Page 17 of The Pirate's Stolen Bride
Her hands trembled and her cheeks burned as she discarded the nightgown and yanked on the pieces of her clothing. Chemise. Stays. Petticoat. All the lacings tied in a hurried knot that would no doubt be a bear to untangle later, but for now, she needed clothing. On went her dress, stockings, and spencer.
Although it only took her a few moments, by the time she was finished, Rémy was dressed and standing at the open window, examining the slick roof below.
“You cannot be serious,” she declared, planting her hands on her hips. “You cannot kidnap a lady, kiss her breathless, and then defenestrate yourself!”
“Why not? It is a convenient exit. More convenient than that one.” He pointed to the door.
“I suppose you have extensive experience with hasty exits from ladies’ bedrooms,” she grumbled. He raised one eyebrow. “No. Don’t say anything. I am not interested in the sordid details of your affairs. You are not leaving me here alone.”
“You can’t come with me.”
“You can’t abandon me.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You’ve kidnapped me and ruined my reputation. Now you’re going to leave me to face the consequences alone? You, sir, are no gentleman.”
“I never said I was.”
The scoundrel slung one leg over the sill, bent, and once he’d found his balance, dragged the other out into the rain.
Speechless, Harriet stuffed her feet into the half-boots and ran to the window, watching incredulously as he half-slid, half-walked down the tiles and dropped over the edge.
“You…pirate,” she seethed. Before she could rationalize her actions, Harriet perched her bottom on the sill, swung both legs onto the roof, took a deep breath, and let go.
“Help!”
No. Impossible. She couldn’t have.
Rémy turned to the precarious rooftop from which he had descended and saw Harriet teetering on the edge. She couldn’t seem to decide whether to leap or try and climb down, and as a result, was about to fall.
Never mind. Apparently, she could follow him out the window, and had.
With his heart in his throat, Rémy turned back. “Jump, chérie! I will catch you.”
She made a face. Arms windmilling, she toppled from the roof’s edge. Rémy didn’t hesitate. He caught her before she could hit the ground. Pain flared in his shoulder. His tumble out of the bed earlier had bruised, and the strain of catching a falling woman furthered the injury.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“You can’t abandon me alone at an inn.”
“Your uncle is right outside.”
“How do you know it’s him and not the Riders?”
She had him there. Rémy had simply done what he always did: bolt at the first sign of trouble. The instinct might not be a noble one, but it had kept him alive.
“I don’t,” he snapped. “But they would return you to your uncle.”
“I’d rather you do it. The fewer people involved, the easier it will be to keep this a secret. You owe me that much.”
She still hoped to marry Lord Lucarran, then. Kissing her this morning had changed nothing. The knowledge that she still intended to go through with her wedding opened a yawning cavern of anger near his heart.
He should have left her back in that tavern. What a mess he’d created.
“Fine. It’s a long walk, Your Ladyship. Try to keep up.”
Hours later,Harriet had ample cause to regret not staying behind at the inn. Shortly after leaving the Windswept Tides, gray clouds rolled across the horizon. Now, water dripped down her neck into the warm knitted vest Rémy had loaned her. He wore his greatcoat buttoned all the way up and the collar popped up against the bad weather.
“Admit it. We’re lost.” Her freshly-cleaned dress was now sodden with a six-inch hem of mud.
“We’re not lost,” Rémy insisted. “This path will take us to Viscount Prescott’s house outside Cavalier Cove. My cousin lives there. Thierry and Ada will give us a place to stay while we sort this out.”
