face.

  "Oh, dear, please don't be angry for my sake—it was no large insult. I don't know why I allowed her to upset me. It's charity I should be feeling; Corie taught me that. Charity and compassion. She saved several girls in Porthleven from such a life—found them good, honest work, and one even a husband."

  "Sounds like a saint."

  "Funny, that's exactly what I said after Corie described the man of her—well, the sort of man she hoped one day to marry, though I told her he sounded dull as well. Mind you, Corie isn't dull, oh, no, and I wouldn't call her a saint, either, not with that temper. But she has a heart of gold—I'm sure you'll like her when you meet, though right now she and her husband are—"

  "So your friend has married."

  "Oh, yes, shortly after I arrived in London. And it's the most incredible story—oh, look! There's a sign for Tom's Cellar up ahead. Is that the place?"

  Jared gave a brusque nod, still disgruntled that Lindsay hadn't seemed shocked at all by the loose women plying their trade on the street, a bawdy sight he had hoped might send her scurrying back to their carriage to demand immediate escort home.

  It was clear that the freedom she had enjoyed in Cornwall had perhaps gained her a wider view of the world than other young women of her station shared, and her saintly friend Corisande had obviously helped things along. Yet Tom's, well, that was another matter.

  "Don't forget about your hood," he reminded her, the sound of raucous singing growing louder as they approached a rather nondescript brick building at one side of which was an archway leading down a flank of stone steps. He found some comfort that the entrance stank of cider and urine, but if Lindsay had noticed, she gave no note of it, her eyes wide with curiosity.

  "Tom's is down there?"

  Again he nodded, the breathless excitement in her voice suddenly making him want to shake her. Did the chit imagine they were about to come upon some regal ballroom? A fashionable coffeehouse? Couldn't she see the dinginess all around them?

  Almost angrily, he drew her down the damp steps, holding her arm firmly so she wouldn't slip. Dank moist air clouded with tobacco smoke enveloped them, hazy light spilling from a half-opened door at the bottom of the stairs. The singing had grown so boisterous that he couldn't have heard anything Lindsay said unless she shouted.

  And she was trying to get his attention, raising her voice to ask him what manner of place was Tom's even as she was drawn into a long, low-ceilinged room that was clearly a cellar, just as the painted sign outside had read. But her words were drowned out by the noise—truly, the cacophony couldn't be described as anything but noise—of more than a hundred men's voices raised in singsong, the barking of dogs and a constant outcry for refills of cider and ale.

  She blinked, dense whorls of smoke making her eyes tear, and saw that women moved freely among the clamorous throng, most dressed quite shabbily, unlike the stylish courtesans on the street, but laughing and smiling just as boldly. Lindsay tried to smile, too, but she felt her enthusiasm flagging as she scanned the plainly furnished room, the long trestle tables and side booths filled with drunken revelers, the feeble light cast from three iron chandeliers suspended from rustic beams making her surroundings appear fuzzy and indistinct.

  "Come. I see an empty box near the back."

  Jared had shouted, startling her, but she accompanied him with as much eagerness as she could muster, grateful for his guiding hand at her arm.

  He seemed very much at ease no matter the bedlam, and she reminded herself that he had said Tom's Cellar was one of his favorite places. Perhaps as a military spy, his life constantly fraught with danger, he felt he could drop his guard amidst such pandemonium. Either that or it suited his adventurous nature, which made her resolve to relax and enjoy herself as well.

  Actually, Tom's was little different from Oliver and Rebecca Trelawny's quayside inn in Porthleven. Perhaps not as rowdy, Lindsay told herself as she slid onto a bench Jared pulled out for her, but she had been there with Corisande on nights when the village fishermen had celebrated a record catch of pilchards.

  Sea chanteys and lively conversation had drowned out talk of the next smuggling run from France, Lindsay always listening silently while Captain Trelawny and Corisande plotted where it might be safest to land his ship, the Fair Betty. Of course, she couldn't tell Jared about how she'd sometimes helped with the landings—at least not until they knew each other better. He worked for King and country, after all, and fair trading couldn't be more illegal.

  "What do you think?"

  Lindsay smiled brightly as Jared sat down beside her, a pretty serving woman plunking two brimming mugs of ale on the table in front of them. In this far corner the singing se
emed not half so loud, so she didn't have to shout.

  "It's lovely—everyone is so merry. I can see why you enjoy it so much." Gamely she took a sip of ale, trying not to grimace. "Oh, this is very good. You should try yours."

  He did, but his sip—more a draught—lasted much longer than hers. And when he set the mug down with a thunk, Jared looked so displeased that Lindsay wondered if it was something she had said. "Is the ale not to your liking?"

  "It's fine. Perfect."

  "Yes, mine, too." Wondering at the irritation in his voice, Lindsay took another small sip, her cheeks heating under his close scrutiny. Lord, had a man's eyes ever been so blue? "If the truth be known, I've never tasted the drink before—oh!"

  She had nearly dropped her mug, Jared moving so close to her on the bench that his thigh pressed into her leg . . . a hard, wholly masculine thigh, the heat of him burning through her cloak. Suddenly feeling as light-headed as she had at the ball, Lindsay glanced around them, her laughter a shade too bright. "Heavens, look up there! Do you see them? Two little boys peering down from the beams?"

  She pointed, and thankfully Jared's gaze followed her finger, which presented a chance for her to ease away from him, if only to relieve the fierce beating of her heart. Yet his low chuckle distracted her; truly, she couldn't recall hearing him laugh before.

  "Pickpockets, I'd wager, keeping a sharp lookout over the room. Watch."

  She did, her eyes widening as one of the boys pointed wildly at an inebriated gentleman who had just toppled off his chair, a flurry of hands reaching out to help him. Meanwhile, a third boy, no more than seven or eight and wearing the dirty rags of a street urchin, scurried as if out of nowhere and availed himself of the commotion by fleecing the pockets of all those bending to help the drunken fellow back to his seat. In a flash the young thief was gone, slipping into the throng.