Free My Runaway Heart by Miriam Minger

then?"
    "Promise . . . me to you?" As the Scotswoman
nodded firmly, Lindsay felt a sinking sensation in her stomach. "If . . .
if you mean will I say I won't see Jared again—"
    "Jared, is it?" Looking wholly exasperated,
the Scotswoman flung up her hands. "Heavens, lass, ye've only just met him and already ye're calling him by
his given name?"
    "Of course. What else would I call the man I plan
to marry? 'Lord Giles' seems silly, and besides, he asked me to call him Jared .
. . Matilda?"
    The old Scotswoman's face had gone chalk-white. Lindsay
threw aside the bedclothes in alarm, but Matilda had already sought the comfort
of a chair, plopping down as Lindsay rushed to her side. Her head was
throbbing, her stomach suddenly queasy, but she couldn't think of her
discomfort now. She took the maid's plump hand in her own.
    "Matilda, what's wrong—"
    "Wrong? Lord in heaven, lass, are ye so determined
to bring Lady Somerset's wrath down upon yer poor
aunt?"
    At the Scotswoman's poignant dismay, Lindsay had to
grit her -teeth, just as she had done so many times in Porthleven because her domineering stepmother wielded such power to distress people. For
years she had watched Olympia belittle and browbeat her father, Randolph
Somerset finally turning to strong drink as a refuge from the second wife he
had brought to his home not long after Lindsay's mother had succumbed to a
fever.
    Lindsay couldn't count the occasions she had wanted to
rail at the ridiculous woman—double that number the times she had prevented Corisande from venting her legendary temper on her best
friend's behalf—but Lindsay's love for her father had kept her from making his
life any more miserable than it already was. Yet somewhere this tyranny had to
stop, if not for her father, at least for herself. It had to!
    That was why she would wed no man who would allow that
woman to govern their lives. And if once married she was adventuring far, far
away from Cornwall, so much the better. But no matter if near or far, she knew
in her heart that a bold spy and hero of the realm like Jared Giles wouldn't
hesitate to stand up to the likes of Olympia Somerset.
    "Matilda, you don't have to fear for Aunt Winnie,
I promise you. Jared will see to my stepmother. But I won't promise not to see
him again."
    "Aye, so I thought ye'd say."
    "And he's not anything at all like Aunt Winnie
described—surely not a rogue, but gallant and brave and daring, everything I've
always dreamed for a husband."
    "Very well, then, if he's all these fine things,
what does Lord Giles say to yer plans to wed? Not
that it's any of my business, mind ye, but my dear mistress and her welfare is
my affair."
    "Well . . ." Lindsay paused, not wanting to
admit that Jared was as unaware of her fond hopes as she was determined to make
them become reality. "He wouldn't have agreed to meet me last night if his
intentions weren't honorable. What true gentleman would risk dire censure from
his peers by misleading me? After all, you said he did swear."
    "Aye, he did, and I believed him. But he's won a
notorious reputation for himself, lass."
    "No more than jealous gossip, Matilda, surely, and
I refuse to believe it. And Jared made no move toward me last night that was
anything but gentlemanly and respectable."
    As Matilda sighed and looked away, Lindsay didn't
elaborate further, her face grown quite warm as more memories flooded upon
her—Jared unfastening her cloak, his fingers grazing her breasts. Jared
caressing the ale from her chin. And there was another vision that came to her,
more sensation than memory, making her cheeks flame hotter.
    A sensation of power . . . power and searing possession
in a kiss so dark and hungry that she felt her breath falter, her hands fisting
in the white linen of her nightgown. Oh, Lord, had Jared really—
    "All right, lass, yer secret is safe with me, but for one week, no longer."
    Lindsay blinked, wrenched back rudely to reality. "One—one
week?" she echoed, confused.
    "