Surrender To Me by Sophie Jordan

of her head and lifted her chin. “I shall merely explain to them—”

    “What? Who you are?” He snorted. “After they hear your tale, they will have no doubts you murdered your husband.”

    “I did not murder him.” Her dark eyes flashed fire, locking with his in challenge.

    “They will believe you did.” Hell, he almost believed she had.

    She shook her arm free of his hand. “What do you suggest, then? It sounds as though I have little choice. I either confront these men or try my luck on the road.”

    Neither of which would serve her well. He studied her a moment, knowing there was little time. A decision needed to be reached and soon. He didn’t have time to stand around staring at her, looking into those dark eyes and marveling at how much she reminded him of her . Absurd. The woman had died years ago. Griffin did not even know her name. He only knew that she had felt soft, helpless, light as wind in his arms, drowning in her own blood from the thrust of a bayonet.

    A death he did not stop…but should have.

    But this . This, he could stop.

    “Come,” he said, the word dropping like a stone in the air, hard and fast. He snatched one of her bags—the smaller valise from where it sat on the ground beside her—waiting to be loaded.

    Her eyes rounded. “What are you doing with that?”

    He grabbed hold of her hand. She gasped at the touch. When she would have pulled free, he tightened his hold, twining his fingers through hers.

    Facing her driver, he grimly directed, “Continue on. Hurry, man. With luck, they will follow you and give us time to get away. Tell them nothing of your mistress.”

    The coachman nodded dumbly.

    “What are you doing?” she demanded as he pulled her behind him, deep into the shadowed confines of the stable, searching for the stable master.

    “Saving your neck.”

    And perhaps righting past wrongs…gaining for himself a shred of redemption at last.

     

    The village dozed, still as stone in the morning silence. Gray light broke over the thatched rooftops. A dog barked as they passed the blacksmith’s, and Astrid started in the fractured silence, jerking in the seat of her saddle.

    She glanced at Griffin Shaw beside her. His gaze scanned over the village with the alertness of a hawk. She held her breath, following his gaze to a single man emerging from a house.

    “Is that—”

    He cut her off with a sudden lift of his hand and a hard shake of his head.

    She bit her lip.

    He urged his horse faster. Her mount increased its pace, following his. The feel of the horse, large and undulating between her legs, felt alien, but a sidesaddle was not to be found. They were lucky enough to have obtained a mount for her with such haste.

    Griffin glanced back over his shoulder at her, a too-long lock of dark hair falling over his cheek.

    She gave a small nod, and inhaled thinly through her nose, telling herself that she was doing the right thing in placing her trust in him. He had saved her life. And for whatever reason, he sought to help her now.

    She felt her brow crease at the strangeness of that .

    No man had ever made it a priority to look out for her. Her father had left her to the care of servants. And Bertram had simply left her.

    She gave herself a small shake as if she could toss off the dark thoughts. The why didn’t signify. He would take her to Edinburgh. From there she could take the train the rest of the way home. And that would be the end of it. The end of them.

    She would return to Town and see about putting Bertram’s affairs to final order. Duty demanded it. No matter how his grandmother and sister felt about her, they deserved to know what happened to him. His heir, a distant cousin whose face she could not recall, deserved the right to claim a title he may or may not wish to possess. No matter that a part of her preferred to delay and remain in this wilderness, preferred hiding from the call of duty, to embrace freedom. To pretend, for once in