The Captain And His Innocent. Lucy Ashford

though he guessed they’d rarely brought in an honest day’s catch in their lives. But this time, they’d actually caught something of value. Luke exhaled sharply.

      Just as he’d suspected—there she was. The French girl who’d been heading for Bircham Hall in Lord Franklin’s coach when he last saw her. The girl with the compass.

      She’d been as haughty as hell with him, turning up her pretty nose in the air. And now that she’d recognised him, she was struggling even more desperately to free herself from Sam and his men, which they were enjoying, because it gave them all the more opportunity to manhandle her.

      And he couldn’t bear it.

      ‘Stop,’ Luke rapped out at them. ‘Get your filthy hands off her. Now.’

      They let her go, reluctantly. The girl lunged for a leather valise that had dropped to the ground and ran.

      ‘Tom,’ ordered Luke. ‘Get her.’

      The Wattersons went after her, too. The three of them brought her back, and this time she didn’t struggle. But that leather bag, Luke noticed. She clung to it as if it meant more to her than life itself.

      ‘So,’ he said. ‘We meet again. Having an adventure, are you?’

      * * *

      She threw him a look that expressed downright contempt, but even so, something smote him deep in his guts. That wild dark hair, he marvelled. Those eyes. Green, with flecks of amber that glowed brilliantly in the candlelight. She was proud, she was brave—and beneath that bravado he guessed she was absolutely desperate. Whatever kind of mess she’s in, it’ll be all her own fault, he told himself fiercely.

      Tom nudged him. ‘Captain, behind you—’ and Luke was suddenly aware that Sam Snaith, all lanky hair and crooked teeth, was sidling up close.

      ‘Now, look here, Captain,’ Sam began. ‘She was our captive first of all. And we trust you to treat us right for this. See?’

      ‘Treat you right,’ said Luke thoughtfully. ‘Now, what do you mean by that, I wonder? Should I, perhaps, break every bone in your miserable body for attacking a defenceless girl?’

      ‘Her? Defenceless? Ha! The wench knows how to put up a fight—you saw her!’

      Tom and Josh were holding her by her arms, but she’d gone extremely still, as if her instincts told her he, Luke, was far more dangerous than Sam or his rogues. And by God, her instincts were right.

      ‘You told us, Captain!’ Sam was grumbling. He shoved his fists on his hips and stared up at Luke belligerently. ‘You said there’d be a reward for any news about the girl staying at Bircham Hall. And we’ve done better than that, see? We’ve brought her to you!’

      ‘Well—almost,’ said Luke. ‘Though I do believe I saw her a few moments ago giving all four of you the slip. Did you kidnap her from the house?’

      ‘What—and take on Lord Franklin’s men? No chance of that. But me and my lads, we were out on the Bircham road, minding our own business—’

      ‘You’d been thieving, you mean? Or poaching?’

      Sam scowled. ‘Minding our own business, as I said—when all of a sudden, we saw the girl. She was scurrying along with that bag clutched in her hand, but Nathan here recognised her. Nathan said, “She’s the new girl, at Bircham Hall! The French girl that everyone’s talking about!” So we stopped her.’

      Luke glanced at her, seeing the rapid rise and fall of her small breasts beneath her clothing, noting the fear that still shadowed those wide, alert eyes of hers. ‘I imagine,’ he said, ‘that she was less than delighted.’

      ‘We treated her well enough! We asked her, polite like—“Where are you going to, miss?”—and she said that she would give us money, good money, mind, if we would find her a ship that would take her over to France! But since you’d promised a reward, we brought her to you, see?’

      Luke turned and said to her, ‘Is this true?’

      Inside she must be terrified, he thought. Terrified. But her voice was etched with icy scorn as she replied, ‘Yes. It is. And it’s none of your business.’

      ‘But it is, I’m afraid. Listen to me. You’re wasting your time and energy by trying to escape. Tell me why you want to run and where to.’

      She tilted her head defiantly. ‘Je ne comprends pas,’ she declared.

      Luke sighed inwardly. She was telling him she didn’t understand—but he was pretty sure that she did. Every single word. And now she was jumping away again, wary as a wildcat, because Sam Snaith had drawn close, leering at her openly before saying to Luke, ‘We thought you’d be interested in her, Captain, and fair’s fair. We want that reward you promised—see?’

      He held out his open palm, but Luke knocked it aside. ‘I asked for news. Not a prisoner.’

      ‘Oh, Captain,’ said Sam softly. ‘You’re a proud one, aren’t you? And you know what they say, about pride. Look around you.’

      Luke looked, only to realise that more of Sam’s comrades had come out of the tavern and were gathering in the shadows—outnumbering Luke and his men by three to one at least. Damn. He glanced quickly at the girl, who’d gone very still.

      And Sam was at his shoulder. ‘If you’re not going to give us our reward—Captain—then we’ll have the girl back, if you please. We’ll at least get a night’s entertainment out of her—’

      The click of a pistol’s safety catch being released echoed around the courtyard. Everyone stared in shock at the girl—because she had a pistol in her hand that was pointed straight at Sam’s heart.

      Luke groaned inwardly. Oh, God. He should have remembered. Most girls would have fainted—not this one.

      ‘Back away,’ she said to Sam Snaith. ‘Back away now.’

      Sam lifted his hands, but he was trying to sneer. ‘You think you’re frightening me? I’ll wager it’s not even loaded.’

      She held the gun steady. ‘Oh, I assure you it is. And it will take only one bullet to finish you off.’

      And then—as if that wasn’t enough, thought Luke as he braced himself—then they heard horses, clattering down the road towards the inn and the nearby harbour. More local men were pouring out of the tavern’s back door and everyone was shouting at once. ‘The Revenue men. Quick. Scatter.’

      And Luke plunged towards the girl. Grabbed the gun off her and passed it to Tom, then seized her arm. Tom and the Wattersons were close behind him. ‘Run,’ he whispered to her. ‘This way.’

      She tried to stand her ground. ‘My valise...’

      That leather bag of hers. It was lying on the ground. He grabbed that, too, and thrust it towards Josh. ‘Here. Carry this.’ By now, he could hear the government men pulling to a halt around the front of the inn; in no time they would be round the back, hunting for—what? Smugglers? Or were they looking for a runaway French girl, who was supposed to be dwelling in comfort at the country home of Lord Franklin Grayfield?

      He, Luke, wanted a little time alone with her. He wanted to know what the hell was going on. Why she’d come to England, for a start—and why she was already trying to flee.

      Luke pointed to a narrow alley that led away from the courtyard into the twisting steep lanes of the village. He tugged at the girl’s arm. ‘I said run.’

      The first few riders were already jostling their way into the yard, peering around from their saddles in eager search of captives. This time she obeyed him. She ran.

      * * *

      For Ellie, the nightmare had begun when those men had appeared out of the darkness, on the road down to Bircham