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His French accent lent the words a certain caress. Stormy was momentarily taken aback by this sudden change of speech. She wondered why he would employ it, since he normally spoke without the slightest French pronunciation. At any other time she would have found it utterly charming, but right now it raised her hackles. André was patronizing her, and she didn’t like it one bit.

Crossing her arms under her breasts, she tossed her head. “Go on. I will be fine. I think there for a moment the night air and lack of sleep must have clouded my mind.” She stepped abruptly away and slapped Noir’s rump for good measure.

But her heart bounced in her chest with apprehension. She did not like to be left in a dark forest, knowing that Snowden could well have tracked them by now and that he could shoot André. Close to tears, she leaned against a tree and chided herself for being a fool. André had no feelings for her, except those he would bestow upon a child. Gad, if she had the opportunity she would show him just how wrong he could be.

Noir jumped forward, surprised by the sudden slap on his rump. It was the saving grace for André, because one second longer and he would have revealed his true feelings for her. His male arrogance helped him over that hurdle as well by putting the whole scenario into a different perspective.

Bloody hell, it all was nothing more than a bad case of lust. The way she had stood there with her arms crossed beneath those alluring breasts. And if that hadn’t been temptation enough, it had befuddled his mind to have her sit before him, her scent teasing his nostrils and playing havoc with his senses.

But like it or not, his denial of having any kind of feelings for her save lust, brought back that first night, when he had kidnapped her from their carriage. At the time he had not thought or even dared to hope to see her again. But Fate had intervened. Hell and damnation why had that happened? She would have been so much better off, if their paths had never crossed again.

What sort of a roué would she think him to be, when he left her aboard the Mystic without saying goodbye? The idea tugged at his heart, but he needed to think of her happiness, and that did not include him.

He wound his way through the undergrowth, his senses alert. He purposely didn’t tell Stormy that the men had planned an elaborate evasion tactic to throw the sheriff off. Snowden was so devious they couldn’t take any unwarranted chances.

Once he met up with the three men at the appointed road, he intended to trade Noir for Rebel. Then he would return for Stormy and head to Bristol. He had not been keen on the idea, but Trevor was adamant and wanted his daughter safely on her way back to the Americas. He and his wife would wait for one of their other ships to make port and follow her home as soon as possible.

His words still rang in André’s ears. “You got us into this muddle. It is your duty to see my daughter safe and untouched to the Mystic. If you decide to sail to the colonies with her, I won’t stop you.” The unspoken threat underlying Trevor’s demand raised André’s hackles, though he could hardly blame him or that he had spoken the word untouched with deliberate emphasis.

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André felt like a coward for using his friend as a decoy. But Thomas and Trevor had been adamant. Snowden’s men were country folk. They knew how to track people, but they especially knew how to read the prints of an animal. And Noir being a stallion of large proportions would make his prints easy to locate.

As soon as he returned on Rebel, he reached his hand down to her and pulled her up in front of him.

“Why this elaborate ploy? Why couldn’t we all ride together?”

André’s mouth pursed. “It was your father’s idea. If Snowden’s men track Noir’s hoof prints, they will follow them and give us extra time to get away. Besides, Stuart is not in immediate danger. Snowden thinks him to be my valet. And he believes him to be dead. Stuart is an excellent horseman and about the only one Noir will tolerate on his back. Don’t worry. He is heading back on a roundabout way to Emerald Hills as we speak.”

Stormy tried to digest that bit of news. It sounded simple enough, but considering what she had experienced and endured in the past twenty-four hours, she would not rest easy again until Snowden had been brought to justice. She shivered.

He hugged her closer. “Are you cold?”

She tossed her head imperiously, though she did not turn to look at him. “Don’t patronize me anymore than you already have. I am not a child. And no I am not cold.” Oh, she would have liked to know how much longer they would ride or if they could stop at an inn. She was cold, hungry and tired. But she wasn’t about to admit to it.

André heard the petulance in her voice. His heart ached for her, because he knew it would be a long, hard ride before they’d reach Bristol. So trying to keep her comfortable, he offered her some wine and a chunk of bread he found in the knapsack strapped to the saddle.

Stormy greedily drank from the wine, then half-heartedly chewed on the bread. She was simply too tired to care anymore. The wine hit her empty stomach with the power of a boulder.

One moment she was awake, and the next she curled trustingly into André’s warm torso.

Smiling down at her, he wrapped her into his cape and held her close, drinking in her nearness, the scent of her and the rare moment of being able to be carefree about it Going against his better judgment he made a slight detour for her sake. So at daybreak they arrived at the inn, where he had dropped off Stormy after he had kidnapped her, instead of being an hour closer to Bristol. He lifted her off Rebel and carried her indoors, where he ordered a hearty breakfast and hot tea for them both. Leaving her huddled in a corner he went back to the stables and paid the hostler for the use of two mounts. He hoped that the change of horses would further throw off the search for them, if Snowden’s men were indeed still looking. He also paid in advance to have Rebel returned to Emerald Hills.

“They are expecting the horse back.” He said it mainly to make sure that the hostler would stay honest and truly see to it that Rebel was returned.

“It’s another few hours ride to Bristol. I would have hired a chamber for you to freshen up, but we are pressed for time. I hope the captain doesn’t despair, when we don’t show at the appointed time. Do you think you can ride on your own?”

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Though she barely touched the kidney pie, she drank two mugs of strong tea. It restored her spirits to the point, where she thought she could conquer anything. Raising her chin, she stuck out her lower lip. “Of course I can ride on my own! What do you think I am? Although we’ve already established that I am not one of your English roses.” The last was said with some resentment

André suppressed the grin that threatened to erupt. God in heaven, how was he supposed to survive the next few hours until he had her safely aboard the Mystic? Those sea green eyes of hers told him more than words. And wouldn’t he love to see them just once tranquil, looking at him with that same wonder as they had the night he had kidnapped her.

He shook his head to stop his thoughts from running amok. She could never be his. She deserved a decent man, one without a murky past. Before his dispute with Snowden was over, one of them would surely be dead. Her life didn’t need to be burdened with that knowledge. Let her return to the safe haven of her beloved Dreamscape and let her marry one of the chaps, who undoubtedly were waiting for her return.

He stood abruptly and tossed several coins to the scarred table. “We need to go,” he said curtly. Cupping her elbow with his hand, he guided her outside, where two horses were waiting.

He chuckled without humor. “I see they noticed your man’s garb and saddled two horses with regular saddles.”

She threw him a sour sideways glance. “It’s about time. You can’t handle a horse properly, if one of your knees has to be wrapped around the saddle horn.” She was about to tell him how uncomfortable it would be as well, but she quickly snapped her lips shut, when the hostler ambled over to ask, if everything was to the lord’s liking.

They arrived in Bristol by late afternoon. André stopped at one of the livery stables and paid the man to have the horses delivered back to the inn.

It took Stormy by surprise, when he slung his heavy saddlebags across one shoulder and started to walk away. Well, she shouldn’t be astonished. André had perfected the act of looking the fop. But, there had been times when he proved to be all man. Hadn’t he managed her escape last night with the cool demeanor of a born aristocrat? A curl of heat bloomed in her abdomen, but it cooled abruptly, when André turned around, his expression aloof.

“We’ll walk the rest of the way to the docks. Try to stay a step or two behind me, so people will think at first glance that you are my servant, and let’s hope they don’t take a second look.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” God, she was saddle sore and tired and now he expected her to walk to the wharf?

“It means that you don’t walk like a lad. I also don’t want anyone to think that I am fond of young men,” he replied sourly.

Somehow his outrage at being thought of as less than a man tickled her. She started to laugh until she cried. But once she started to cry, she didn’t seem to be able to stop.

André tried his best to shake her out of her fit of hysterics, but she only cried harder.

Worried, he hired a hack to drive them the rest of the way. They had barely settled against the worn-out interior, when Stormy sagged against him, the next moment she was fast asleep.

He was loath to rouse her, when they arrived at the wharves, so he simply gathered her into his arms and carried her aboard the waiting Mystic.

He knew that Master John Simon had been apprised of their arrival. He stood at the top of the gangplank, his face an unreadable mask, though his faded blue eyes expressed kindness.

“Good day, Captain.”

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“Good day to you, Lord Despard.”

It bothered André to hear the censure in the man’s voice, because he wasn’t sure whether he knew the circumstances of their arrival or whether it was that he disliked the formality of England.

“Master Simon, you may call me simply Mister Despard. I would shake your hand, sir, but as you see, they are both occupied. Just tell me, where I can take Miss Mowbray.”

“You can hand her to one of my sailors. The ladder leading to the quarters below can be a bit tricky.”

André almost swallowed his tongue, and it wasn’t over the slight about his ability to navigate the ladder. No way would he allow a common sailor to lay his grimy paws on Stormy.

He also wasn’t about to explain that he had sailed aboard several ships and was an excellent sailor himself. He knew it would not do to insult the captain, so he inclined his head and grinned.

“Just show me the way, Captain.”

Master Simon guided them to the master suite, where Stormy’s parents would normally sleep and take their meals during a voyage. “I had instructions to turn this cabin over to Miss Stormy, because it is the most comfortable cabin we have. I had the room Miss Mowbray would normally occupy readied for you.”

André smiled as he shouldered his way into the spacious cabin and deposited Stormy gently on the double bed. “I won’t need a cabin, sir. I only came to see the young lady safely off.”

The answering smile died on Master Simon’s lips. “I am afraid that I was told to set sail the moment you stepped aboard. By now we should be in St. George’s Channel.”

André had just pulled the coverlet over Stormy’s sleeping form. He straightened up abruptly, coming nose to nose with the startled captain. “You’ll have to stop and let me off. I am not part of the plan to leave for the Americas.”

“And so you aren’t. Master Mowbray gave explicit instructions to sail up the coast and let you off at Liverpool. In the meantime I am to keep a sharp eye on you.”

André snorted. He drew himself up to his formidable height. “Trevor can’t mean that. I am a gentleman and Miss Stormy is barely past her childhood.” And damn the man for changing plans without consulting him.

“Nonetheless, I will do as I was told, sir. Now let me escort you to the other cabin, so you can have a rest yourself. I’ll send the cabin boy with a light repast in a few minutes and then leave you to your own devices. If you need anything at all, you can ring the bell above the bed and the cabin boy will come to your aid.”

Simon ushered him out the door and into the cabin across from where Stormy slept. It was comfortable enough, though the bed was not quite as wide as the one in the master suite. He would have the devil of a time just to fit his long frame into it. But beggars could not be choosers.

“There is a pitcher of water for your convenience. And Master Mowbray had us lay out some clothing for you.”

“He thought of everything, didn’t he?” He knew he sounded less than gracious, so he quickly amended his words. “I am sorry, Captain. It’s been a long two days. I guess I am tired and hungry and I really would love a bath, but that’ll have to wait.”

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“I’m afraid that bath will have to wait, sir. But I am sure you will survive, since we’ll only be at sea for a day.” He turned and reached for the doorknob. “I’ll leave you to your privacy and hope that some rest will restore your spirits by the time we reach Liverpool.

André stripped the moment the door closed behind the captain. He was grateful that he could wash, even if it was not quite a bath. He stared critically in the small mirror above the washstand, then rubbed a thoughtful hand over his stubbled face. Bloody hell, he looked decidedly grubby. Grumbling, he rummaged through his saddlebags, glad someone had brought it up from the hack, for his straight razor and strop. Within minutes he’d whipped up a good soapy lather in the cup he always carried for that purpose.