Trust Me by Natasha Blackthorne Page A

fists against it. It still wouldn’t budge.
    What was it… A lid
for a… casket.
    Casket!
    Her casket?
    She began beating her
fists against the lid with all her might.
    Oh God—she’d been
buried alive! Her lungs burned from the lack of air. She stopped beating
against the lid. It was futile. It wasn’t going to budge.
    She fought to slow
her breathing. Think logically .
Surely Jon had missed her by now. He would come, he would find her. He’d never
fail her.
    Crack!
    Her heart stopped.
Her whole body froze. That sound—so familiar. The horse, kicking at the
carriage wall. No, kicking the lid of the coffin in which she lay trapped.
    Crack! Crack! Crack!
    Light showed through
an opening in the top.
    Air rushed into the
casket and she gulped it gratefully.
    Whoosh!
    There was a glint of
steel, a flash of white fetlock. The hoof was coming down again. That which had
liberated her was going to bring her death…
     
    Anne awoke and sat
up, taking deep, gasping breaths. Her heart leapt in her throat, pounding
against her chest wall. She put her hand over it, as if she could contain it.
Sweat poured from her body, drenching her nightgown.
    The bed curtains
whipped open. The fire backlit Jon’s tall, broad-shouldered frame dressed in
his dark green banyan. Orange lights glinted on his pale hair. She couldn’t see
his face.
    “Anne.” Concern rang
in his voice.
    “What?”
    “You cried out.”
    “Did I?”
    He sat on the bed and
crawled across his side until he sat near her. “Yes, you did.”
    She tried to laugh.
It came out as a choked sound. “I had a horrid dream. That’s all.”
    “You dreamt of the
accident, the horses?”
    She caught her
breath. She should have been over the accident long ago. He would be so
disappointed to know the truth.
    She laughed softly,
nervously. “Goodness no. Just a frightening dream but not about the horses.”
    “No?” His tone was a
silken seduction. Its tenderness pulled her heartstrings mightily; the urge to
confide in him rose within her breast, almost unbearably.
      She shook her head, fighting off the urge to
tell him the truth. “Just a bad dream.”
    He touched her
shoulders. “You’re trembling and sweating.”
    “Yes, it was a very
bad dream.”
    “But not about the
accident or the horses?”
    She leant forward
into his large frame and buried her face against his velvet banyan, pressing
into his muscular chest.
    Yesterday, storms had
battered at their carriage, rattling its frame, flashing lightning through the
cracks in the curtains.
    She had been pale and
shaking with terror and Jon had held her in his arms, gently stroking her hair
and speaking softly to her, telling her stories from his days in the Dragoons.
Harmless, humorous stories about people and dogs. The types of stories a fond
uncle tells a young girl.
    Was that how she
wanted her husband to view her?
    “You can tell me,
Anne, you can tell me anything.” He caressed her back, stroked her hair.
    Distant thunder
rumbled. The sound reverberated within her stomach and reminded her of the
day‘s trial to come. Dread and fear beat through her. She needed to act like a
woman. To be braver. But in the dark of night, it was hard.
    His touch comforted
her but she wanted something more. She pulled away then laid back and held her
arms up to him.
    Jon lay beside her
and grasped her wrists, holding them in one of his large hands. She closed her
eyes and lay passive. Her breathing and heart rate calmed. He put his leg over
both of hers, locking her in place. All of his masculine strength, his power,
wrapped about her.
    Thunder rumbled
again.
    “You see, I’ve got
you.” He brushed his lips against her forehead. “I’ll always have you.”
    There would be time,
later today, to show him her brave side. For now, she would simply enjoy the
feeling of being completely protected. Peace washed over her and she let sleep
carry her off.
     
    Anne awoke to the
sound of hot water being delivered. Sleepily, she