Free Naughty in Nottinghamshire 02 - The Rogue Returns by Leigh LaValle Page A

Roane knew. He knew these hilly paths like one might know a favorite story, or a familiar song.
    He was finally home.
    After all that waiting, all the dreaming and planning, he was here. And it felt…odd. He almost wished Helen would chatter, for there was something sharp and unwanted in his chest as he studied the landscape.
    Spring flowers splattered the meadows with bold color, and the sky domed blue and clear overhead. Stone farmhouses squatted on the hills, and somewhere a dog barked. It filled his heart, the beauty and the familiarity, it filled him until his chest ached. But there was something else, too, an old sorrow he couldn’t shake. For, as much as he’d loved this land, he’d never truly belonged here. He’d never inhabited one of those cottages, never had a dog of his own. He’d always been passing through, as he was now, from one place to another.
    He dropped his hand in his lap, belatedly noticing he’d been rubbing his chest, as if he could rub the ache away.
    How did one come home when one never truly had a home to begin with?
    The ache grew and twisted and squeezed his throat until all that was left was longing for his Aunt Pearl. She had tried to give him a home, and she was gone. Gone, gone, gone.
    If he were counting his regrets, she would be top of the list.
    But he was not counting his regrets. And, as Mazie had said in her letter, certainly his Aunt Pearl had gone to a comfortable seat in Heaven, sainted for trying to love the angry and wayward boy he’d been.
    He leaned forward and patted Zeus, his loyal animal who had waited for him. Today, he would think of his future. He would find the gold. And he would purchase those ninety acres in the Lincolnshire Vales. He’d been coveting that parcel of land for years. Not only was it in close proximity to his sister Mazie, but it was also the perfect location to establish his horse farm.
    And it would be his. His own piece of Heaven. His own home.
    Everything was set in motion.
    No one, not himself, not his lady princess, and not the men pursuing him, was going to ruin this for him.
    He turned in the saddle and watched Helen inch her way toward him on the even path. A long sigh escaped him. “Come along now, buttercup. We haven’t all day.”
    She pretended not to hear him.
     

Chapter Seven

     
    W HAT SHOULD HAVE TAKEN TEN MINUTES took nearly an hour as the exasperating Lady Helen picked her way up Lathkill Dale on a small bridle path. Roane waited impatiently on top of the ridge, the wind catching the loose edges of his clothing and tossing it up toward the open sky. Helen finally gained the rim, then promptly stopped to tie her bonnet tighter. Roane couldn’t wait any longer. He turned and followed the river east toward Bakewell and the coaching inn.
    He stayed close to the limestone edge, where the cliff dropped dramatically to the river far below. The wind whipped around them, and the sun was hot overhead. It was not the most comfortable route he could have chosen, but he was not trying to make Helen comfortable.
    He was trying to show her the Pennines were no place for a lady like her.
    “Might we find another route?” Helen asked from behind him. She had to yell to be heard over the wind.
    “No.”
    “But there is another path just to the north.”
    Roane glanced over his left shoulder, impressed that Helen knew which direction was north. Indeed, there was another path along the plateau farther away from the edge. “We are safe here.”
    She grumbled something he could not hear. In return, he brought the horses to a faster walk. At least the mare had sense enough not to walk over the edge of the cliff even if Helen did not.
    By the time he did turn north toward Bakewell, the wind was bothering even him. It crept into his ears and buzzed around in his head. He was glad to slip back into the trees and find a moment’s peace.
    “You made me ride that treacherous path on purpose,” Helen snapped from behind him.
    He turned in the