The Scent of Jasmine by Jude Deveraux Page B

Alex owed his life to the man, but on the other, it was T.C.’s fault that he was stuck with the care—and feeding—of a girl who didn’t know how to do anything. She refused to obey orders and went where she wanted when she wanted to. And when Alex so much as made a suggestion of how she should do something, she told him he was the most ungrateful, smelliest man she’d ever met.
    As Alex came to the road, he couldn’t suppress a smile. She could ride, he’d give her that, and the memory of her on her horse with her hair flying, the huge cloak billowing behind her, and that white dress sparkling on her trim little body made him chuckle out loud.
    Immediately, he stopped and looked about to see if anyone had heard him, but no one was on the road.
    The truth was that the girl was good company, which was something he desperately needed after the last months of his life. The trial had been a farce. There wasn’t a person in the courtroom—including his own lawyer—who didn’t think he was guilty. Every day he was half dragged from the jail to the courtroom, and people hissed at him, spat on him, even threw rocks. By the time the guilty verdict came in, Alex had begun to doubt his own innocence. But then, a defense of “I don’t know what happened” wasn’t a very convincing one.
    Only T.C. had shown him any kindness, and when the man told of his plan to free Alex, he’d been skeptical. That on the day of the breakout T.C. broke his leg and couldn’t supervise, and that one of the men paid to help Alex escape had been shot and the other captured, seemed to fit the whole situation. When Alex finally made his way on foot to the rendezvous site and there sat a pretty girl wearing a sparkling ball gown, it had seemed like the end of the world. He was sure he’d be dead within minutes—and she with him.
    When she’d understood his brogue—which most Americans couldn’t—he’d realized with horror that she was the daughter of Angus McTern Harcourt. She was the beloved, precious sister of Alex’s best friend, and she’d been put under the care of Alex when he couldn’t even protect himself. If he’d had time to think, he was sure he’d have turned himself in rather than risk her life. But the bullets flying past hadn’t allowed them to do anything but run.
    But the girl had proven to be made of sterner stuff than she’d first seemed. He’d seen how frightened she was, but she’d gathered her courage and made the best of a very bad situation.
    He urged the mare forward. T.C.’s map had shown that there was a tavern nearby, and he meant to do what he could to get them some proper food. It had been weeks since he’d had a hot meal and he could feel his ribs sticking out. Again he chuckled at the way the girl had told him he was weak—and old. Alex ran his hand over his beard. He needed that now to hide his face, which so many people in and around Charleston had seen. But the beard seemed to make the girl think he was an old man, certainly older than her adored brother Adam.
    Alex ducked his head as he passed a man and a woman in an open buckboard, then breathed a sigh of relief when they passed without recognizing him as an escaped convict.
    As he kept riding, Alex tried to remember what Nate had told him about his sister, but there hadn’t been much. Nate was interested in solving puzzles, and he and Alex had exchanged letters about things they considered mysterious. Nate had only written about his little sister when she did something that got her punished—and that usually meant a fight with her brother Arthur Talbot Harcourt, “Tally.” Many times, Alex had made his father laugh when he retold the antics of Cay and her brother Tally.
    “She sounds like her mother,” Alex’s father would say. “Did I ever tell you about the time she shot at Angus?” Alex would say yes but that he wanted to hear it again. It had been Malcolm, Cay’s great-uncle, who’d first told them the story. Three times