Read Forsters 04 - Romancing the Runaway Online
Authors: Wendy Soliman
Forsters 04 - Romancing the Runaway
Romancing the Runaway
By
Wendy Soliman
England
,
1816
Miranda Cantrell is desperate to escape the confines of her
overbearing guardian and return home to Cornwall. She’s certainly not going to
marry his ridiculous son. What she doesn’t anticipate is finding herself
stranded, wedged between several bales of hay in a stable, nearly freezing to
death.
Relieved to have escaped the madness of London, Lord Gabriel
Forster comes home for some much-needed tranquility. Inexplicably fascinated by
the lovely young woman he finds on his estate, Gabe rightly assumes there’s more
to the story—why is her guardian so intent on seeing her married to his son?
He’ll take her to Cornwall himself to find out.
When they discover her childhood home has been stripped of
all its valuables, Gabe uncovers more to the old house than either of them had
imagined. And with Gabe’s safety hanging in the balance, Miranda is prepared to
make the ultimate sacrifice…
For more of the Forsters
,
don’t miss
Beguiling the Barrister,
available now!
74,000 words
Dear Reader,
I’m jumping right into it this month because
New York Times
bestselling author Shannon Stacey’s next book in the Kowalski series is out in both digital and print at the end of April.
Taken with You
is the story of girlie-girl librarian, Hailey. She’s easy to get along with, is a small-town girl who loves where she lives, but she also loves nice clothes and fine dining and is looking for a guy who will be there when she comes home at night, and who will dress up and take her out to something a little more upscale than the local diner. It’s also the story of Matt, a hunky forest ranger who loves the outdoors, loves his dog, and is looking for a woman who doesn’t mind his erratic hours, will take a muddy ride on an ATV and won’t kick him out of the house when he walks in covered in dirt. Needless to say, these two opposites attract when Matt moves in next door to Hailey, and their story will take you on a wonderful romantic rollercoaster that will leave you with that happy-book sigh at the end.
If you love the TV show
Scandal
, have I got a new series for you. In Emma Barry’s Washington, D.C.-set, politically charged
Special Interests
, a shy labor organizer and an arrogant congressional aide clash over the federal budget but find love the more difficult negotiation.
April also brings a week of sports-related romance releases at Carina Press and we have six fantastic, very different contemporary sports romances being added to our already fantastic sports romance lineup. Allison Parr’s
Imaginary Lines
continues her new adult series. Tamar fell hopelessly in love with Abraham Krasner at age twelve, but knew he’d never see her as more than the girl next door—until years later, she gets a sports journalist position covering the NFL team Abe plays for…
Author Michele Mannon follows up
Knock Out
with
Tap Out
. Underwear model and playboy extraordinaire Caden Kelly will let nothing stop his come-back as an MMA fighter, especially a red-headed busy-bodied reporter hell bent on ruining his shot at a title. Meanwhile, Kat Latham writes the London Legends series about the world’s hottest rugby team. Book two,
Playing It Close
, features the team captain and a scandalous woman with whom he spent one passionate night and never thought he’d see again—until she turns out to be his team’s newest sponsor.
Kate Willoughby brings the on-the-ice action when a hunky hockey player falls helmet over skates for a nurse, but has to convince her he’s not the typical different-puck-bunny-every-day athlete in
On the Surface
. In a much warmer-weather sport, professional tennis player Regan Hunter’s temper is as notorious as her unstoppable serve, but love and ambition will go head-to-head when she meets former player-turned-coach Ben Percy. Check out
Love in Straight Sets
by Rebecca Crowley.
And because we can’t leave out America’s favorite sport, Rhonda Shaw’s
The Ace
brings us a sexy baseball romance in a follow-up to her debut,
The Changeup
. “Love ’em and leave ’em” is real estate agent Karen Bently’s motto—that is until her longtime crush, ace pitcher Jerry Smutton, sets her in his sights and offers her a proposal she can’t resist.
But it’s not all contemporary romance all the time in April. We have an eclectic selection of books from a lineup of talented authors (as always, right?). R.L. Naquin is back with her popular Monster Haven series. If you haven’t checked out this fun, sometimes zany, but always adorable series, look for book one,
Monster in My Closet
, at all of our retail digital partners. This month’s installment,
Golem in My Glovebox
, finds crazy shenanigans mixed with a gruesome, cross-country trail of clues, as Zoey and Riley attempt to save the rest of the country’s Aegises—and ultimately, Zoey’s lost mother.
PJ Schnyder is wrapping up her London Undead trilogy with
Survive to Dawn
, in which werewolf and pack medic, Danny, must choose between his Alpha’s orders and the human witch who might have the cure to the zombie plague. And in the second installment of the Once Upon a Red World science fiction romance saga from Jael Wye, the tale of Jack and the Beanstalk unfolds on a devastated Earth 300 years in the future in
Ladder to the Red Star
.
A.J. Larrieu debuts with her first full-length paranormal romance novel,
Twisted Miracles
. A reluctant telekinetic is drawn back to New Orleans’ supernatural underworld when her friend goes missing, but once she’s there, she finds her powers—and her attraction to the sexy ex-boyfriend who trained her—are stronger than ever. Talented fantasy author Angela Highland is back with Rebels of Adalonia book two in her epic fantasy
Vengeance of the Hunter
. As rebellion ignites across Adalonia, the healer Faanshi must save both the Hawk Kestar Vaarsen and the assassin Julian—the one from magical annihilation at the hands of his Church, and the other from a path of revenge.
For mystery fans, we welcome author Delynn Royer to Carina Press with her book,
It Had to Be You
. An ambitious tabloid reporter stumbles upon the story of her career when she joins up with a jaded homicide detective to solve the Central Park murder of a notorious bootlegger in 1920s Manhattan.
Rounding out the April lineup is a book for all Regency historical romance fans. Wendy Soliman’s Forsters series wraps up with
Romancing the Runaway
. When Miranda and Gabe discover her childhood home has been stripped of all its valuables, Gabe uncovers more to the old house than either of them had imagined. And with Gabe’s safety hanging in the balance, Miranda is prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice…
I’m confident you’ll find something to love among these books and I hope we provide you with many hours of reading enjoyment and escape from the neverending dishes!
Coming next month: Fan favorite male/male author Josh Lanyon, an amazing science fiction lineup, more sexy cowboys and hot moments from Leah Braemel and so much more!
Here’s wishing you a wonderful month of books you love, remember and recommend.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
Acknowledgments
As always my thanks and appreciation to my wonderfully talented editor, Deb Nemeth, and to the entire Carina team.
Contents
Chapter One
February 1816
Of all the wretched luck!
With her escape planned down to the smallest detail, Miranda hadn’t thought to check if her bedroom window would actually open. She muttered expletives beneath her breath, berating herself for being so negligent. She was well acquainted with Mr. Peacock’s penny-pinching ways and should have anticipated that he would cut corners when it came to the maintenance of his property.
At this rate her bid for freedom would fail before it had even begun. She considered the alternative and fresh determination strengthened her resolve. She took a deep breath, leaned her shoulder against the warped frame and pushed with all her strength. Euphoria swept through her when the window finally swung open, the hinges squeaking loud enough to alert the entire household. She tensed, listening for the sound of footfalls on the floorboards outside her room, but heard nothing except the wind whistling around the chimneys and the sound of her own heartbeat.
For now, at least.
Miranda shivered as the crisp chill of a predawn winter morning seeped through her bones. Even so, if it hadn’t been for the sharp northerly wind that cut into her face, it wouldn’t have been all that much colder outside than it was within her bedroom. Her guardian was a miser when it came to the cost of fuel—or the cost of most things, come to that—decreeing that a cool chamber made for a healthy body. She harrumphed, aware that Mr. Peacock didn’t practise what he preached. The room he shared with Mrs. Peacock had a huge fire burning day and night.
Screwing up her nose at his double standards, Miranda threw a bundle of clothing through the open window and peered anxiously after it, afraid that it might snag on a branch and spill open. Luck was with her and it landed with a soft thud on the frosty lawn without mishap.
“Now for the hard part,” she muttered, gritting her teeth.
A moment’s doubt about her reckless plan was eradicated by thoughts of the disgraceful manner in which her guardian had tried to manipulate her. She wasn’t one of the commodities that passed through his warehouses, his to dispose of according to the buoyancy of the market. Sometimes Mr. Peacock experienced difficulty in distinguishing between the merchandise he imported and the people who were unfortunate enough to fall beneath his care. Well, he was about to have one less person to concern himself with, which would save him the cost of her keep. That, at least, ought to afford him considerable satisfaction.
Miranda secured the divided skirt of her velvet riding habit high around her waist, freeing her legs for the awkward part. She’d climbed from this room many times when she was younger, using as her staircase the branches of the oak tree that almost touch the window. For once she was grateful for Mr. Peacock’s parsimonious tendencies. Despite the fact that the spreading branches prevented light filtering into any of the rooms on this side of the house, the tree remained gloriously unpruned.
No longer a child but a grown woman of seventeen, Miranda conceded that she hadn’t used her emergency escape route during darkness hours before. Nor had she attempted to leave the house when the branches were covered in frost, making them treacherous underfoot. Still, that couldn’t be helped. She’d just have to take extra care. She’d already delayed her escape twice due to heavy snowfalls. Matters had reached such a sorry state since then that she couldn’t put it off again. A broken neck would be infinitely preferable to the alternative.
“Right, here we go.”
Miranda carefully lowered another smaller bundle that contained her reticule and her most treasured possessions. All the money she possessed, her journal, a couple of tortoiseshell combs to which she was particularly attached, a rabbit’s foot given to her for luck by Charlotte, and as much food as she’d been able to help herself to without occasioning suspicion. It was precious little, given the economic manner in which the household was run. Every last morsel had to be accounted for, but she persuaded herself that she would benefit from the effects of a decreasing diet, slipping as much of her meals as she dared to into her napkin.
On the basis that its thickness would help to keep her neck warm, Miranda left her hair loose. She squashed a
coque de cachemire
on top of her unruly curls, pulled on her thickest pair of gloves and extracted from the recesses of her closet the sturdy cloak she’d been obliged to wear during her tenure at Miss Frobisher’s Academy for Young Ladies. It was a shapeless garment and she’d always hated it, but at least it was thick, practical and, most important of all, warm. It would impede her descent from the tree so she folded it neatly in four, threw it out the window and it joined her growing pile of possessions on the ground below.
Miranda took one last glance around the unappealing room she’d occupied in this joyless household for the past four years. Nothing within it held her attention for long. The peeling wallpaper, chipped paintwork, mismatched furniture and narrow bed with its lumpy mattress certainly wouldn’t be missed. “Goodbye, Delroy Point. I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure.”
With a feeling of deep determination, she adroitly levered herself over the window ledge and started her perilous bid for freedom. The fierce wind blowing from the sea left the tangy taste of salt on her lips and almost whipped her bonnet from her head before she’d even reached the first branch. This wasn’t an auspicious start. Miranda realised, now it was too late to do anything about it, that she ought to have tied her hair back after all. Even with the bonnet holding it away from her face, the unrestrained strands were whipped across her eyes, impeding her vision.
It would be just her luck to fall from the tree and incur serious injury before she’d even escaped the confines of her guardian’s property. Even the dour Mr. Peacock would find that amusing, until he took into account the cost of calling a doctor to set her bones straight, of course. That prospect would wipe the superior smile from his disapproving features and she would be made to feel the full force of his displeasure as a consequence.
“Never!” she said to the wind.
Streaks of dull light on the horizon warned her that dawn was halfheartedly breaking on another gloomy February day. She didn’t care how cold it was, even if her fingers had already frozen inside her gloves, and her hands could scare hold the branches because she’d lost all feeling of them. Her optimism increased with every downward step she managed to negotiate. Her feet, clad in sturdy half-boots, slipped several times but she kept a tight hold, determined not to fall.
I’ll not give Mr.
Peacock the satisfaction.
Within sight of the ground, Miranda became too confident and relaxed her hold. Her foot slipped and she was unable to save herself when she was still six feet from safety. She fell with a solid thump onto the frosty grass, winded and furious with herself for being so inattentive. Miss Frobisher would have lifted one brow in a condescending manner, implying without the need for words that the fault was entirely Miranda’s, and on this occasion she would be right.
Miranda stifled a cry, hoping that the Peacocks hadn’t heard her inelegant descent. They slept on this side of the house and Mr. Peacock was an early riser. She remained where she was for a moment, ignoring the cold and listening intently. Nothing stirred and the only noise she could hear was that of the bitter north wind blowing off the sea and soaring through the leafless trees.
“Damnation!”
She stood up and winced when she put her weight on her left ankle. She’d obviously done something to it but couldn’t afford to waste time investigating the extent of her injury. The household would soon waken and she must put as much distance between herself and it before she was missed. She gathered up her scattered possessions and half ran, half limped towards the stables. A nose pushed itself beneath her gloved hand before she got halfway there, and a long tail whipped across her skirts.
“Hello, Tobias. Did you hear me coming?” Miranda scratched her beloved Irish wolfhound’s ears. “You’ll be pleased to hear that we’re leaving here today, you, me and Bianca and we’ll never return, no matter what.”
“Woof!”
“I knew you’d be glad. But we have to be very quiet. Mr. Peacock’s groom is the laziest creature on God’s earth but even he wouldn’t dare to remain in bed once it’s full light.”
Miranda made her way to Bianca’s stall. Once again her arrival had been anticipated and she was greeted with a soft whinny.
“Hello, darling.” She kissed her mare’s soft muzzle. “Are you ready for an early morning adventure?”
Bianca nudged her arm. Smiling, Miranda produced a carrot from her pocket and fed it to the horse. She then scurried to the tack room, quietly unlatched the door, hoping that the squeak it always made wouldn’t disturb the groom asleep in the loft above. Miranda didn’t wait to find out. Instead she snatched up her horse’s bridle and saddle and made quick work of tacking her up.
“I would find it easier to ride bareback,” she told Bianca in a conspiratorial whisper, “but I have so many things to carry that I shall need to tie them to the saddle. You won’t mind that, will you, darling? I know it’s not dignified for such a fine creature as you to be used as little more than a packhorse, but I promise you it’s necessary.”
Bianca’s shod hooves clacked on the cobbled yard so loudly that Miranda could hardly believe she hadn’t yet been intercepted and asked what she thought she was doing. She waited for a moment, straining her ears for any sound of human activity. She heard nothing except the sighing of the blustering wind chasing through the bare trees and whipping round the roof of the stable block, sending the weathervane creaking in all directions.
“We’re obviously the only living souls desperate enough to be about at this hour,” she told her motley collection of animals.
Miranda tied her cloak securely around her shoulders, glad of its additional warmth, climbed onto the mounting block and slid into Bianca’s saddle. Still unchallenged, she laughed aloud with the joy of escape as she rode through the gates of Delroy Point, Tobias loping along beside her. She set Bianca to a brisk trot across the heath, vaguely wondering what conclusions would be drawn when her bedroom door was unlocked in the morning but the room was devoid of its prisoner.
Miranda rode quickly, partly to keep warm, but mostly to ensure she was nowhere near Delroy Point when her absence was discovered. That would be in not much more than an hour’s time, since Mr. Peacock disapproved of anyone in his house lying about in bed after sunup. For once she’d done something that would meet with his approval.
“No one can accuse us of being idle this morning,” she told Tobias. He nodded his big head as though he understood her, which Miranda firmly believed he did.
She rode on, confident that she knew where she was—more or less. After two hours of steady progress, she felt mildly euphoric when she came to the Denby road.
“Probably best to avoid the town,” she told Bianca and Tobias. “If—no,
when
Mr. Peacock comes looking for me, people are bound to remember us. We’re not exactly inconspicuous, are we, my sweets.”
There was a well-worn track that skirted the village, taking them in approximately the right direction. She followed it with confidence, filled with relief at her narrow escape. She would have been missed by now but no one would think to look in this direction, at least not immediately. Having spent the past five years at school in London, the capital was the obvious place for her to go. She had friends there—people who would take her in and refuse Mr. Peacock access to her. Well, that was what she wished Mr. Peacock to believe, at any rate. By the time he realised his mistake, she would be safe and he would have missed his opportunity to drag her back to his prison of a home.
Miranda was lost in a reverie and didn’t notice that the track had become rutted and uneven until Bianca lurched to a halt, her foreleg stuck in a rabbit hole.
“Oh no!”
She slid to the ground and gently removed her mare’s leg from its trap, hoping against hope that she hadn’t damaged it. She ran her hand across the fetlock and felt heat. It was already swelling and Bianca was unable to put much weight on it.
“Damnation, why wasn’t I being more careful?”
What to do? She’d never reach her destination now. There was still a good five miles to go. She and Bianca both had swollen fetlocks and so neither of them was in a fit state to travel very much further. She looked about her, hoping for inspiration. She had no idea whose land this was. There were no houses in sight, and no people to ask. Then her gaze alighted on a small barn a few hundred yards away.
That would have to do.
She hobbled in that direction, leading Bianca behind her, apologising all the time to her mare for allowing her to injure herself. Perhaps she should have headed for the shore, but now it was too late. If swimming in the ocean and drinking iodine-rich seawater—the cure for the gout that the Prince of Wales had made fashionable—was so effective, perhaps it would work on Bianca’s fetlock too.
“Don’t be so foolish, Miranda,” she said aloud. “Besides, it’s too far away and we’d be spotted before we got halfway there.”
She reached the barn, which appeared to be in good condition. She hoped it wasn’t in regular use. She needed somewhere for the three of them to rest until she decided what to do next. The door swung open when she lifted the latch and her spirits lifted with it. At last something had gone right for her. The barn was warm, relatively speaking, the caulking between the boarded walls fresh and tight. It was also full of sweet-smelling hay.
“Well, at least you won’t go hungry, darling,” she told Bianca.
*
Gabriel Forster stepped out the side door of the Hall and headed for the stables, relieved to have escaped the madness of a London season in full swing. He had returned home on the pretext of being needed at the stud that he ran for his brother Hal, Marquess of Denby. Hal probably wasn’t deceived but allowed him to leave anyway. And now here he was, in his ancestral home with no demands upon his time except those he wished to place upon it himself. The majority of the staff was in town with the family and Gabe was free to please himself.