Rapture Becomes Her Read Online Free Page B

Emily immediately took precautions to keep her activities secret. She stopped using her own horses and made arrangements with Mrs. Gilbert for Sam to bring her a mount on the nights they had a run. When their work was done Sam would accompany her this far and take the horse back, but tonight that hadn’t been possible.
    She closed her mind to what might be happening at The Crown and concentrated on accomplishing the reason Flora and the others were risking themselves for her. When her cousin returned to The Birches, she had to be home and safely in her bed. Her lips twisted. She also needed an innocent excuse to explain why he did not find her there when he had obviously come looking for her tonight.
    Her stride lengthened and she broke into a run, oblivious to the rain and the wind shrieking through bare limbs of the birch trees that lined the half-mile driveway. The squire must never learn what they had all been up to because Emily didn’t doubt for a moment, far from being outraged, he would immediately take over the operation and reward himself with the lion’s share of the profits. The villagers, Mrs. Gilbert, her daughters, the blacksmith, Jeb and the others—all those who desperately depended on the money they made from smuggling would suffer.
    The torches at either side of the heavy double front doors of the big house gleamed in the darkness and Emily veered around to the back. If she’d gone to the front door, Walker, most likely pacing anxiously, would have whisked her away in an instant, but she didn’t want to involve him any more than he was already. As for Flora and the others . . .
    Guilt smote her. Had she done the right thing abandoning them to her cousin’s rage when he discovered his prey had escaped him? Reminding herself that it had been for their protection that she had fled didn’t ease her conscience. Wearily, she admitted that too many people were dependent upon her to bring them to a safe harbor for her to have remained, but oh, how she would have enjoyed confronting Jeffery and telling him precisely what she thought of him—and his friend, Mr. Ainsworth.
    Thoroughly soaked, her teeth chattering, her breath coming in great gulps, Emily finally reached the trellis fastened to the wall at the rear of the house. Avoiding the thorns of the climbing rose that would be covered in fragrant pink blooms in a few months, she dragged herself up the trellis to the window from which she had exited hours ago.
    Pulling open the unlocked window, she slowly, gratefully climbed inside. As the warmth from the fire burning on the hearth hit her, she spared another thought for her companions she’d had to leave behind at The Crown, hoping her wretched cousin had not done them any harm. As she stripped out of her wet clothing, her jaw clenched. By God, if he’d hurt one of them she would run him through!
     
    Squire Townsend had not inflicted any damage upon the Gilbert daughters and young Sam, but the opposite was true for the determined defenders at The Crown. Faith had broken a pitcher of ale over Townsend’s head, cutting him above his right eye, and Molly, next to her in age, had been able to use the broom with great effect. The squire was going to walk with a limp for several days from the fall Molly had caused when she had stuck the broom handle between his legs, and Sam had added insult to injury by biting his calf and drawing blood. Harriet and Mary had pelted him with several, heavy pewter tankards, and by the time Townsend had staggered through their gauntlet and started up the stairs, in addition to his other wounds, he was sporting the beginnings of an impressive bruise on one cheek and his chin was bleeding.
    It was a thoroughly enraged and disheveled gentleman that charged into the room only seconds after Emily had disappeared into the wardrobe. His once-immaculate cravat was askew, his dark blue coat and formerly pristine cream-colored waistcoat were splattered with ale and blood and his