Free Lady Fugitive by Shannah Biondine

grateful for the
intervention of a local farmer, who accosted Morgan about granary storage for
his spring crops. She used the distraction to cross the room, positioning
herself well away from her landlord.
    A farmer she'd met during one of her
audits at the inn struck up a conversation, then persuaded her to dance. She
found herself in his arms, whirling to the fiddles and voices lifted in song.
When the dance ended, she was approached by the young male clerk from the
tobacco shop. He had a timid young maid on his arm, whom he introduced as his
future intended. 
    Though she didn't recognize many of the
faces at the large gathering, Rachel found she knew several of the villagers
well enough to receive a smiling greeting or polite nod. The villagers might
not fully accept her after having her amongst them for several months, but she
no longer felt hostile or curious stares. The stares now came from several of
the unattached men, who seemed to have quickly noted the lack of widow's weeds.
    "May I have the next number?" 
    Dismayed, Rachel discovered Somersdale
at her side. "Oh! I'm sorry," she gulped, coughing now for effect,
"Mr. Somersdale, but...I—"
    "She's promised the remainder of
her dances to me, Arnold," Morgan stiffly informed him. "I told you
to leave this particular lady alone." 
    Rachel watched Arnold depart.
"Would you like to go outside for some air?" Morgan inquired. Her
eyes swept the crowded room, gauging the whereabouts of the nearest exit. She
spied Pamela, who was glaring hotly at her and Morgan.
    "No, I'm fine. What I'd like is for
you to dance with me." She caught his forearm and dragged him into the
center of the room. "Please, sir."
    He swept her into his arms and they
began to waltz. His fingers tightened on hers as he flashed her a knowing grin.
"I assume your sudden passion is for her benefit." He inclined his
head toward the furious blonde at the edge of the dance floor.
    Rachel tilted her chin up. "I owe
her a debt I haven't repaid." 
    "Do you always repay your
debts?"
    Yes, mine and those thrust upon me , her mind answered. Even when it costs me
everything . "Definitely. Don't you?"
    "Apart from one. A certain young
lady did me a service not long ago, but has stubbornly refused to let me
compensate her for it. I'm still indebted and wondering how to resolve the
matter."
    "The lady performed that service as
a personal favor to you. She'd like to be considered your friend, as well as
your employee. You're not indebted, sir."
    Morgan abruptly froze, his eyes wide.
"Christ, but I'm an idiot!"
    "For once I agree with you,
sir," she replied, a false smile on her face. "Perhaps we might dance
again later." She nudged him with her knee. It seemed he'd forgotten they
were standing in the midst of whirling dancers. He stared down into her face
and made no attempt to move. It was everything she'd longed for, all that
terrified her—a moment when time stopped, when no one existed but Morgan
Tremayne and Richelle . She had to do something to break the spell.
    She closed her fingers around his hand
and tugged hard, threading her way between the spinning couples. Morgan numbly
followed, but Pamela wasn't going to let them escape her wrath.
    "So, you decided to take your clerk
to the festivities this year, Morgan. Boyd's altruism seems to be rubbing off
on you."
    "Not as much as you might
wish," Morgan replied, stiffening. "I've been meaning to speak to
your father about the back payments on his loan. If either of you thought I'd disregard
his overdue debt, you're destined for disappointment."
    Pamela's eyes went from hot to ice cold.
Rachel had no desire to eavesdrop on this particular conversation. She mumbled
an excuse and started to pull away, but Morgan wouldn't release her fingers.
"I'll only be a moment, Rachel. I still want to talk to you."
    He turned back to Pamela. "Is
George here?"
    "What, it's not enough I'm
humiliated by this Colonial throwing herself at you, now you insist upon
embarrassing my