Escape with A Rogue Read Online Free Page B

himself for the accidental death of his partner’s wife.
    Back when he’d been a notorious gaming hell owner in London, he would have pursued Lady M. He hadn’t given a damn for propriety then. But he had changed.
    “What’re you skiving for, Travers?” Blenchley shouted, his hand on his rifle.
    Hammer up. Jack’s muscles protested at the speed he brought it to his shoulder, and he threw his weight into the stroke. The blunt nose of the hammer slammed to the mushroomed top of the iron wedge. Pain shot up his wounded back. Rain splattered harder.
    She hadn’t come today. Maybe it meant she actually had given up and gone home.
    Beau shot a glance around, likely to ensure they were still alone in this part of the quarry. Armed guards were situated on a small ridge above them.
    “The key didn’t work, did it?” Beau muttered beneath his breath. “Last night, I saw you filing another out of bone by moonlight.”
    Jack brushed back his hair. “No, the key worked.”
    “Christ Jesus, Travers, why were you making a copy, then? Where did the soldiers catch you? Was it with your hand on the bloody door handle and your key sticking out of the lock? They got the first key, didn’t they? That means they’ll know our plan. Hades, I’ve got to get out of here—”
    Jack lifted the hammer in warning and jerked his head toward Blenchley, who was pacing closer to them. Last night, his first night out of the cachot , he had tested the replica key he had filed out of a tin fork. “I made a replica of the successful key,” he murmured, “for insurance. The guards caught me at the wall. Once I heard their voices, I headed to the corner, and had scaled about six feet when they found me.”
    “So they think you were trying to escape by climbing out?” Beausoleil gave a low whistle of relief. “I’ve heard the French are close. Another week of tunneling will take them to the wall. They’re going bloody mad with desperation to get out. No one has successfully tunneled out of here.”
    Blenchley had turned to watch the groups of working prisoners who were closer to the track that led out of the quarry. Most escapes happened when the men took advantage of opportunity on a work party.
    And because most happened that way, his would not.
    Jack dropped to a crouch as though inspecting the crack he had started in the five-hundred-pound rock. Under his direction, the French had re-opened one of the old tunnels that had been first dug years ago by American prisoners of war. A week away from the interior wall meant it would take them many more days of digging before their tunnel passed beneath the two circular walls that enclosed the prison—and the twenty-foot strip of no man’s hand that ran between them. He couldn’t wait that long anymore. “We’re going early. Tomorrow night.”
    “What in hell? The plan was to time our escape to coincide with theirs, when the militia is distracted by a bunch of Frenchmen on the run—” Beau broke off. The sudden, sly grin on his mouth made Jack’s jaw clench tight. “She means a lot to you, then, her mysterious ladyship?”
    “Put the wedge back in the rock. We have to look like we’re working.”
    “Is she married?”
    He revealed too much, he knew, in the sudden jerk of his chin. The truth of it? He didn’t know. It had been two years. It wouldn’t have made any sense for Lady Madeline Ashby not to marry. She was too lovely, too perfect a potential bride . . .
    But would a married lady of the ton make her way into Dartmoor to rescue a convicted, albeit innocent, murderer? He doubted she’d ask her husband’s permission. Lady M. was the sort of woman who would defy a husband—but not the sort to lie to one.
    Bloody Beausoleil was licking his lips. Jack suddenly remembered that one of the charges against Beau was bigamy.
    “If you touched her,” Jack threatened, “I’ll rip your arms off.”
    Beau shot a nervous glance to the twenty-pound sledgehammer gripped tight in