The thought sobered her and she stood. Somehow, she would have to convince him he’d made an error. She would work hard to prove to him she’d learned her lesson. But how long would it take?
Her eyes narrowed. How dare they try to rein her in? She wasn’t cut out to be a demure lady, to sit at a window and embroider while her husband was at sea. Striding to her balcony, she flung the door open and peered down. She’d made the climb in breeches, but could she do it in a dress?
Pulling her skirt up she unfastened her bulky petticoat and stepped out of it. Better. With no pockets, she shoved the compass into her bodice. Swinging a leg over the railing, she maneuvered onto the ledge running the length of the manor. Barely the width of her foot, it offered little comfort.
Samantha pressed her body against the smooth siding and edged away from the balcony. As she approached the big oak tree acrossfrom the room next to hers, her skirt tangled between her legs and she teetered for an agonizing moment.
“Damn it,” she muttered, carefully reaching down to pull the offending material away.
If she fell and broke her neck, it would be on Anna’s head. Traitorous maid. Did they not think she’d go right back to her tailor? Even if they convinced him to turn her business away, she’d just find someone else.
A few more steps and she wrapped her fingers around a sturdy branch. Bunching her skirt up, she climbed into the tree and made her way to the trunk. Two branches down and she swung herself to the ground. Brushing her hands together, she grinned. Not so bad.
A bush rustled in the garden and she froze, staring into the inky darkness. The hairs on the back of her neck lifted and she reached down on instinct. She scowled. No boot meant no dagger. But the garden remained silent, and she gave a shake of her shoulders. Probably a hungry racoon.
Samantha turned and hurried around the house and up the drive. Though taking the field would ensure she stayed out of sight, the road would be much quicker. Plus her slippers probably wouldn’t survive a trek through grass and mud.
A chorus of crickets echoed through the night, nearly deafening in their volume, and she had to keep her pace brisk to keep the mosquitoes at bay. The humid heat of the night curled around her and stray tendrils of hair clung to her face. Summer was in full swing.
She hummed a little seaman’s tune to pass the time and soon came to a stop at the end of Lieutenant Thompson’s drive. A cloud covered the moon and shrouded the property in darkness. Several windows downstairs twinkled with light. Samantha wrapped her arms around herself as her heart began to race.
Pulling the compass out, she stared at it, then at the house. Somewhere in there, Christian was doing... whatever lieutenants did intheir free time. Was he sitting in his library, reading a book by a lantern? Or maybe he sat at his desk, going over his estate finances. Her eyes drifted to the darkened upper windows. He could be sinking into a deep tub of hot water, running a bar of sandalwood-scented soap along...
Samantha jerked her head back at the picture the thought conjured and her cheeks burned. Good Lord. What was wrong with her? A pleasant warmth coiled in her belly and she pressed a hand over her heart. She would never be able to be in the same room as the lieutenant again.
Hell, she wasn’t even sure she could be on the same property as he was. She clutched the compass and looked back down the road. Perhaps it would be better to have a courier deliver it.
She shook her head and harrumphed. “You’re a pirate. Start acting like one.”
Still, she stood frozen in place, unable to take the first step. Every instinct told her to turn and flee, to put as much space between him and her as she could. She closed her eyes and weighed her options. Get it over with, or retreat.
The rumble of hooves made the decision for her. Jerking into motion, she rushed toward the house. Crouching near a whitewashed fountain, she waited for the carriage to pass. Her pulse pounded so hard in her head, it drowned out the sounds of the night. The lieutenant’s door loomed at the top of a half-dozen stone steps.
She could do this.
Now.
With a deep breath, she jumped to her feet and darted up the steps. She set the compass down and pounded on the door, the sound echoing through the courtyard like a musket shot.
Run.
Hiking her skirt up, she flew down to the drive and cut across the lawn to a neat hedgerow. With an ungraceful leap, she dove behind it,landing on the ground with a muffled thump. Pulling herself up, she swiveled and pulled the branches aside until she had a clear view of the door.
Her chest went tight as it cracked open and a line of light cut into the night. A moment later, the door opened fully to reveal Christian. He wore dark breeches and his shirt hung untucked. And unbuttoned. Unbound, his hair fell in waves over his shoulders.
“What the . . .” He’d noticed the compass.
After a glance around him, he bent to retrieve it. Straightening, he stared out into the night.
“Red, if you’re out there...” He trailed off. “I meant what I said.”
Samantha swallowed past the lump in her throat. He still wanted to save her. She edged away from the hedge. Time to leave.
A twig snapped.
Before she could turn, a heavy hand closed over her mouth and the bite of a blade pressed between her shoulders.
Eyes wide, a scream built in her throat.
