His Runaway Lady

From one convenient marriage…

To another?

Shunned by society because of his parentage, half-Roma blacksmith Fell Barden lives a simple life alone in the forest until his peace is disturbed by an injured runaway lady. Fleeing a forced marriage, Sophia Somerlock needs his help. Caring for the intriguing miss, Fell feels an intense connection to her. The obvious solution is to save her by marrying her himself…but that would mean returning to the ton that rejected him…

JOANNA JOHNSON lives in a pretty Wiltshire village with her husband and as many books as she can sneak into the house. Being part of the Mills & Boon family is a dream come true. She has always loved writing, starting at five years old with a series about a cat imaginatively named Cat, and she keeps a notebook in every handbag—just in case. In her spare time she likes finding new places to have a cream tea, stroking scruffy dogs and trying to remember where she left her glasses.

Also by Joanna Johnson

The Marriage Rescue

Scandalously Wed to the Captain

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

His Runaway Lady

Joanna Johnson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90145-5

HIS RUNAWAY LADY

© 2020 Joanna Johnson

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Thanks—as always—to the ones who make the tea,

listen to the doubts and say the nice things.

I love you all!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

The moment Sophia Somerlock had been told the name of the man she was to marry was the same moment she knew, without hesitation, that she had no other choice.

She would have to run.

Huddled into one corner of the swaying coach, Sophia twitched aside the dingy velvet curtain obscuring a window and looked out, attempting to distract herself from the terror that circled in her stomach. There was nothing to see other than ghostly trees, barely lit by the moonlight struggling through the dense canopy above. Savernake Forest stretched out silently on either side of the rough road to Marlborough, only the rattle of the wheels and hollow clip of hooves breaking the heavy stillness of the summer night. Another glance showed the white shape of an owl disappearing into the darkness, leaving the reflection of Sophia’s pale face to peer back at her in the glass.

Mother will be beside herself with rage when she realises I’ve gone. I can scarcely believe I found the nerve.

How many vases would Mother smash in her fury, now deprived of the usual target for her wrath? Sophia wondered with rising fear. Bearing the brunt of that foul temper was Sophia’s only purpose in life, after all, aside from one day being sold into a lucrative marriage from which everybody would profit but herself. That was the sole reason Mother hadn’t abandoned Sophia to a convent after the death of Papa as she deserved. She’d been told this almost daily ever since she was six years old, but now she had fled the future mapped out for her, the ungrateful little beast, and the passion of Mother’s anger made Sophia’s blood run cold at the mere thought. While Papa had lived Mother had hidden the worst of her cruelty from him, never in his hearing abusing the spirited little daughter she had never wanted and resented for claiming a share of his love, but since his passing Sophia hadn’t known a single day without guilt and fear and that spirit had been well and truly crushed beneath the heel of Mother’s boot.

Almost alone in the carriage, Sophia reached to tuck a stray sweep of bright copper hair back out of sight beneath the bonnet taken from her unsuspecting maid. The elderly gentleman seated opposite looked to be fast asleep, but she wouldn’t risk him waking to catch sight of her distinctive flaming mane. Long, thick and refusing to hold a curl—much to Mother’s annoyance, as though Sophia had grown such determinedly straight hair just to spite her—it was the only feature she had inherited from her real father, the final link between them Mother had never been able to sever. Lord Thruxton might insist she call him Father now, having become Mother’s husband the day before Sophia’s seventeenth birthday five years before, but nobody would ever replace the kind, handsome man she had loved and who had loved her in return until the fateful day her stupidity had cut him down. She would always be a Somerlock in her heart, no matter how many times she was introduced as Miss Sophia Thruxton. Papa’s name would live on inside her for ever and there was no way she would ever become a Thruxton for real, neither by marriage nor by force.

Sophia squeezed her clammy hands together so tightly it hurt, the reflexive action of many years’ standing, although nothing could drag her thoughts away from the great house she had left behind. Fenwick Manor had felt like a prison for all its splendour, caging Sophia within its walls and not a friendly face among those who lived there. Mother detested her, of course, and Lord Thruxton—never ‘Father’—remained coldly indifferent to her presence, only becoming animated when dear Septimus came to call—his beloved nephew and heir, and the most terrifying future husband Sophia ever could have dreamed of.

It was the worst-kept secret in Wiltshire society that Jayne Thruxton had been declared insane after only two years of marriage, Sophia thought with a shudder as the coach ploughed on through the night, each hoofbeat carrying her further and further from the fate she had fled. Everyone pitied Septimus and his bad luck in acquiring a lunatic for a wife—although from the whispered conversations she had overheard between her mother and stepfather Sophia knew otherwise. Jayne had seemed as rational a creature as ever lived before she was tormented half to death by the malice and brutality of her handsome, charming husband, a facet of his personality concealed from her—and society at large—until it was too late. If she had voluntarily entered an asylum it could only have been for one of two reasons: either Septimus’s treatment had addled her wits, or life in an institution had seemed a better prospect than remaining in her marriage. Neither motivation was one Sophia wished to experience for herself and the bleak truth had given her the courage to hide beneath the clothes of a servant and disappear into the night, a rash action that flew in the face of every instinct for her obedience. Quiet compliance was all she knew now, the strong will she’d once possessed hammered flat by years of torment—or so she had thought, before the prospect of a life even more miserable than her current existence forced the decision that even now clamped her chest in a vice of fear.

It’s hardly surprising Mother chose a man like that for me after what I did to poor Papa, a fitting punishment for my actions. She has told me often enough I was the reason she became a widow sentenced to mourn the only man she would ever love for the rest of her miserable life—as if I needed proof she only married again for the title. If she couldn’t be happy, why should I?

That had been the constant refrain of Sophia’s wretched childhood, she now thought grimly. Papa had died when she was just six years old and since that moment Sophia had known herself to be a monster, an unwanted creature starved of the approval and tenderness she craved so badly and yet knew she didn’t deserve. Grief and guilt so strong it almost drowned her was her inheritance, encouraged daily by Mother’s cruel tongue, and she’d certainly never expected to marry for love when the time came for Mother to see some return on her grudging investment in her only child. There was nothing about Sophia that might rouse fond feelings in a man, after all—how could she ever believe otherwise, told as much repeatedly from the first moment she could begin to understand?

‘I’ll marry one day, won’t I, Mother? To a man like Papa?’

‘You’ll marry, but not to a man like your father. He was kind and strong and handsome—now, tell me, would a man like that, who could have his choice of wife, want somebody as worthless and troublesome as you?’

‘I suppose not.’

‘You suppose correctly. My life with your father was perfect before you came and ruined everything with your wickedness, always getting between us and turning his attention from me. Why would any man look upon you with favour after learning of your sins?’

The elderly passenger twitched in his sleep as the coach rounded a bend and began to slow, the driver’s low command to the horses breaking into Sophia’s unhappy memories. A swift peep out of the window showed a couple of men waiting for the post carriage to draw near, the torch they stood beneath obscuring their faces in shadow, and Sophia felt her chest tighten with apprehension at the sight.

With each new passenger that boarded the coach the chance of her being seen by some acquaintance of the Thruxtons grew. All it would take was one dropped hint, one accidental glance, and her mother and stepfather would know which way she had fled. The midnight carriage had seemed such a safe bet—surely everybody she knew in the county would be abed by now—but evidently she wasn’t the only one with travel in mind, sneaking from Fenwick Manor with breath held for fear of discovery. If she was seen now the risk she’d taken would have been in vain, and she would be left with no choice but to face the consequences. She could do nothing but sit, helpless and afraid, as the coach drew to a standstill and the murmur of voices filtered in from outside, the light from the torch growing brighter as the door opened and the two waiting men climbed inside.

The first was a stranger and Sophia felt some of the tension leave her limbs as he dropped into a seat. He looked at her with a quick flick of appraisal, taking in her heart-shaped face and slanted green eyes with an appreciation he never would have dared had she been dressed in her usual finery. In a servant’s clothes she was evidently a fair prospect, however—Sophia might have spent a moment pondering the difference an expensive gown could make had the second passenger not made her mind stutter to a sudden halt.

Her stepfather’s bookkeeper settled himself in the far corner of the cabin, nodding distractedly at each of his fellow travellers as he carefully arranged his belongings beneath the seat. The elderly gentleman opposite woke for just long enough to mutter a quiet greeting but Sophia’s lips were frozen with dismay and nothing could have dragged a word from her suddenly dry mouth.

It was exactly what she had feared: somebody connected to her family sat mere inches away, currently fussing with his greatcoat but soon enough likely to take a better look at his travelling companions. He might know her—hadn’t the man visited Fenwick Manor on more than one occasion? It could take him a second to fit together the pieces of the puzzle, but how long until he spoke her name and every eye in the coach turned to look at the woman fleeing from a marriage brokered by people who cared not three straws for her happiness?

The horses began to move and the carriage creaked forward, the bookkeeper now smoothing down the knees of his trousers. Finally satisfied everything was as it should be he glanced about the carriage again—at last noticing Sophia’s stiff form seated next to the window and looking for all the world as though she wished she could burst through it.

She screwed her eyes closed, turning her head away to conceal her flushed cheeks and the tic of fear she felt working in the muscle of her jaw. If Lord Thruxton’s man were to recognise her now all would be lost. He’d never believe she had permission to be riding post at past midnight, dressed as a maid of all things, and in his good intentions would no doubt return her to the one place she wanted nothing more than to never see again.

For one golden moment she thought perhaps her luck had held. The man didn’t address her and when she dared open one eye she saw his gaze fixed on the floor—but then he leaned towards her and Sophia felt her lungs empty at his polite frown.

‘Begging your pardon, ma’am… I wasn’t sure at first, but now I think I must be right. Might you be—?’

She felt her mouth open in a grimace of horror, hardly hearing the rest of his enquiry.

He knows me. He knows me and he’ll try to take me back.

The picture of Septimus’s face swam before her, handsome as ever but with cruelty etched in every line, and her throat clenched at once. To be handed back to him made her feel faint with terror. Neither Mother nor her stepfather would be in the least concerned should Septimus decide to abuse his new wife. He would be allowed to treat Sophia however he chose and the sad fate of her predecessor was enough to convince her that his choice would be unbearable.

That poor woman will spend the rest of her life in an asylum and still she believed that a better path than to remain as his wife. Whatever Septimus did to drive her to such desperation is not something I wish to uncover for myself.

The bookkeeper still watched her with growing unease and Sophia took a deep breath in. She would have to do something if she wanted to slip free of his dangerous concern for her, and she would have to do it fast.

Sophia rose to her feet so quickly the man fell back in surprise, his eyes widening as she stood above him and hammered on the roof.

‘Stop the coach! I wish to get out!’

The coach jerked roughly as the driver brought the horses up short, the other passengers jolting in their seats and reaching to steady themselves in alarm. The elderly gentleman called out but Sophia paid him no mind as she wrenched the door open and half fell down the step, snagging her cloak as she went but stopping for nobody.

Her feet hit the ground harder than she’d expected and for a second she stumbled, but she righted herself and without pausing for breath waded through the scrub that edged the pitted road and bolted between the first bank of waving trees.

‘Miss Thruxton! Come back!’

The words echoed in the air behind her, slicing through the quiet of the night, although Sophia didn’t stop to look back over her shoulder. All she could think was that she needed to run, and keep on running, until the light of the carriage’s lanterns was swallowed by darkness and the voices were replaced by the soft rustle of leaves in the midnight breeze.

In every direction the forest stood about her like a labyrinth, the straight trees guarding her flight through the gloom so dense she could hardly see her hand in front of her face. Fleeing like a deer from hunters her breathing grew ragged as she blundered amid undergrowth and sharp branches that reached down to catch at her clothes, but still she kept up her blind charge, one foot in front of the other with no thought in mind but escape.

Sophia was falling before she had the chance to realise what was happening, her dress catching and the breath forced from her body by the ground hurtling up to meet her. Rolling in a tangle of long skirts down a steep slope, she came to a violent stop against a gnarled old tree—and felt her head spin with sudden agony as pain bloomed like a flower in her left leg.

She tried to sit up, but a grating sensation scattered stars in front of her eyes and she folded back again, chest heaving in mute despair at the hopeless predicament she found herself trapped in. Another attempt at moving was met with equal failure, all strength stolen from her shaking limbs by pain, shock and the effort of running faster and further than she ever had before.

How did this happen? How did my plan go so badly awry?

She licked dry lips, fighting the growing wave of fear that rose inside her. There was no way she could get up, let alone continue her aimless journey to a destination she didn’t even know.

Lying alone in the forest with no hope of walking and too dark to find my way even if I could. Perhaps this is what I deserve for disobeying Mother and trying to cheat the destiny I was intended to have. Whatever made me think I deserved anything more, after what I did?

How long she lay for Sophia couldn’t tell, her head swimming with pain and nausea swirling in her stomach. The leaf canopy that stirred above was thick and no moonlight slipped through to dapple the damp ground, only darkness and the whispers of the sleeping forest surrounding her as she closed her eyes and prayed for deliverance.

Something cold and wet pressing against her hand woke Sophia from her doze, feeble daylight casting a green haze over the forest floor. For a moment, the unexpected sensation almost succeeded in distracting her from the throbbing in her leg, before awareness set in once more to make her draw in a harsh breath.

A scruffy-looking dog gazed at her sympathetically, raising his nose from her hand and his ears twitching backwards at her wince. They moved again as a voice came from somewhere behind Sophia’s resting place—a man’s voice, cutting through the brush to set her heart pounding with sick apprehension.

‘Lash? Where are you?’

The swish of boots through long grass grew closer and Sophia attempted to push herself up from her bed of fallen leaves, desperate despite the fresh lights that flickered before her eyes as she moved. She dug her fingers into the rough bark of the tree at her back, feeling every muscle shriek from lying all night on the hard earth and her injured leg wanting to buckle beneath her as she hauled herself upright.

As soon as she was on her feet she knew she’d made a mistake. A hot gush flowed to pool in her shoe and the crackle of pain that fluttered made her cry out before she could bite it back. By the sounds of it the stranger was still approaching, the dog at her side gently waving his tail as his master drew near, and although every instinct screamed at her to run Sophia could no more hobble away than she could have flown. The unpleasant, liquid warmth still tickled on her skin and, swaying slightly, she reached down to press her shaking hand against it—just as a man appeared around her tree.

He stopped abruptly, dark eyebrows cinching together as one quick look must have taken in her bedraggled clothes and breathing fast and erratic. She in turn had just enough time to note the concern on his face—a handsome face, at that, she thought with a glimmer of surprise—before she saw the blood that slicked her fingers, and her eyes closed again in a dead faint that sent her crumpling back to the ground.

Fell Barden regarded the figure sprawled across his boots for a moment in silence. At his side Lash looked down at her likewise and the two exchanged a glance Fell could have sworn the dog understood.

Didn’t expect to find this while looking for kindling, did we?

A young woman falling at his feet wasn’t something he could recall experiencing before—and certainly not such a pretty one, he saw with faint bemusement. She lay among the leaves with her bonnet half off, exposing a great swathe of fiery hair, and the bloodless colour of her face was more than countered by the scarlet stain spreading across the cream fabric of her skirts. Who she was and how she came to be unconscious in the forest he had no idea, only that she’d looked terrified to see him in the split second before she collapsed, eyes the colour of sea-glass stretched wide in fear and pain that immediately set alarm bells ringing. By the look of her she’d been out all night, muddied and bleeding in the dewy dawn with no obvious explanation of where she came from—or where she might be going.

The dog sniffed cautiously at the red splash on the stranger’s torn gown and Fell ushered him away with the toe of his boot, crouching warily to look closer. It didn’t take a doctor to see the woman had hurt her leg, one ankle twisted at an angle, but it was the jagged slash to her shin that made him suck a breath in between his teeth. Although congealing slightly the wound had evidently opened up again at her attempts to move and with practised speed Fell staunched the worst of the bleeding with his own knotted kerchief.