Free Escape with A Rogue by Sharon Page Page B

the fog right now.”
    “Jack?” Her voice came softly from somewhere to the left of him.
    His heart stuttered to a stop. God owed him no favors, after all, and had let his mother and then Juliette, Stephen Bells’ wife, die in front of him. Why not sacrifice another?
    Hell, no .
    “Got you,” the man said. Through a break in the fog, Jack saw the pistol arm straighten. The muzzle wasn’t pointing at him—it would be Lady Madeline the man took down in cold blood.
    Jack jumped to his feet. “I’m here, you bastard,” he shouted. “Can’t you see me?”
    The arm swung in his direction. “I’ve been waiting for the chance to do this, Hart.”
    A flick of the thumb toward the trigger—
    Desperate, Jack dove to the right. The gun did not fire, and the arm and the pistol’s muzzle relentlessly followed him. He’d slammed back against a damp, stone wall and had nowhere to escape.
    An explosion roared into the murky night from somewhere behind the cloaked man. His arm—and his weapon—jerked suddenly downward. His shadowy form stumbled forward.
    The cloak waved through the mist like frantically beating wings. The man had taken flight on foot. He ran too smoothly to have been shot. Nimbly, he jumped over the wall and vanished instantly in the fog-filled field.
    Jack strained to see who had rescued him, but he couldn’t see a thing. No doubt it was the militia, who probably thought they’d just shot at an escapee. Given his luck, it would be Blenchley, and he’d find himself staring down a rifle barrel this time.
    Please, Lady M., run for your life. He couldn’t risk shouting to her. Couldn’t risk alerting guards that she was there.
    Footsteps sounded again. Slow ones, muffled by the mist. But there was no masculine chuckle of triumph as the person approached him. Instead, a soft, shocked, feminine sob broke the stillness. It gave him a direction. Heart lodged low in his throat, Jack quickly found Lady Madeline standing in the road—her face leached of color, her eyes cold and grim.
    Before he realized what he was doing, he roughly dragged her into his arms, in the middle of the road. She collapsed against him. He’d never seen her swoon, never seen her lean on another person. Hades, he’d never seen Lady Madeline Ashby show any weakness whatsoever. Not even on the afternoon when she had found the bodies of Grace Highchurch and Lady Sarah Sutton in the maze.
    On that afternoon, he had caught a glimpse of her three hours later, when the magistrate’s men took him away. She had been rigid and controlled with her shoulders straight, her face astoundingly calm and expressionless.
    Now she was shaking as though she might explode into a thousand pieces.
    He understood. “It’s all right, love.” He cradled her tightly. Her head, shrouded by a veil, tucked just below his chin. She smelled like violets and gunpowder. He gently pried the pistol’s handle from her tight grip.
    “Jack. I—I had to. He was going to sh—shoot you.”
    Reassurance. She needed it. But he hesitated—the last time he had tried to reassure a woman, the consequences had led to three deaths. He eased back from her, to gaze down into massive, horrified eyes. She blinked, fighting tears, and he knew he had to ease her pain. “I know,” he murmured. “You saved my life.”
    “Don’t say it as though it’s enough to repay you for what I’ve put you through. Or as though you’re proud. Please—”
    Her hands slid up to hold the ragged collar of his shirt. She pressed her body more tightly against his. “Do you think I—I hit him?”
    Having her that close set his head reeling. Holding Lady Madeline was like staring at the sun during an eclipse—if he forgot his place, he stood the chance of being blinded.
    “He ran too nimbly to be wounded,” he said. “You just scared him off. You were magnificent, but we need to get off the road.” He added the last in a calm tone, not wanting to make her panic. With his hand around her