Free Escape with A Rogue by Sharon Page Page A

from freedom.
    Jack turned to the others. “This is the last stretch. Run for the wall and make for the prison farmlands.” He handed off his rope to Black.
    “Godspeed,” Beau said to the others, then he lifted the sash of the window and jumped out. One by one, the men followed, and Jack slipped out last. He ran for the corner—the curve of the exterior wall made a tight angle with the front of the surgeon’s house. Bracing his hands and feet against the sharp, granite blocks on both walls, he could support his weight. He inched his way up.
    His muscles screamed at the exertion. His heart pounded as loudly as the gunshots. Stones cut his palms, and hot blood dribbled on his hands, making them slippery. But he kept going. He had no damned choice. A cramp shot through his leg halfway up the wall, and he had to stop, breathing fast in anguish, trying to will the pain away.
    Hades, he was not going to put Lady M. at risk because of a damned cramp.
    Slowly, it began to ease. Gritting his teeth, he pushed his way further up the wall. His thighs trembled and jerked with the strain. His shoulders ached. But he had only five feet to go. Then just a couple of feet . . .
    He caught hold of the top of the wall, and the thrill of victory gave him the strength to haul himself up.
    He dropped down to the other side, a twenty-foot distance. Breathing hard, he leapt to his feet, spun around, and ran for the road. Guards called to each other.
    “Over there!”
    “I saw something!”
    “They must be making for the leat.” The leat was the granite channel that brought fresh water across to the moor to the prison. As he’d thought, the guards believed they were heading south.
    Jack glanced around, but the fog rolled like a white sheet around him. Then he ran like mad for the Two Bridges Road, toward the place Lady Madeline should be waiting.
     
    * * *
     
    Fog hung heavily on the Two Bridges road—the route that ran southwest and linked the prison village of Princetown to the market town of Tavistock. Jack could only orient himself on it by following the stone and grass wall that ran between it and the prison’s farm fields. There was no sign of Lady Madeline. He fought raw panic. How in blazes was he going to find her in this gray-white soup?
    The ground crunched. A shape made its way slowly through the mist. Human, tall, and clad in a black cloak that snapped in the wind. Jack didn’t know whether to laugh in relief, or smack his forehead in frustration. “My—”
    He broke off abruptly. The walk bore the swaggering gait of a male, and even if Lady M. were in disguise, she would not manage so long a stride, so arrogant a roll to the shoulders.
    Fingers of fog parted to reveal a tall, hulking body and a low-slung beaver hat. Obviously not a member of the militia. Jack drew back without a sound and disappeared into the shadows by the damp, cool stone.
    The man stopped moving. Jack heard a low chuckle.
    “Got you,” crowed an unfamiliar male voice. “You cannot hide any longer, Jack Hart. This time you are mine.”

Chapter Five
     
     
    Jack Hart.
    His old name—the name he’d walked away from when he’d left his gaming hell empire in London and had become a groom at Lady Madeline’s home. When he’d tried to put his past behind him to live a simpler life.
    The only ones who used it now were the men of the Crown. Agents like Livingston who grilled him in the governor’s offices of the prison.
    “You can’t hide, Hart.” The man’s boots crunched on the grit of the road.
    Swathed in fog and darkness, Jack remained still. He could hide easily. His problem was that Lady M., if she were here on the road, had no idea she should hide. She’d be unaware of the danger.
    Jack listened beyond the approaching footsteps for other sounds—for a hint she was near. What could he do if she blundered upon him and his would-be captor?
    “Grant this one boon, Lord,” he muttered up to the sky. “Don’t let her come rushing out of