Page 5 of The Taming of a Wicked Rogue

“At my house.”

“Yes! You are never here. I know that from—” She looked to her feet and kicked aside a small pile of hay. “I just know that.”

She glanced up to see his mouth slant. “You have been keeping an eye on me then?”

“No.” She shook her head vigorously.

He closed the gap between them, so she had to crane her neck to look up at him. Sweet Mary, why did he have to grow so handsome? Why was he still able to affect her after all these years?

“Where have you been, Rebecca? And why are you here? Hell, it’s been ten years—”

“Nine.”

“What happened to you? We were going to—” He shook his head. “And then you just...”

“We had to leave suddenly but please believe me that I am sorry.”

“And you could not send word?” He shook his head. “For a while, I thought you dead.”

A knot gathered in her throat when his voice cracked. Could it be he had been truly hurt? She had convinced herself that her disappearance had done nothing to him. How could it when he had pursued a life of pleasure? But what if...

She glanced at the open door of the stables. She wasn’t here for this and she could not let herself be distracted by thoughts of what could have been. They were two entirely different people now.

“I am sorry. Truly,” she repeated, then darted past him, ducking past an outstretched arm and speeding into the night. She heard him call her name but refused to look back.

Their love was in the past and there it would stay.

Chapter Three

Leo ignored the simpering smile of an attractive young woman but offered a curt dip of his head. So far, ignoring the pretty offerings of Langmere’s new residents had been relatively easy.

Mostly because he was looking for her.

He grimaced to himself. He shouldn’t be.

Clearly, Rebecca wanted nothing to do with him but, damn it, he at least deserved an explanation as to why she never came back or why she did not even pen a brief missive to tell him she was safe.

He drew in a long breath and strode along the path that led adjacent to the lakeside. The chances were she had fled, likely never to be seen again. After all, that was her usual technique. Tell a man she loved him then vanish, leaving said man to wonder what the bloody hell had happened.

He shook his head to himself. With Rebecca he had imagined so many things for them. Marriage, children, a long life together. What a fool he had been. Apparently their plans had meant a lot less to her than they had to him. Didn’t she realize he could have protected her from whatever it was they were running from?

Yes, they were young then, but he still had power and privilege behind him. Whatever her father had done—and there were many, many things he had done it seemed—he could have helped Rebecca.

Blasted stubborn woman. He shouldn’t even be thinking of her. And he most certainly shouldn’t be scanning all the faces of all the boys in the town lest she make another appearance. He might not be able to touch a woman as per his promise but surely he could at least be enjoying the sight of pretty young ladies promenading along the lakeside and flitting in and out of the few shops that clung to the lake’s edge?

It seemed not. His gaze snared on a young boy in a floppy hat. The dim light in the stables hadn’t allowed him to pay full attention to what Rebecca had been wearing, but he’d been on top of her long enough to know she filled out the boy’s garments in all the wrong ways.

There was no doubting Rebecca had grown into womanhood in all the ways he admired, and he suspected he was going to struggle to forget the feel of her soft breasts beneath him.

That did not aid her foolish disguise, however. Standing awkwardly by the side of the smithy’s, her arms folded, and drawing his attention to forementioned curves, her gaze darted about. Why had she returned and why the devil had she returned dressed as a boy?

Oh yes, not to mention, why had she taken to hiding in the stables at Eastwick? He had to assume from the rumpled state of her, she had nowhere to stay.

Most of the lodgings were booked up and even those who did not normally take in guests, had opened their doors to the visitors, sensing a fine opportunity to earn some coin. However, Rebecca had grown up here. Surely she could find someone to take her in?

He paused by Mr. Beaumont’s Bazaar, feigning picking up a book from the outside stall to peruse the first few pages.

He ignored the text and eyed Rebecca out of the periphery of his vision. He could not fathom what she had in mind nor could he understand why she lingered in her spot by the blacksmith’s. She took a step forward and then stepped back again, pressing herself up against the once white wall of the building. Passing carts and the nature of the smith’s work had stained the walls to a grey that gradually faded toward the top story of the building, revealing its pristine white color.

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