The Runaway Countess by Leigh LaValle Read Free Book Online Page A

her.
    She gathered the long train of her skirts and darted into the woods. She favored silence over speed at first, taking her time to hop and leap over fallen branches and piles of leaves. Her old boots were worn and slick at the soles and she took great care not to slip.
    Thirty seconds had passed. Had they noticed she was gone?
    She dared glance behind her. No one followed.
    She ran faster now with a speed born of desperation, winding through the branches. The underbrush reached up and grabbed at her skirts, nearly tripping her. She hiked the heavy fabric up higher to her knees. Her long legs bounded and leapt through the bushes and she was barely aware of the cuts and scrapes along her calves.
    She came to a game trail and darted across the opening—she was safer in the confines of the foliage. With the soft and agile steps of a doe, she threaded her way west toward a ravine littered with tree roots and huge boulders. She would find a hiding spot there.
    Her ears trained for the slightest sound, she dared to hope she had lost the men with her silent escape and zigzagging path.
    She wanted to laugh with relief when she saw the opening of the trees and knew the steep hill was just beyond. Stealing a quick glance behind her, she saw no evidence that the men were in close pursuit. A big tree lay across her path and she bounded over it, but her skirts tangled around her legs and she tumbled to her knees. In an instant, she gained her feet, unconcerned about the dirt marring her hands and dress. She kept her gaze ahead and dared to hope.
    It was there, on her skin. Freedom.
    A giddy laugh erupted inside her, a flash of peace. It was just an instant though, the smallest moment of elation before a hand, solid and resolute, anchored itself to her wrist.
    She was pulled up short against a tall, powerful chest and she knew instantly it was Trent. Not only by his scent, but by the way her body thrilled to his.
    “No!” she screamed. She would not go back. Everything inside clamored for the freedom she had tasted. Like a wild animal caught in a trap, her body reacted with violent alarm. She kicked and scratched and threw her elbows and knees wherever she could. She tripped over her long skirts, heard the tear of fabric. “Let go of me!”
    Her fist collided against flesh with a sickening crack.
    “Bloody hell, woman.” Trent wrenched her arm behind her back, pinned her so she could no longer move.
    “Let go of me,” Mazie demanded again, her chest heaving in sharp undulations as she struggled to catch her breath.
    “Ah, but I cannot,” he growled. “I find I am loath to part with your company so soon.”
    Hadn’t they already played out this exact scene a few days ago? With her free arm, Mazie elbowed him in the ribs. Hard.
    Trent cursed under his breath and let go of her. She whirled, dared look up at him. He scowled down at her, his jaw set in harsh anger that hollowed out his cheeks. There was a scratch by his eye beaded with blood. One side of his jaw was red. She would not wince. It was nothing less than he deserved. Nothing less than she herself had suffered. She touched her tongue to the corner of her mouth where Harrington had struck her. It was still sore, but not so swollen or discolored anymore.
    An eye for an eye. Even the Bible said that.
    She tried to hold herself with pride, tried to lift her chin in defiance. But when he stepped toward her, a small motion that snapped across dried leaves, she flinched away.
    “We will return to the estate,” he bit out. His hat, she noticed, was gone, and a lock of dark hair fell across his forehead.
    Before he reached for her again, Mazie spun on her heel and marched ahead of him toward the clearing. Nothing, she felt nothing. The power that had burst through her, the hope of freedom, was gone.
    It was a painfully quiet walk back through the dense trees. It felt like forever until light filtered down to the forest floor, then shadows gave way to the bright open