Ransomed Jewels Read Free Page A

Hunt’s body off him and twisted to the side as a dozen or more men streamed from the Armor’s Inn. Sam found his gun and fired, but the attacker was already gone, having run into the thick woods surrounding the building.
    Sam lifted Hunt’s head to his lap and felt the warm wetness of his friend’s blood against his hand. “Lie still, Hunt. Someone will send for a doctor.”
    “Too . . . late.”
    “No! Don’t you dare die.”
    “Listen . . .” Hunt gripped Sam’s jacket and pulled him closer. “The necklace . . . she has it. My marchioness has it.”
    The effort to speak took its toll. A fierce, wracking cough sucked the air from Hunt’s body, and he struggled to take in air. “I didn’t mean for it to . . . turn out this way.”
    “I know.”
    Sam ignored his own wounds and held his friend while he gasped for breath. Blood ran from Sam’s shoulder and arm, and his head spun in dizzying circles. But that didn’t matter. The best friend he’d ever had was dying, and there was nothing he could do to save him.
    “The papers . . . and necklace. Get them, Sam. Claire’s not safe until you do.”
    Sam waited while another coughing spasm consumed Hunt’s body.
    “I’ll get them. Don’t worry, Hunt.”
    Hunt lifted a trembling hand to the front of Sam’s jacket and Sam leaned down to hear him.
    “Tell Claire . . . I’m sorry . . . In my own way . . . I loved her.”
    “I will, Hunt. I’ll”—Hunt’s body went limp in his arms—“I’ll tell her.”
    Sam held his friend’s body long after his last breath. There was a rush of activity around him, but he ignored it. Just as he ignored the suggestion that he let someone help him up. That he let the men carry Hunt’s body back into the inn. That he let someone look at his wounds. He only wanted to be left alone.
    When he was able, he helped carry Hunt back into the inn and penned a note to Lieutenant Joshua Honeywell, requesting his help. Honeywell was the only person Sam could trust now.
    Sam sat in a room in the Armor’s Inn, ignoring the all-consuming pain that enveloped him, and guarded Hunt’s lifeless body. He kept his gun drawn in case the assassins returned. But they didn’t. Only Honeywell came. When he walked into the room, Sam closed his eyes and let the blessed darkness consume him.

Chapter 1
    London - June, 1855
    Claire wasn’t sure the exact moment she realized someone was in her bedroom. Wasn’t sure if she’d heard him move across the floorboards, or if she’d imagined him sifting through the shadows. Or simply felt him intrude on her sleep. But he was here, and she knew why. She’d received enough threats in the four months since her husband’s death to know what he’d come for.
    A sense of panic washed over her, but she reminded herself she wasn’t alone in the house. There were the footmen, and Watkins, the butler. Unfortunately, they were too far away to hear her. She’d positioned them at the downstairs entrances, never dreaming the intruder would climb the roof and enter from an upstairs window.
    Claire fought the fear that threatened to engulf her as she slowly inched her hand upward, sliding it beneath her pillow, stopping only when her fingers came in contact with hard metal.
    The intruder made his way across the room, his rapid, shallow breaths knifing through the silence. She clasped her hand around the gun and waited, forcing herself to lie still until he was close. So close she couldn’t miss.
    The drapes were pulled back, allowing moonlight to stream into the room. The bright beams illuminated the large man enough to outline his broad shoulders and massive bulk.
    Her heart thundered so loudly against her ribs she feared he could hear it. If he did, it didn’t stop him. He slowly inched his way toward her, keeping in the shadows until he was beside her.
    With movement as swift and lethal as a practiced marksman, Claire twisted beneath her covers and lifted the weapon. She aimed the barrel at