Free Perilous Pleasures by Jenny Brown Page A

inn to make his arrangements. This was the first time all day he’d left her alone. He must have thought her still dozing.
    She waited until she was sure he wouldn’t immediately return. Then she made her way out of the chaise, acting as if she were merely stretching her legs in case he should be observing her. But he didn’t return. She was really alone. This was the opportunity she’d been waiting for.
    Their post chaise stood at one side of the moonlit inn courtyard. A lone postilion was wearily unharnessing the team. As casually as she could, she hailed him.
    â€œIt’s so cold. Would you fetch my box from the chaise so I can get my shawl?”
    She pointed to where it lay, atop the pile of luggage lashed to the boot of the post chaise. When the postilion handed it down to her, she reached into her purse and gave him a sixpence for his pains, which he tossed into the air, where it spun brightly in the moonlight. Then he slapped it into his pocket and headed into the taproom to exchange it for a hearty draught that would provide warmth for the long night’s journey ahead.
    She was alone now. There would be no cheering warmth for her for many hours to come, but if she was lucky there would be freedom. After a swift look to make sure Ramsay was still inside the inn, she rooted through her box for the things she couldn’t leave behind and transferred them to the small valise she’d packed into the larger trunk. She took only a change of dress, some stockings, and a pair of sturdy shoes—she’d need those for the long walk ahead of her.
    Then she picked up the old doll MacMinn had given her and gave it a furtive hug before laying it back in the box, warmed by the memory of how her mother’s coachman had hugged her when she was small and sheltered her with his long, gangling body as if she, too, were a beloved doll. But this was no time for sentiment. She must make her escape.
    Zoe made a bundle of the clothing she must leave behind and grabbed her old bonnet. With every sense on high alert, she reentered the chaise and heaped up the bundled garments in the corner she’d previously occupied. When that was done, she set her bonnet on top of the pile, closed the door, and stepped away.
    In the gloom, the mass of cloth did look like a woman sleeping in the chaise. With Ramsay so eager to avoid any contact with her, it was unlikely he’d venture close enough to the huddled form to realize it wasn’t hers. She hoisted her valise and hurried away from the center of the tiny village. Her father, the duke, would be so proud if he could see the job she’d made of her escape.
    She took a path leading away from the inn, looking for some place where she could hide until the post chaise had gone. But the countryside around her was one of open fields and hedgerows offering no shelter. She didn’t dare take refuge in one of the stone barns that stood behind the village houses, for if she disturbed the animals, their cries would give her away. There was no alternative but to head out into the fields.
    She opened the first gate she found and began to run along the tall hedgerow that bordered it. Twigs caught in her shawl and snapped as she brushed against the bushes that formed the hedge. Soon her breath was coming in ragged gasps, but she pushed herself to keep going, feeling her heart pound. She must get far enough away from Lord Ramsay that he couldn’t find her when he learned she’d fled.
    Then her foot encountered an unexpected dip in the path and she tripped, falling onto the cold, damp ground. She lay there panting, clutching the leather-wrapped handle of her valise convulsively as the odor of the trampled grass assailed her nostrils. In the distance she heard a dog bark.
    She resisted the impulse to leap up even as her arms broke out in gooseflesh. Was a farmer tracking her, thinking a poacher had come onto his land? She lay as still as possible, but that would