Free Runaway by Heather Graham Page B

had told her so.
    But the woman had sent them to a duly appointed minister of the church, and the man promised to see to it that they were legally wed once he had a good look at McKenzie’s gold pieces.
    The minister called to his wife, and she came in, confused at first, but quick to understand that her husband was earning a very nice little stipend for the night’s work. She told them they were a beautiful couple, then set her rosy cheeks into a stern pattern to stand and witness the ceremony. It was a strange wedding in their small, dusty parlor. Tara and McKenzie were both standing together in front of the minister before McKenzie turned to her, a very dry smile curving his mouth. “I don’t even know your name.”
    “Tara. Tara Brent.”
    He studied her for a moment. “The last name doesn’t matter anymore. It’s McKenzie now. Tara McKenzie.”
    She opened her mouth to ask him his given name, but the very well paid minister had begun the ceremony.
    His name was Jarrett. Jarrett McKenzie. She was marriedto him. There was a massive ring on her fìnger, which had come off his, and the magnitude of what she had done suddenly seemed to sweep down on her. Not just her knees, but the whole of her body seemed weak.
    “You may now kiss your bride, Mr. McKenzie!” the minister told him.
    She had never really known what
weak
could mean. He turned to her with the devil’s own smile and swept her into his arms. His lips touched hers with a startling fire that burned and seemed to tear through the length of her, wet, hot, and evocative. She felt it in every limb, spiraling into some intangible center. Her lips parted. His tongue swept into her mouth. She clutched his shoulders as the world seemed to spin.
    He set her down, staring at her again. He seemed to know that she would fall if he released her, because he continued to support her. There was hastily dug up champagne, a toast to the newlyweds.
    He spoke politely with the minister and his wife. Then he took Tara’s glass from her cold fìngers and set it down on the buffet table in the hall. He took her hand. “Let ’ s go.”
    She nodded, closing her eyes, praying for strength.
    She had wanted to escape! She was certainly managing to do so
.
    “Now, Tara! Let’s go!”
    She was tempted to run again. Run as far as she could go, run forever. But she had made her promises.
    And he had vowed that she would keep them.
    She could run no longer.

    Clive Carter of the Boston Carters, son of the late and illustrious Julian Carter, waited at the inn, seated at thetable where the poker players had gambled fate just hours before.
    He was immaculately dressed in a crisp white shirt, cobalt breeches, and maroon frock coat with an embroidered waistcoat beneath. He was a handsome man, and a prosperous one. A man to draw respect. His dark blond hair was neatly queued at his nape, his hazel eyes were steady on those around him. His hands rested upon the curve of a silver-tipped walking stick as he watched those around him.
    Seething.
    The idiots in this place! And to think that he had missed her by less than an hour. His own men had not returned. Two humanlike apes in the employ of the incredibly stupid proprietor of the place had failed to return as well.
    This was preposterous. How many states had he traveled so far, seeking her?
    He had to find her before William could come to her aid. He would not let her escape. This afternoon he had learned definitely where to find her. Now he was here—and the wretched woman had escaped him once again! It was not to be borne. And he dealt with such fools. From here on out he would have the law with him. The law, the military—he’d bring his own damned gallows and rope soon!
    The babbling proprietor had told him that McKenzie had the girl as payment of a debt, and that they were aggressively searching for the pair, even though it would definitely mean trouble because McKenzie could be a difficult man himself when he chose to be so.
    So