Read Run Wild for Free Online Page B

shudder down her spine, but she refused to drop her gaze from his, returning his cool animosity in full measure. Never show weakness. Not with a man. Especially a man much larger and stronger than oneself. She had learned that lesson the hard way.
    After a moment, the harsh line of his mouth curved upward in an amused expression and he closed his eyes, apparently unconcerned about either her animosity or the trouble he was in.
    Sam frowned. Perhaps the rogue thought that because he was innocent of the accusations against him, he could relax and simply explain everything to the judge in London.
    Well,
she
wasn’t innocent. She was guilty as charged.
    And she had no intention of going to London.
    A sound outside the door made her flinch. The bar and chains clattered. The hinges groaned.
    Faced with the moment she had been expecting for hours, she suddenly felt her stomach drop to her toes.
    Bickford stepped inside with his lantern, whistling a cheery tune, ignoring the annoyed curses of the awakened prisoners. The marshalmen followed: one... two... three of them, carrying ropes and enough guns to do battle with a brigade. A fifth man—a hulking, swarthy brute she hadn’t seen before—accompanied them, dragging a large sack along the floor.
    Sam lifted her chin and rose slowly, gracefully, as if she were in an earl’s parlor rather than a stinking gaol cell. With all the poise her nannies and tutors had instilled, she smoothed her torn skirts and prepared to face whatever she must.
    The coarse quintet chortled over some shared joke as they walked toward her.
    The rogue in the cell next to hers didn’t get up. Didn’t move a muscle or do anything... but yawn.
    Swinton came to stand before her door, an evil gleam in his black eyes. “Mornin’, yer ladyship.” Like a cruel boy tormenting a caged animal, he raked the butt of his pistol back and forth across the bars.
    Sam didn’t flinch, didn’t reply. She kept her gaze level, her features composed, raising one brow in a purposely haughty expression that usually helped to distance those she wanted to keep away.
    “Over here, Swinton.” Bickford searched through the keys on his ring. “Let’s take care of this one first. On yer feet, mate.”
    The rogue—it was becoming easy to think of him that way—got up slowly, holding his ribs as if in pain. He stumbled and leaned heavily against the bars, forced to crouch by the ceiling that couldn’t quite accommodate his more than six-foot height.
    The marshalmen arranged themselves in a half-circle outside his cell, guns pointed at his broad chest. “If ye make one wrong move...” one threatened, letting the sentence hang.
    “No need for violence,” their target said quietly, wincing.
    His voice sounded dark and cool, as if it came from the depths of the sea. Something about it brought an odd little flutter to Sam’s stomach.
    “W-we should’ve hired an extra hand or two.” The youngest of the guards couldn’t seem to hold his weapon steady. He had a thicket of red hair, wide blue eyes—and a large bruise on his jaw. “Don’t ye think? After the way he cut up Tibbs last night? There’s still time to hire an extra hand or two, ain’t there, Leach?”
    “Forget it, Tucker,” the first man replied. “We’re already splittin’ the money four ways.”
    “And I ain’t splittin’ it five or six,” Swinton growled, cocking his pistol with an ominous click. “Get yer hands up where I can see ’em, mate.”
    “Easy, lads.” Bickford found the key and fitted it into the lock. “Don’t forget he’s worth fifty pounds.”
    “The reward don’t say nothin’ about a few holes here and there.” Leach cocked his weapon as well.
    The rogue didn’t move, silently studying the array of weapons facing him.
    Then he slowly raised his hands.
    Bickford turned the key and opened the door, motioning him to step out. As soon as he did so, the marshalmen closed in around him, Leach and young Tucker grabbing him by the