The Pirate's Tempting Stowaway Read Free Page B

and took an involuntary step back. So much for his infallible memory. She was right—the ceiling leaked. What she had failed to mention was that the rotting roof was coated in slimy mold. Flecks of the dark fungus dripped down with the rain to splat in the thick iron pans. The rest clung to the ceiling, growing outward from the wet areas until fingers of furry mold brushed against the tops of the walls like a living black carpet.
    The back of Steele’s throat tickled just from looking at all that mold. They were breathing it right now.  
    “Pack a bag,” he barked as he ducked into her bedchamber to start throwing open drawers.
    She glanced up from arranging the pots, startled. “What? Why?”
    “You’re coming with me.”
    “But I have—”
    “I don’t think you do.” He threw a large cloth bag onto the bed. “Pack it.”
    “You may be used to getting your way due to your looks and your arrogance, but I’m not willing to risk other people’s lives based on what you think.”
    “You won’t be risking everyone’s lives. Just mine.” He tossed a pair of stockings into the open bag. “You’ll be quarantined with me.”

Chapter 2

    When Clara Halton had woken up coughing in her lonely bed that morning, she’d never imagined that later that afternoon she would be flying across dirt roads on the back of a horse…with her arms wrapped around the hard, muscled stomach of an arrogant stranger.
    What was she doing? Recklessness was for the young. Adventure was for the young.  
    The mistakes she’d made during the year of her London come-out were precisely the reason why she was nine-and-thirty years old…and had a twenty-two-year-old daughter. Running away from her disapproving parents, fleeing to America, falling in love with a young doctor whose big heart would lead him to an early grave in the blink of an eye… Reckless, all of it. Foolhardy. Witless.
    She’d learned from those mistakes. She’d had no choice. At seventeen years old, she’d become self-sufficient overnight. She’d become responsible overnight. Grown up. Cautious. Over-protective. Safe.
    Until now.
    “Are you comfortable?” Mr. Steele called back to her. “The next posting-house is bound to have a carriage we can rent.”
    Clara lifted her cheek from his coat. His warm back protected her face from the wind, and she enjoyed the masculine rumble of his voice more than she’d like to admit. “No.”
    He pulled the horse up short. His muscles had tensed. “No, you’re not comfortable?”
    “No, we oughtn’t waste time on a coach.” Not if they truly were going to England. Excitement lightened her chest. Now that seeing Grace again finally seemed possible, Clara couldn’t wait to begin. Particularly if she didn’t have much time left. “You said you could take me to my daughter. A carriage will take longer to reach the port. I don’t know how much time I—”
    He twisted toward her, trying to meet her eyes. “You are not going to die. Not of consumption. Not of anything, whilst you’re under my protection. I will reunite you with your family.”
    Doubt crept in. What if her health was worse than he believed? What if she never would see her daughter again? She should have stayed in her cottage. Hope was the cruelest jest of all. Why did he wish to save her? Why did he even think he could?  
    She should tell him to send his arrogance and high-handed ways to the devil. She should scoff at his claim that anyone in the world was truly more powerful than death.
    Yet she couldn’t move. Something about the determination in his eyes, the hard set of his jaw, the almost careless confidence he exuded with every word and every breath… Clara had no doubt that if anyone could cheat death, it was this man.
    “Who are you?” she whispered, not bothering to hide her awe—or her hesitation.
    “Mr. Steele.” His reply came easily, but a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Sometimes.”
    She frowned.