Chapter Twenty-Three
Anthony ran back to the cottage. He opened the gate and stole inside. A flash of color in the moonlight. Verity! She darted from the trees and ran across the grass toward the cottage.
He sprinted and got to her before she reached it, caught her by the waist almost wrenching her off her feet. She struggled and tried to pull away from him.
Candlelight lit up the second story window.
“No time for this,” Anthony whispered. He picked Verity up. As she kicked and struggled, he hoisted her over his shoulder and ran with her down the garden path, then turned into the lane. “Brute! Release me!” she pummeled his back with her fists. “I want to stay in France.”
He patted her derriere. “No, you don’t.”
“Mon dieu! Let me go, Anthony.”
“You can’t remain here. It’s not safe.”
“Actresses are recognized as citizens in France, what am I in your country? A celebrity courtesan.”
“You will be my wife.”
She took a gulp of air. “You are mad! I cannot marry you.”
“I don’t see why not.”
She wriggled so hard Anthony put her down. The cottage door opened, and François’ appeared, holding up a tin lantern. Perhaps he was rising early to light the fire. He would not yet be aware they had gone.
“Are you there?”
“Who is he calling?” Anthony asked. “It can’t be us.”
“I don’t know,” Verity said in an urgent undertone. “Leave me.”
“Listen.” Marching feet sounded in the distance, the National Guard on their way to arrest them.
“Go quickly! I refuse to go with you.”
Anthony was done arguing. He’d never hit a woman. He tapped Verity on the chin, then bit down on a groan when the woman he loved slumped in his arms. He threw her limp form over his shoulder and sprinted down the lane.
He gripped her around the thighs. “Sorry, my love,” he muttered into the silence. Behind him, came the bang of the cottage door. “Come quickly, they’ve escaped!” François yelled.
Anthony increased his speed.
“You there! Halt!” The guard were only minutes behind him and had spied him. A volley of musket shot whizzed past him. He ran into the woods to lure them away from the river. He dodged trees, cradling Verity against him, relying on his inbuilt sense of direction to guide him. Then he changed direction. The Guard’s torches flickered through the trees as they crashed about in the dark. Anthony doubled back to the boat, concerned for Verity. She was still unconscious. Had he hit her too hard?
Shouts behind him followed by gun shots made him wonder who their quarry now was. Had the guard discovered brigands, or Chouans hiding in the woods? Some might break off the main party to search for him. Time to go. He left the cover of the trees, emerging onto the road.
He’d judged the distance perfectly. With Verity held tight within his arm, he ran down the road toward the ghostly hull rocking in the water.
* * *
“Something’s gone wrong.” Henrietta hung over the side of the boat. She could hear nothing but the churn of the river and the slap of waves against the boat. Somewhere, an owl hooted.
Suddenly, musket fire echoed over the water. “Oh, Christian.” Henrietta clutched his coat. “What will we do?”
Christian’s sharp gaze raked the shore, his voice calm. “We continue to wait.”
Somewhere out in the darkness excited voices rent the air, along with sporadic gunfire. Were they shooting at her father? Her heart threatened to thump its way out of her chest.
A shape moved fast along the shore. “Is that Papa?” Henrietta stared into the black night. Nothing. And then, there he was.
