Annie Burrows - Captain Corcoran's Hoyden Bride

To her intense relief, when she clawed at the handle, she found the front door was neither bolted, nor locked, and it swung open easily on well-oiled hinges.

The cold wet air that gusted into the hall made her gasp. But she did not regret the lack of a coat. Retaining just enough presence of mind to shut the door quietly behind her, to prevent her flight being detected for as long as possible, she slipped out into the rain and ran. And ran.

Only for a few seconds on the gravel drive, because it made too much noise. Then along the grass verge, though it was treacherously slippery. She made it to the twin stone pillars at the end of the drive. Then, with her tortured breath rasping in her throat, across the lane and into the woods, where a branch promptly slapped her in the face. As she recoiled with a yelp, it raked over the crown of her head, tearing the pins from her oh-so-carefully-arranged hairstyle. Her braids came tumbling over her face, but she kept on running. It was almost pitch black under these trees in any case. It was only after she had been crashing through the undergrowth, heedless of the branches snagging at her hair, and the brambles tearing at her skirts, that it occurred to her she had no idea where she was running to.

She had long been prepared to take flight at a moment’s notice.

But she had thought her flight would be in London. From Lord Matthison.

Not out here in the howling wilderness, where there were no signposts to tell her which way to go. No convenient alleys to duck into. No rooms to rent with no questions asked if the price was right. Just trees, she panted, and brambles and rain and wind and mud.

She stopped. And bent over slightly from the waist to get her breath back. And her powers of reasoning.

The lane.

If she kept close to the lane, she could probably make her way back to the King’s Arms. The innkeeper had tried to warn her to stay away from Captain Corcoran and his henchmen. And, after the way Captain Corcoran had berated him, the man would be only too pleased to do him an ill turn.

It was only a matter of finding her way out of the woods and back to the lane. And praying that her absence would not be noticed for some considerable time.

But her luck was out.

The shadowy blackness surrounding her resolved itself into distinct shapes as light streamed into the woodland. From the opened front door of the house.

She heard somebody shout, ‘This way, lads! I saw her dart in amongst the trees!’

And then several somebodies were crunching along the gravel path, straight towards her!

How could they have discovered her flight so quickly? Had Captain Corcoran posted a lookout? Or, worse, had he followed her straight up to her room? Oh, he might have said he would give her until morning, but what reliance could she, of all people, place on what a man said?

Thank heavens she had followed her instincts and just got out of the place as fast as she could!

She pressed her hands to the stitch in her side. She was still not out of the woods yet—not in any sense!

She was already panting from her dash for the trees, and now that she knew the pursuit was hot her heart began pounding even faster than ever. Her eyes darted wildly from side to side, hating the trees that were stopping her from just picking up her heels and running.

But then a vision flashed into her mind of a deer, hotly pursued by a pack of slavering hounds, closely followed by the chilling awareness that dogs always ran their quarry to earth in the end. She could tell exactly how close the pack was getting already by the amount of noise they made crashing through the undergrowth.

If she ran, they would hear her, and outrun her, and then …

Think, Aimée, think! She had no chance of outrunning them. Not even if she was out in the open. But here in this dense woodland … well, she might run smack into a tree in this darkness. Or trip and fall flat on her face.

But then … if she could barely see her way, then nor could they. Still half-crouching, she stretched her hands out in front of her and began to inch her way forwards, as quietly as she could, searching for the nearest tree. It would make an effective shield in this darkness. Her questing hands soon grazed against rough bark, and not a moment too soon. Her pursuers were closing fast. She straightened up to flatten herself against the massive trunk.

And a slim branch struck her right in the face.

She recoiled, her heel caught in a tree root and she went flying, landing upon her back so hard that all the wind was knocked out of her. The smell of damp earth and crushed bracken was like a hand pressing down on her chest, smothering her.

She thrashed like a fish on a riverbank, desperately trying to gasp in air. At last, it went whooping back through her constricted throat, but with such force that she knew Captain Corcoran’s pack must have heard it. She could hear them all veering from their random search patterns and converging in her direction.

And then it was no further use telling herself to keep calm. Wild panic had her leaping to her feet, but agonising pain, tearing from her ankle and up her leg, had her falling to the ground again with a shocked yelp.

And it was all over.

Shadowy figures encircled her, breaking ranks to allow Captain Corcoran himself to come striding through. He alone of the men had taken a few moments to provide himself with a lantern before setting out after her. He held it aloft now, the shadows it cast over his face making him look positively demonic.

‘What on earth possessed you, you damn fool woman?’ he yelled.

He looked so angry that Aimée could not help emitting a frightened little whimper as she clutched at her ankle.

‘I told you I would wait for your answer until morning. Do I give you such a disgust that you must run out into the night?’

He thrust the lantern into the hands of one of the men lurking behind him, and bent over her.

She could not help cowering deeper into the bracken, the look on his face was so murderous.

‘For God’s sake,’ he muttered, ‘I may look like your worst nightmare, but wouldn’t you rather I carried you back to the house than one of my men?’

She looked past him to the shifting shadows, imagining the hands of Nelson on her, or that one with the bow legs and splayed teeth, and shuddered. What choice did she have? She had hurt her ankle so badly, there was no escape now. With a faint moan, she nodded her assent.

‘Brace yourself, then,’ he sneered, crouching down and sweeping her up into his arms. Rain dripped from the ends of his long, shaggy hair on to her face, making her blink.

‘Just shut your eyes if you can’t bear the sight of me!’

How could he mock her terror like this? Had he no pity? No, she whimpered, or he would not have lured her up here, hand-picked his accomplices … set the whole thing up so … meticulously!

He set his jaw as he settled her into the cradle of his arms before striding back through the woods to the lane. Oh, God, he was so strong! The shoulder under her cheek was like a rock, the arms that held her against him bulging with muscle. She did not stand a chance!

As he carried her back through the gateposts, it was all she could do to hold back the tears. How could she have been so stupid as to fall into his trap?

The fear that had been her constant companion since she’d had to flee from her father had clearly addled her wits, as well as robbing her of her appetite and prodding her awake, night after night, with sickening visions of what the future held in store. It had escalated to such proportions that she could think of nothing but escape. Clinging on to the slim hope that if only she could get out of London, and away from her father, she would be safe, she had entirely overlooked the fact that men could be as wicked in the wilds of Yorkshire as they were in the gambling hells and back alleys of town.