Free The Reckless Bride by Stephanie Laurens Page A

he knew his duty, and that wasn’t to be. This time he was the rabbit and he had to run.
    She’d fallen silent, too. But, oddly, it felt comfortable; he didn’t feel obliged to make conversation simply to fill the quiet.
    Nor, apparently, did she. As the silence lingered, he glanced at her face. She’d lifted it to the breeze; errant tendrils of dark hair streamed back from the porcelain oval of her face.
    Although her eyes had been closed, she must have sensed him looking; her lids rose and she slanted him a glance. It lingered, too, then she looked forward. “The cultists in Buda didn’t notice you leaving, so they—the cult—don’t know you’re on the river, don’t know you’re on this boat.”
    It occurred to him that she might feel threatened. “No. And until one of them sees and identifies me, this boat and all who sail on her are under no threat at all.”
    From his tone, Loretta realized that he’d thought she was worried. She didn’t correct him, but that hadn’t been the reason for her questions, her interest.
    Straightening from the rail, she murmured, “It’ll be time to dress for dinner soon. I’ll see you at table.”
    She left him by the rail and headed for her cabin. Every time she spoke with him, every morsel more about his mission she teased from him, only gave her more to think about.
    Only enthralled her more.

Three

    November 27, 1822

The
Uray Princep
on the Danube
    L oretta tossed and turned. It was night, and all the passengers had retired to their beds long ago. Doubtless all were snoring.
    Lifting her head, she thumped her pillow, laid her head back down, and closed her eyes. She willed herself to sleep.
    Within a minute, her mind had drifted … to cultists. To what one might look like. To what weapons they would carry.
    To how many Rafe Carstairs had fought and dispatched.
    To Rafe Carstairs.
    “Arrgh!” Sitting up, she hesitated, then, hearing nothing from the stateroom’s sitting room beyond her door, she threw back the covers and climbed out of the berth.
    Enough moonlight washed in through the porthole for her to find her boots and pelisse. Pulling them on, she fastened the pelisse tight to her neck, wrapped a shawl about her head and shoulders, then eased open her cabin door.
    The sitting room was deserted. Moonlight washed through the wide windows on either side of the prow. Quietly closing her door, she walked silently to the stateroom door, opened it, and slipped out into the corridor.
    Moments later she pushed through the swinging doors near the bar and trudged up the stairs to the observation deck. A turn about the deck in the cold, damp air would, she hoped, settle her enough for sleep.
    She had to get her mind off Rafe Carstairs.
    Just because she was now involved in his mission didn’t mean she had to draw close to him. She didn’t need to understand him to play her part.
    Stepping onto the deck, she straightened, and looked toward the prow.
    And saw him standing there, watching her.
    “Wonderful!” she muttered. Then again, she should have guessed. He had mentioned keeping watch to ensure no cultist slipped on board.
    She debated simply waving and going downstairs again, but she wasn’t that cowardly.
    Drawing her shawl close, she walked across the deck. As she neared, she stated in an even tone, “I couldn’t sleep, so came to get some air.”
    His brows arched, but when she marched to the rail and stood looking out, a good yard and more between them, he obligingly turned back to his own staring out at the night.
    He didn’t say anything.
    As the silence stretched, she again felt an almost physical compulsion to sidle closer, to ease nearer to his heat. She wasn’t all that cold, yet the urge only grew.
    She focused on the river, the scenery. “I hadn’t realized the view at night would be so … poetic.” The change was striking. “The moon makes everything look ethereal, as if its light reveals some things and hides others, and the river mist