Runaway (9 page)

“To find a minister.”

Tara stepped over the unconscious man on the
ground. She looked up at McKenzie, shaking her head. “You—you don’t have to marry me!” she whispered. “I’ll come with you anyway. You don’t owe me. I owe you—”

“Three hundred dollars is much too much for a whore,” he told her with a touch of amusement. “Besides which, I don’t need one,” he said a little harshly. For a moment his ebony gaze touched the stars in the dark sky. “Whores in this town are a dime a dozen,” he said softly. “So maybe three hundred is fitting for a wife.”

“Wives shouldn’t be bought!” she whispered.

“No, they shouldn’t,” he agreed grimly.

His gaze was on her once again. “But I do need one. And you do need somewhere to go.”

It was settled, so it seemed. His hand was around hers again, firm, compelling. She pulled back just a little. “McKenzie,” she murmured, calling him by the only name she knew, “you know that the man back there wasn’t alone.”

“I know.”

“Then—”

“I’ll be watching.”

They kept walking. Tara heard the lap of the Mississippi to their far left, drifting along in a slow motion. A ship’s bell clanged somewhere out on the water.

McKenzie walked along easily enough. There were still shadows all around them. Shadows that moved. Shadows that frightened her in the night.

A cry escaped her. One of those shadows came leaping out from behind a trellis.

McKenzie suddenly thrust her behind him, spinning around.

“Let the girl go or you’re a dead man!” the shadow demanded. He was no longer a shadow. He was flesh and blood. He wasn’t quite as tall as McKenzie, but he was huskier. And he was brandishing a knife.

“No,” McKenzie said simply. He hadn’t even pulled a weapon.

“This ain’t your fight!” the fellow warned him.

“She’s with me!” McKenzie insisted. “Anyone will tell you. She’s three hundred dollars on the gaming table. And I don’t turn that kind of money over to anyone.”

“You can damned well give me the girl, or I’ll take her!”

McKenzie stood still.

“Do something!” Tara cried, terrified that he would underestimate an opponent.

She never would. She knew better.

But McKenzie hadn’t underestimated the man. When the hulk lunged, McKenzie sidestepped him. Quick as a flash he spun, both fists coming down on the big man’s neck.

Like his companion before him he fell very quietly and lay there without moving.

He looked up at Tara. “Did I do enough?” he asked wryly.

“Yes, quite enough!” she murmured back.

McKenzie stared at her. “Will there be more?” he asked. He sounded slightly aggravated.

She moistened her lips. “I don’t know, I never know!” she cried out. She inhaled, still shaking. He wasn’t even breathing hard. Jesu, if he should ever learn the truth about her.

“Let’s go, then,” he said. That edge of dark, contemptuous anger was in his voice again. She shivered suddenly, remembering the naked man in the darkness, the lithe way that he moved, like a panther in the night.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do this,” she gasped out. “I can’t go with you. Because I never know—”

“Ah, but we’re going down to the Seminoles and alligators!”
he told her pleasantly, reaching for her hand again. “No one will dare follow you there!”

“But—?”

“We’ve made a bargain,” he reminded her harshly, swinging her around suddenly so that her back was against the brick wall of a warehouse. His hands pinned her there on either side of her head. She could scarcely breathe. He fascinated her. Made her tremble.

And once again, made her afraid. She’d seen evidence of all she had imagined about him from one look in those ebony eyes. He could be merciful.

He could be ruthless.

“Do you wish to renege on our agreement?”

What did she have to lose?

She met his gaze with her chin high and shook her head in a silent no.

“Frightened?” he queried with the amused arch of a brow.

Damn him. She hadn’t been beaten yet. And he wasn’t going to get the best of her either!

“Bring on your alligators and savages,” she said sweetly. “Heaven knows,” she murmured, “they can’t be worse than some of my relations!”

He laughed. “Some of them will
be
your relations!” he told her.

“What?”

He waved a dismissive hand in the air. “You won’t have to worry unduly about either reptiles or Indians,” he promised, then added softly, “But you will have to worry about me!”

“What do you mean?” The brick at her back seemed very cold.

“I’m marrying you because I want a wife,” he said bluntly.

“So you’ve said!”

He shifted impatiently, his eyes still impaling hers. “I’d never force a whore,” he continued, even more bluntly, “but I don’t want a wife I’d need to force.”

She tried to keep her eyes level with his. She really tried. They fell anyway.

“I know what wives—do,” she said at last.

He lifted her chin. Damn, but his eyes could be like coals that burned, the devil’s own!

“I said I know!” she whispered heatedly. “What more do you expect?” she cried.

“Good question. Maybe it’s not so much a matter of what I expect, as it is of what I’d like!”

“Meaning?”

“Well, I’m afraid that I’m not just a nice individual—”

“I don’t remember accusing you of such a thing!” Tara said, blurting out the words because she was so nervous.

But he still smiled. “I saw you the moment you walked into the room. And I wanted you the moment you walked into the room.”

A wealth of color flooded to her cheeks again. Her lashes fell.

“My cards are all on the table,” he said politely.

Was he still waiting for an explanation? Well he could wait from now until eternity! He wasn’t getting one. “Fine,” she said softly. “You want a wife. You’ll get one.” She looked up at him and found those eyes impaling her once again. “A good one!” she cried. “I can do many things. I know how to manage a household—”

“I don’t give a damn if you know how to manage a household or not,” he drawled, smiling with a certain amount of amusement. “I accepted you as payment on a gambling table because you’re incredibly beautiful. And I want you for the same reason. Still willing?”

“I’m willing.”

“Just don’t go back on any of your promises,” he warned her.

“If I do?” she inquired, lifting her chin high again.

He really smiled then, brushing her cheek lightly with his knuckle. “I will be forced to see that you keep them!” he assured her.

She pushed his hand away and strode past him. She had to do this thing now and be done with it!

There would be more men to follow the two on the ground.

She swirled around, allowing her gaze to rise up and down his person, from his ebony dark hair to his high black boots.

“You’ll do,” she said coolly. “Can we get on with this?”

He started to laugh and strode the distance to her, setting an arm around her waist. She nearly leapt away at the searing touch.

“I’ll do! What flattery! I won’t do particularly well, but I’m better than the man you’re running away from, is that it?”

“I never promised explanations!” she retorted. “Only to be—a good wife.”

“And that you will be, my love. That you will be.” He paused under a lamp for just a moment, searching out her eyes once again, his own a startling coal fire. She shivered fiercely, afraid to be in his arms.…

And yet suddenly longing to be there. It would be tempest, it would be flame! she warned herself. And her knees seemed to have turned to water. God, yes! Whatever else, he had already protected her twice. It was a new beginning!

“That I will be!” she repeated. She was marrying a total stranger. She swallowed hard. Yes, just let him get her away from here tonight. She would pay any price.

“Then let’s get on with it, shall we?” he said.

“How? We can’t just be married tonight—”

“Oh, my sweet innocent! We can do anything in New Orleans tonight. Anything we pay for! Just follow me, my love. Just follow me.”

Through it all, she realized, she had never really believed that he was serious.

But he was.

An inquiry to a friend on a tawdry street—the friend was a bit tawdry looking too!—sent them to a nearby house. To her dismay Tara found herself wondering about McKenzie’s relationship with the buxom blonde who had sent them on their way.

Whores. They were a dime a dozen. He had told her so.

But the woman had sent them to a duly appointed minister of the church, and the man promised to see to it that they were legally wed once he had a good look at McKenzie’s gold pieces.

The minister called to his wife, and she came in, confused at first, but quick to understand that her husband was earning a very nice little stipend for the night’s work. She told them they were a beautiful couple, then set her rosy cheeks into a stern pattern to stand and witness the ceremony. It was a strange wedding in their small, dusty parlor. Tara and McKenzie were both standing together in front of the minister before McKenzie turned to her, a very dry smile curving his mouth. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Tara. Tara Brent.”

He studied her for a moment. “The last name doesn’t matter anymore. It’s McKenzie now. Tara McKenzie.”

She opened her mouth to ask him his given name, but the very well paid minister had begun the ceremony.

His name was Jarrett. Jarrett McKenzie. She was married
to him. There was a massive ring on her fìnger, which had come off his, and the magnitude of what she had done suddenly seemed to sweep down on her. Not just her knees, but the whole of her body seemed weak.

“You may now kiss your bride, Mr. McKenzie!” the minister told him.

She had never really known what
weak
could mean. He turned to her with the devil’s own smile and swept her into his arms. His lips touched hers with a startling fire that burned and seemed to tear through the length of her, wet, hot, and evocative. She felt it in every limb, spiraling into some intangible center. Her lips parted. His tongue swept into her mouth. She clutched his shoulders as the world seemed to spin.

He set her down, staring at her again. He seemed to know that she would fall if he released her, because he continued to support her. There was hastily dug up champagne, a toast to the newlyweds.

He spoke politely with the minister and his wife. Then he took Tara’s glass from her cold fìngers and set it down on the buffet table in the hall. He took her hand. “Let
’
s go.”

She nodded, closing her eyes, praying for strength.

She had wanted to escape! She was certainly managing to do so
.

“Now, Tara! Let’s go!”

She was tempted to run again. Run as far as she could go, run forever. But she had made her promises.

And he had vowed that she would keep them.

She could run no longer.

Clive Carter of the Boston Carters, son of the late and illustrious Julian Carter, waited at the inn, seated at the
table where the poker players had gambled fate just hours before.

He was immaculately dressed in a crisp white shirt, cobalt breeches, and maroon frock coat with an embroidered waistcoat beneath. He was a handsome man, and a prosperous one. A man to draw respect. His dark blond hair was neatly queued at his nape, his hazel eyes were steady on those around him. His hands rested upon the curve of a silver-tipped walking stick as he watched those around him.

Seething.

The idiots in this place! And to think that he had missed her by less than an hour. His own men had not returned. Two humanlike apes in the employ of the incredibly stupid proprietor of the place had failed to return as well.

This was preposterous. How many states had he traveled so far, seeking her?

He had to find her before William could come to her aid. He would not let her escape. This afternoon he had learned definitely where to find her. Now he was here—and the wretched woman had escaped him once again! It was not to be borne. And he dealt with such fools. From here on out he would have the law with him. The law, the military—he’d bring his own damned gallows and rope soon!

The babbling proprietor had told him that McKenzie had the girl as payment of a debt, and that they were aggressively searching for the pair, even though it would definitely mean trouble because McKenzie could be a difficult man himself when he chose to be so.

So some bastard McKenzie had the girl!

That had started the pounding and pulsing within his head. The cold, hard fury that gripped his soul and made his fingers tense upon the walking cane while he managed
to show no other sign of the extent of the anger that burned through him like the boiling of a cauldron. God, but his very fingers itched to touch her, and she’d been taken by this man named McKenzie!

He’d get her, Clive assured himself. In the end he’d get her. He didn’t know if he gave a damn whether it was alive or not anymore. She’d had every opportunity to choose to be with him. He’d managed to take everything that he had wanted from his father.

He would have shared it all with her.

She could have had velvet, lace, and luxury all the days of her life. Velvet, lace, luxury—and him. Now she would have the cold, dank steel of a prison door. She’d be broken, he’d see to that. And it would depend on just how prettily she could beg his pardon, and just how pretty she could stay in such wretched environs, and whether or not he’d see to it she ended her days at the end of a rope.