Page 10 of The Untamed Duke (The Secret Crusaders #3)

CHAPTER 10

J ournal of the Duke of Foxworth:

Power is my greatest weapon.

I must never relinquish my will, my senses, my strength. Discipline is vital, for I have seen the consequences of submission, evidence by my mother’s surrender to the man who forever owned her. Too much depends on me to fail, and too many need me to allow weakness. I must remain strong, no matter the temptations, no matter my desire.

No one will ever enter the fortress that is my heart.

Kenneth tasted like brandy and pure power. Somehow even more intoxicating, and just as strong, he usurped her senses, shattered her control. She began as aggressor, yet he immediately took command, holding her secure as he pressed closer.

They parried back and forth, dueling factions mirroring the war within. Somewhere deep, a voice reminded her that she did this for a purpose. She informed the voice that the purpose could wait an hour or two. Yet the voice was insistent, breaking through the fog upending her senses. She pulled back, only slightly, yet Kenneth immediately loosened his hold.

Breaths came one after the other, as she held onto him like a raft in a storm-lashed sea. His gaze held a thousand nameless emotions, his arms still encircling her. She blinked and pulled back. As the gentleman he claimed to be (despite a rather unnecessary kidnapping), he let her go.

Entirely.

She took a deep breath, looked up into his eyes and said…

“I win.”

He stared in undisguised shock. After an eternity and a half, said, “I can’t believe it.”

“Why not?” She grasped her dress, walked lightly around him. “You said to use whatever resources available to distract my assailant. Since there was no sand to throw in your eyes and no rope with which to trip you, I choose this. You released me, thus you forfeit. And I am the victor.”

“Indeed you are.” In his voice, surprise and wonder tangled with unmistakable admiration. “You are quite extraordinary, Lady Sophia.”

She swallowed. He plotted revenge against her brother, kidnapped her, yet when he complimented her, something else lurked…

She swept past him. “Let’s get started. You have a lot to teach me.”

He stayed still for a moment, before following. “Are you ready?”

Was she ever.

They parried back and forth, and the first lesson she learned was that sword fighting was far more complicated than it looked. How he moved so fast, she didn’t know, as he blocked every strike she attempted. When he bested her for the hundredth time, she leaned against the wall. “This is impossible.”

He studied her, as if searching for invisible injuries. “Are you well? Do you wish to stop?”

She straightened, lifted her sword. “Of course not.”

Yet he remained where he was, at ease with the stick he was using in lieu of a sword slung over his shoulder. “We should stop. You’ll be sore in the morning.”

She was already sore, as overtaxed muscles threatened to give. Sweat slickened every inch of her body, skin tender from a hundred hits, yet she hadn’t made a single successful thrust. She lifted the sword higher…

“We should discuss the kiss.”

She froze.

He must have known she would, as he easily grasped the sword. Thoroughly exhausted, she said nothing as he replaced the two weapons back into their holders.

He smiled upon his return. “Distraction can also work for convincing stubborn ladies to listen.”

She frowned, studied the floor. “You brought up kissing to distract me?”

“Not entirely,” He leaned casually against the wall, perfectly relaxed, as if he’d just awoken from a refreshing night’s sleep. “The kisses are now happening with astounding regularity. Shouldn’t we discuss them?”

Her heart stopped briefly, then resumed with a thud. How could she explain what she didn’t understand? “It’s not something one discusses.”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure it’s something one doesn’t do .”

She looked up sharply.

“Not that I hold any regrets.” He held out a hand. “Yet shouldn’t we talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to discuss.” She wiped clammy hands on her skirt. For her next lesson, she would inquire about pants. “I used the kiss to distract you, so I would win our wager. There was nothing beyond practical implications.”

“Your only motive was to distract me?”

“Absolutely.”

Only it wasn’t true.

Other reasons why she kissed him:

His kisses were delicious.

His body was irresistible.

She had the willpower of a tree frog.

She cleared her throat. “I was only creating a distraction, as you instructed.”

“And the other times we kissed?”

“That was because…” His kisses were delicious. “I had a perfectly rational reason each time, I assure you.” His body was irresistible. “There was nothing more to them.” She had the willpower of a tree frog.

He pressed forward. “What if I kissed you now, with no need for distraction, and no rational reason?”

“I would say…I would say there is a perfectly logical reason.”

“Really?” He searched her carefully. “And what is that?”

His kisses were delicious, his body was…

She stayed frozen as he stalked closer. Something urged her to flee, yet something far stronger ordered her to stay. Then he was leaning down, stopping but a hairsbreadth away. “Is there a good reason to kiss?” he murmured.

She should deny him, roar an unequivocal and certain no. Yet instead a single word emerged, “Yes.”

He swooped down, capturing her lips. It was a passionate onslaught and a slow burning fire all at once, a tangle of sensual ambush and tender assault. He enraptured her, holding her captive, as he drew her closer. Instinctively she raised her hands, yet instead of pushing him away, she splayed them against his chest, kneading, caressing, exploring that irresistible body. Under her palms, muscles tensed, as hard and powerful as the metal swords surrounding them. She breathed in his scent, moaning as he deepened the kiss.

The world melted away. Around them, the gleaming blades turned into a sea of silver, as she breathed in his power, giving hers in return. Large hands threaded through her hair, kneading her neck, massaging her scalp. He held control, yet the power was careful and deliberate, granting not vulnerability, but safety, protection.

It was perfection defined, yet somehow it was not enough. Breathy moans and restless sighs whispered delight, and it took a moment to realize they came from her. Restlessness invaded her soul, the desire – no need – for more. A strange ache weakened her, as already sensitized parts grew even rawer. She writhed at the unfamiliar sensations.

Until he pulled back.

It was sudden and quick, even more so than the beginning. She gasped for air, as the world swayed like a ship on a raging sea, yet she didn’t fall. Though his lips had abandoned her, he still held tight, supporting her, sharing his strength.

She opened eyes weighted with uncertainty. He stood tall before her, his expression as severe as the sharpened blades.

“Why did you pull back?”

The scandalous question came on its own, as she touched tender yet traitorous lips. They were swollen and achy, heated like the rest of her. What was he doing to her?

Now she pulled back. For a moment, his hands tightened instead of loosened, as he easily held her captive. “Let me go.”

He hesitated, then obeyed, yet a spark of defiance flashed. As if he wouldn’t always let go.

Stormy eyes proved his wavering control. “We need to talk.”

She swallowed, turned away. “Nothing has changed.”

His voice burned. “You truly wish to assert that? After the ki–”

“Do not say it!”

He raised an eyebrow. “Matters have changed. Or perhaps they were always this way, and we are only just realizing it.”

She backed up a step, not fleeing of course, yet making a strategic retreat. His presence stole her senses, and the closer she was, the more he affected her. “There are no implications and no consequences.”

“If someone knew about this, we’d be instantly betrothed.”

So true. “Then it is fortunate no one is here. Soon we will return to London, and no one except my brother will know we were together. He is not the type to force me to marry, and he will not know of the kisses.”

“And if someone else discovers the truth?”

She stiffened. “That won’t happen unless we tell them. I certainly have no plans to do so, and assume you do not as well.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw, and he didn’t respond.

He agreed with her, of course. He knew what would happen if the world discovered the truth.

If the secret escaped, she never would.

She stepped back. Only this time, he matched it with a step of his own, until her back came against the solid edge of the table, stopping her retreat. She gripped the wood behind her. It was smooth and hard, unrelenting and unbending. She clutched at it, then stopped.

What was she doing? She was not some wilting wallflower who allowed a man to intimidate her. In a single fluid movement, she ducked under his arm, and turned to face him. She stood tall. “You, sir, are untamed.”

If she hoped for anger, or annoyance perhaps, she was to be disappointed. Instead he responded lowly, “Perhaps you know me after all.”

Yes, she did. This man had kidnapped her. She could pretend to be his guest, converse and even jest as if on a society visit, yet in truth she was his prisoner.

The sooner she escaped, the better.

Kenneth stabbed the air, running his sword through the invisible heart of a nonexistent foe. Sweat dripped down his bare torso as he backed away and lunged again, refining his technique, dancing in precise movement. He practiced regularly, both for exercise and skill. He would need them more than ever when he returned to London and dealt with the men who attacked him.

He still couldn’t believe the rogues had bested him. If it hadn’t been for Sophia, who knew how it would have ended? When he returned, he would take more drastic action, not stopping until he secured them a place behind bars.

For now, Sophia stole his entire focus. He’d planned to keep her comfortable and secure, yet somehow her enjoyment now mattered just as much. Her passion enlivened him, her strength, intelligence and bravery enraptured him. Watching her swordfight tested his control like nothing else. The more time he spent with her, the more she drew him in.

And the more letting go became simply unacceptable.

Despite her beliefs, he wanted her happy. If she wanted adventure, he could provide it, albeit safely, of course. Some adventure, such as teaching her to defend herself, actually increased her safety. Unfortunately, he had an idea of her next adventure.

Escape.

He parried once more, then returned the sword to its scabbard. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he dried his hands on a course cloth. He turned and strode through the open door.

The hallway was dim, lit only by the occasional candle and the moonlight streaming through the tall, pointed windows. He walked quickly yet deliberately, keeping his steps silent, his bearing focused. It was the middle of the night, yet he hadn’t been able to sleep. He had made certain Sophia was sleeping before he left and kept the door ajar while he practiced. She hadn’t tried to escape.

Yet.

But she would, and it was imperative he stop her. His first thought had been to lock her in her room. It would ensure she stayed safely in his care, effectively preventing even an attempt at otherwise. Yet such measures would incur her wrath, undoing the progress he’d made in reducing her animosity. For the first time today, they’d acted as companions, if not friends, and her perpetual scowl had all but disappeared. Which meant he had to find another way to keep her safe.

After careful consideration, a simple solution won. If he couldn’t use a lock to confine her, he’d use himself. He stopped briefly at his room, retrieving a thick quilt and thin pillow, before continuing to her chamber. He reached the door and peered inside.

He released a breath at the sight of the petite form on the bed, unaware of the tension until it seeped out of him. Ever since he’d received his title, unchecked apprehension had been his constant companion, like a coiled snake curled in his belly. With the addition of Bradenton, and now the men who’d attacked him, the turmoil had heightened. Yet somehow when he was with her, it was not as sharp.

He backed out of the room, stopping as his reflection glinted off the mirror. Softened features stared back at him, vulnerability he couldn’t afford. He tightened.

He couldn’t let her distract him from his mission. Logic and reason would determine the path forward, not emotion.

He closed the door. Positioning himself directly next to the entrance, he sprawled on a makeshift bed of hard floor. He would remain strong, powerful, unreachable. One Hawkins had already upended his life.

He would not allow another to do so.

A massive obstacle blocked her path to freedom. Not the gate, which still loomed in her future, but something far more challenging.

Foxworth lay on the floor, directly outside her door.

Her plan had faltered from the beginning, when she’d lain awake for hours before falling into a fitful slumber. She’d hoped to get a few hours of sleep before embarking, yet her mind churned with memories of the life-changing day. Briefly, she’d considering escaping at night, yet scaling the gate in the dark was just too dangerous. Even if she made it past the bridge, she could not hire a carriage while everyone was still abed. Thus she planned to sleep as swiftly and briefly as possible, rise early enough to break free and arrive at the town just as they started the day’s business.

Thankfully, Foxworth was still asleep. Yet his powerful form lay pressed against the doorway, blocking her way. She would have to jump over him to escape.

She clutched her dress. She was back in her own clothing, her hair tied back in a simple knot. She bent her knees, but straightened a moment later. To even hope of clearing him, she needed a running start.

She moved back several feet, rubbed her hands together. A breath in, a breath out, hands clenched and flexed. Three, two, one…

She lunged. Faster and faster, until inches before him, she leapt. The world stopped as she soared, then she was coming down, down, down…

Just past him.

She landed on four limbs, the breath whooshed from her lungs, her muscles contracted under the weight. Her heart caught in her throat, beating so fast surely it would wake him.

A noise sounded behind her.

Was she already caught? Her breath hitched as her captor shifted to his side, and then back again. His eyelashes fluttered.

No. If he awoke, everything would be lost. He may render the consequences he never-endingly threatened, cast unsurmountable measures to ensure she didn’t escape. This had to work.

A second passed, and then another. Yet even as her breathing shallowed, his deepened, and his movements lessened. Even relaxed, his power was evident, yet it was tempered by a serenity consciousness didn’t afford. She fought the urge to reach out, to run her hands through his thick locks, to trace the sun-kissed skin and hardened muscles. This man was a danger to her, and more importantly, her brother. She needed to escape.

She pivoted, moving as slowly as necessary and as fast as she dared, her steps whispers against the hard ground. She glanced back at the end of the hallway, yet Foxworth remained on the ground, silent and still. It didn’t vanquish the danger.

The predator would chase.

He awoke with a jolt. From the numbness of sleep to full consciousness, Kenneth became immediately alert, every sense poised, every muscle ready. The blanket had shifted, the ground cold and hard under his back, his muscles sore from the uncomfortable cradle. He hefted himself up, shielded his eyes against the brightness.

Why was it so bright?

He turned toward the window. Sunlight streamed through the gelatinous pane, its brilliance signaling a far later time than his typical rise. Of course, he did not usually conduct late night training sessions, or lay awake for hours, plagued by memories of the lady sleeping a doorway away. He turned and froze. The door was ajar.

He jumped up in an instant, raced forward and pushed the door. It slammed into the wall with an echoing boom, yet there was no one to awaken, and no one to startle.

The bed was empty.

He pivoted, taking in every corner, every hiding space, any and every location where one may hide. Yet his search proved in vain. Somehow she had escaped.

How had she made it past him? The window? Alarm urged him forward, yet the windows were latched from the inside. He strode back through the door.

Had he truly been so exhausted, he slept through her escape? Anger joined the fear, not at her, but at himself. It was only natural for her to flee. That he didn’t prevent it was inexcusable.

Now she was out there alone, possibly in danger. Fear surged, as he pounded down the empty hallway, the boots he’d never removed echoing on the hard tile. He broke into a run, sacrificing moments to glance through the house to ensure her absence. Only silence greeted him, yet something had changed. A dagger was missing from the armory.

With an oath, he raced forward. Not only had she escaped, but she was armed. The latter was more of a concern for her, for although the dagger was small, its blade was wickedly sharp. An unfamiliar wielder could easily get injured.

He burst into the warm day. Blue-tailed birds chirped happy hellos, yet they did nothing to calm the storm brewing inside. He circled the house, yet there was still no sign of her, as he approached the gate.

It was open.

With any other woman, it would have seemed impossible, yet Sophia had proven herself far beyond the ordinary. He growled. Did she truly think she could escape? She may have slunk past him, yet she would find no easy passage from the small town.

Time to recapture his prey.

Sophia stared at the plump gray horse through the open doorway.

“Are you certain she’s awake?”

The shopkeeper rubbed the animal’s back. It didn’t appear to notice. “Hard to tell. Sometimes she even falls asleep while walking. Just stops in the middle of the road.”

Perfect. The only horse available took naps. While walking.

She sighed. The day had started out so well. After literally jumping past Foxworth, she’d run to the armory and retrieved a dagger. Useful for protection, it provided an even more immediate benefit:

It was perfect for picking the gate’s lock.

She’d arrived in town at daybreak, taking the well-worn path from Foxworth’s estate, as pride and hope cheered her forward. Yet both had faded as she visited one establishment after the next, in an attempt to secure passage to London, with no success. Minutes and then hours passed, and now she was at her last hope, a general store with everything from bonnets and ribbons to medicines and peppers. The store was filled to the brim, yet its offerings were neatly organized and surprisingly broad. One of which was hopefully transportation.

“And she could pull a carriage to London?”

“London?” The gray-haired man gave a raspy bark of laughter, as the corners of his eyes crinkled. George, as he’d introduced himself, was of an age as Lady Drummond, yet far softer, his face etched with permanent laugh lines. “This little lady couldn’t make it to London in three lifetimes. When you said you needed to get to the big city, I thought you meant the next town over. They have two pubs.”

Sophia closed her eyes, opened them. “Is there anyone who can take me to London?”

The man smiled. “Of course. Perry can take you.”

Sheer relief eased her stomach, and she grasped the smooth counter. “Oh, thank goodness. Where can I find Perry?”

“He’s not here yet.” George tipped his hat. “But he should be arriving any month now.”

“Any month?” she echoed.

“That’s right.” He gave a toothy grin. “He comes every six months or so with supplies from London. It’s been about five months, or has it been four?”

She didn’t have a month. She didn’t have a week, probably not even a day. She may not have a minute.

“There’s no one else who can help?”

The shopkeeper shook his head apologetically, stopped and brightened. “What am I thinking? Ken can take you.”

“Ken?” Even the horse acknowledged the suggestion with a gentle whinny. “Do you think he’d be willing to help? I can pay handsomely as soon as we reach London.”

“Ken won’t take your money, no matter how much he helps you.” The man’s smile widened. “A real gem, he is. He’s not around often, but he makes a difference all year round. I don’t know how we would have made it without him.”

Finally, a turn of good fortune. “Where can I find him?”

“You’re in luck. According to my bride, he’s just arrived.”

“Who arrived?” An elderly woman glided from behind a curtain. With a soft smile, she touched the man’s shoulder.

He turned, and their eyes locked. And for just a moment, it was half a century in the past, a young suitor gazing at his blushing bride. “This is Rose.” His eyes shined. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

For the first time since she arrived, Sophia gave a true smile. The woman’s face was weathered with age, yet her eyes were a brilliant blue, her expression soft and kind. And she was indeed beautiful. “Most definitely.”

The older woman’s cheeks turned pink. “Married more than five decades, and he still calls me his bride.”

“And you love it.”

The deepened blush gave credence to the words. “Oh hush. Your grandson will hear.” She pointed to an attractive young man stocking the shelves. He saw them and smiled.

Sophia grinned wider. This love match was no one’s secret.

George pointed at her. “I was just telling her about Ken.”

“Such a darling young man,” his wife gushed. “Always willing to help with anything, no matter if you need advice, money or someone to shovel hay next to you. The Scot may be a giant on the outside, but his heart is even bigger.”

The Scot?

A giant?

Oh. No. Oh. No. Oh. No. Oh –

“I don’t suppose there are two giant, wealthy Scots nearby.”

“Two of them?” Rose laughed. “I assure you, there is only one Ken.”

“He has a great deal of resources,” George added. “I’m certain he can arrange for passage to London.”

He already had. In three days’ time, with the cost of upending her senses. “Thank you for your assistance. I’m certain I can find my way. Incidentally, how far is that next town you mentioned?”

George looked at her curiously. “It’s a bit of a trek, at least half a day on foot. You’re far safer putting yourself in Ken’s hands. He’ll take good care of you.”

“Indeed, you’ll be quite safe.” Rose smoothed down a row of fabrics. “No one can best him.”

She had bested him… thus far. She backed away. “Thank you. If I see him, I’ll most definitely inquire.”

“He won’t be hard to find.” The shopkeeper straightened the glass bottles on the counter. “Just look for the man who stands a head taller than everyone. Big fellow.”

“Huge really.”

“Quite imposing.”

Walking to London was looking more attractive by the minute. “Thank you for your assistance. I must go.”

“Did you say there was a man who helped people?”

They all turned. A pale young woman stood by the door, with hair so light it was almost white, red-rimmed eyes and severely pinched features. A cloak of concern lay heavy upon her hunched shoulders, as she wrung her hands. She wore a tight cap, hole-stricken slippers and a plain brown dress, its hem frayed with wear and its bottom edged in black.

Deep purple bruises marred the length of her arms.

Sophia tightened. “Are you all right?”

The two elderly shopkeepers looked on with compassion, as their grandson frowned severely. “Can we help you, my dear?”

The woman’s eyes darted back and forth. “This was a mistake.”

She turned, but Sophia pushed forward. “Wait.”

The woman froze, but did not turn.

What to do? The sun was already far on its journey across the sky, and Foxworth could appear any moment. Still, how could she leave the troubled woman? “Rose, is there a place we can speak, in private?”

“Of course, my dear.” The kindly shopkeeper gestured them forward, towards a small room in the back.

The younger woman moved slowly, her eyes guarded with fear. Sophia smiled, conveying warmth, solidarity. “Everything will be all right.”

The woman bit her lip, clenching and unclenching her hands.

Sophia reached out, yet did not touch her. “No one is going to hurt you, I promise.”

The woman paused once more, then gave a nod so slight it was almost imperceptible. She followed Sophia past a thin curtain.

The storeroom was cluttered with countless items, from foods and fabrics to jars holding unknown substances. It tangled in a thousand aromas, yet an open window let in the scent of roses, as well as a breeze of cool air. Sophia moved as far into the room as possible. The woman entered, but stayed far back, like a deer poised to flee.

“I’m Sophia. What’s your name?”

“Molly.” Her voice little more than a whisper, the woman’s lower lip trembled.

Sophia’s heart lurched. That lip had been recently split. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Molly. Can you tell me what happened? You’re obviously afraid of something.” She took a slow step forward. “Did someone hurt you?”

The young woman sucked in a breath of air, confirming what was so painfully obvious.

Somehow Sophia showed none of her fury. The woman needed calmness and composure, not her anger. “It can help to speak about it.”

“I… I can’t say anything.”

“Of course, you can,” Sophia implored. “Don’t be afraid. No one can steal your power.” Yet in a world in which men legally owned women, it was not always true. It’s why she worked so hard to change society.

Molly gave a humorless smile. “What power do I have, especially when compared to my stepfather?” Her eyes widened, panic blazing in their liquid depths.

“It’s all right.” Sophia held up both palms. “Tell me what happened. Please.”

For a moment, it seemed as if Molly would flee, yet instead she started speaking in a low, clear voice. She revealed the cruelties of her abusive stepfather, her only relation since her mother disappeared under mysterious circumstances. She talked about how they fled their small town after men threatened him. About how he hit her, day after day.

The woman finished her story with a river of tears, and, for just a moment, Sophia wished Kenneth was here. She swiftly pushed the thought aside. “You must get away from your stepfather.”

“How?” The woman’s gaze darted back and forth to the tavern outside the window. “When he’s done guzzling the last of our money, he’ll come for me.”

“You’re going to refuse to leave. At your age, he has no legal right to you.” Sophia gestured to the bustling street, boisterous with conversation and laughter. “There are good people in this town. I can make arrangements for you to stay, if you wish.”

“If only that were possible.” The slightest edge of wistfulness entered the woman’s voice. “A local seamstress is looking for an assistant. I thought…” Her voice trailed off. “It doesn’t matter. He’s never going to let me go.”

Yes, he was. “We’ll find a way. After this, inquire about the assistant position. I’m sure there’s a room for rent somewhere in town.”

For an instant, hope lightened her eyes. A moment later, it vanished. “I don’t have any money.”

Sophia fingered the hidden pocket with her pin money, from a lifetime ago. “I can help with that,” she promised.

Molly hugged herself and shook her head.

How could she make the woman see her own strength? Perhaps… “Would you like to learn how to defend yourself?”

“Defend myself?” The woman looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve learned some techniques to stop an attacker. They won’t always work, but they could make you feel a little less vulnerable.”

Molly’s expression was skeptical. “Can you really teach me that?”

Yes. Did she have time? Most assuredly not.

But she would do it anyway. “Absolutely.”

“I… I–”

“Give it a try,” Sophia said softly. “What have you got to lose?”

Molly hesitated, but then lifted her chin and showed something every woman deserved: hope. “All right.”

They set to work. The next hour was spent practicing all the self-defense techniques, which Foxworth had taught. Molly mastered the basics, and even more importantly, gained a spark of confidence with every successful move. When they finished, Sophia told her about Foxworth and explained how to reach his estate. Despite his overbearing tendencies, he could help the young woman, should she need it.

She was the only woman he wanted to kidnap.

Sophia offered to go with Molly to confront her stepfather, but she refused. Whether she wanted independence or was trying to protect her, she preferred to go alone, and Sophia respected her wishes. She made her promise to speak in a public place and call for help if she needed it. With hopefully a new future, Molly departed, and Sophia returned to the shop.

The elderly woman looked up from her fabrics and smiled. “That was a nice thing you did.”

“It sure was.” George’s eyes twinkled. “Why do I get the feeling you’ve helped people before?”

“It was nothing.” Only as Sophia watched Molly stride outside, poised with newfound confidence, it clearly was something. Perhaps this was the way she could make a difference – provide self-defense instruction for ladies once she returned to London. Of course, she’d need more than a day’s worth of lessons herself. If she were actually staying, she’d ask for Foxworth for more lessons.

The tightness in her chest could not possibly be disappointment.

“Is Molly going to ask Ken for assistance?”

The reminder of her kidnapper sobered her immediately. “She’s going to try on her own, but I told her about Foxwo– Ken. She’ll find him if she needs him.”

Rose nodded, then her gaze drifted. Her smile widened. “She won’t have to look far.”

Oh. No.

“This is good fortune indeed.”

Don’t turn around. Don’t look.

Sophia edged forward, towards the back exit, yet two heavy footsteps sounded for every one of hers. Tingles traced her spine as her predator delved closer… and closer… and closer.

She never made it to the door.

A form towered behind her, massive, powerful, commanding. Then a hot breath against her neck. “I’ve found something that belongs to me.”

Foxworth.