Page 104 of The Smuggler’s Escape

Neither letter, for that matter, from what she’d glimpsed of it in Lady Ariadne’s hands. From the outside, they looked exactly the same.

Maybe they were exactly the same.

“I’ll give you everything when we get to the boat.”

Why didn’t you give me it when we were at the gatehouse? Or even in the wood?

Jackson swore at the wind as they left the meager shelter of the trees, turned up his collar, and set off at a brisk trot down the track toward the harbor. Reluctantly, Noelle followed.

~ ~ ~

At the gatekeeper’s cottage, Richard slowed his mount. “You’ll take the road and I’ll go across country. With luck, we’ll catch them between us before they reach the shore.”

Will nodded soberly.

“I believe Jackson wants Noelle to be captured with an incriminating letter on her person. Why else would he hustle her away in such a hurry before the evening was over? He stole the horse in the hope her absence would be noticed and she would be pursued. The Restless Rose can’t leave for another hour or two. Either she’ll be a sitting duck on the boat . . .”

Or she’ll be dead.

Because alive and kicking, even in France, she’d be far too dangerous to Jackson and Lady Ariadne.

“I’ll kill the bloody bastard,” Will said.

“You’ll be shooting a dead man,” Richard said. “He’s mine.”

~ ~ ~

“I’m going as fast as I can,” Noelle said. The track had deteriorated into muddy ruts. It must have rained harder here, but for now it had stopped. “I refuse to risk Snowflake on this uneven ground.”

“You want me to shoot the nag?”

No! “How would that help? It would slow us down even more.”

But she couldn’t be sure Jackson wouldn’t carry out his threat, so she urged Snowflake a little faster, concentrating on the mare’s every step, holding her up twice when she stumbled. The trees bordering the track thinned out to scrubby bushes and the occasional stand of pines. Ahead, the track stretched open and uninviting with only a thin line of hedgerow to mark its route down the slow incline to the inlet where the Restless Rose lay at anchor.

Jackson slowed his horse. A quiver of fear ran down Noelle’s spine. Will Dalbey would have called it a sixth sense.

She must do something to delay their progress, and do it now.

She hauled on the reins and jumped down.

Jackson whirled, pulling out a gun so quickly that she leapt back, stifling a shriek.

He’d already had a hand on that gun. Had he been readying himself to shoot her? She retreated behind the horse, seeking her own pistol in the pocket of her cloak.

“What the bloody hell?” He was no longer looking at Noelle, but rather back up the track whence they had come. He dismounted, cursing again. “Someone’s following us, probably that curst revenuer again. What are you doing?”

“Snowflake’s favoring her left foreleg. I told you we were going too fast.” Noelle squinted into the night. “I don’t see anyone. You must be imagining things.”

“I saw him duck behind those trees. Get that white nag of yours off the road.”

Noelle glanced longingly at the trees in question, turned resolutely away and led Snowflake into the bushes. She removed the canvas bag. “She’s hidden now. Hurry up, or we’ll be caught!”

She slung the canvas bag over her shoulder and ran, twisting and turning through the shrubs parallel to the track. Her skirt caught on a branch, and she almost toppled. She tore it free and kept going.

“Wait!” Jackson crashed through the brush behind her. “There’s no cover down there. He’ll see us.”

I’m counting on that. “We can’t sit here waiting to be caught.” She kept on going, dodging, running, hoping he wouldn’t shoot . . .