Her bible

"I have to get my bible." Of all the things Miss Marlton might desperately need from her family home, a bible was the last thing that Randy was expecting her to say.

"Forget it!" He hissed in reply, "we have to get far away from your father and that sick toadie of his." It was not so much his own safety that Randy was worried about as that of his companion. To think that a father might actually conspire to have his own daughter **** was bad enough, but the way that the younger man embraced the opportunity to **** Miss Marlton was more than he could stomach.

"I can't!" Charlotte refused to be led away, "It was a gift from my mother. Also, we'll need money if we are going to get anywhere." The emotional appeal to her dead mother along with the hard fact about their lack of means was a persuasive combination and with a sigh he released Miss Marlton's hand. He was beginning to sense that Lady Marlton left a wake of frustrated and confused men where she went.

"I'm coming with you." It was the least he could do, although as soon as he could assure himself of her safety he knew that he was coming back to put a bullet through Lord Marlton's black heart. I was the only way to end this. With his flintlock in his hand Randy followed Miss Marlton away from her father's office and through the very ballroom that he had burst into almost a year ago to the grand stairwell leading to the second floor of the manor house. There was only a single oil lamp burning at the bottom of the steps and by the time they were approaching the second floor of the house the light was barely strong enough to light up the balcony with its marble balustrade that overlooked the great ballroom below.

Thankfully this darkness worked in their favor as well as hindering them and Miss Marlton knew this house even better than he knew his cave. With his hand in hers, she led Randy into the darkness past a half dozen doorways and around a corner before she stopped in front of a dark entrance.

"These are my rooms." Her lips brushed against his ear sending a wave of desire through his torso. "The door squeaks if it is opened too far," she warned as she reached for the door knob, "but once inside there will be light from the windows." Miss Charlotte was right. Compared t the near pitch blackness of the nighttime hallway, the light of the nearly full moon streaming in from the three massive windows was enough to see clearly. A small wooden secretary sat on one side of the room with a trio of chairs arranged around a short table whose polished lacquered top gleamed like a pool of ice. On the other side of the room was a her bed, not a massive four-poster like her father's this was designed for a lady to sleep in. The iron frame and thick mattress was more than large enough for Miss Marlton's slender frame, but if they both lay together on the delicate white coverings they would by the laws of nature be pushed together in a most delightful way.

The image was surprisingly tempting considering their circumstances and it is just as well that Miss Marlton turned away from her bed, instead disappearing through a small archway a few feet from where he stood. She returned in just a few seconds with a small trunk in one hand and a pile of dresses draped over her other arm. Randy should have realized that a gentlewoman like Miss Marlton could never go anywhere without the appropriate wardrobe. Perhaps sensing his annoyance, she shrugged her pretty shoulders and moved past him with an efficiency that showed she understood just how urgent their situation was. With the trunk open on her bed she proceeded to toss in first the dresses, then a small locked box that he hoped contained at least a few items of value. The bible in question lay on the nightstand by her bed and she paused only long enough to hold the white, leather-bound volume to her lips before placing it in the trunk.

"Are you done, can I help?" Mr. Fuller stood by the door to her bedroom, but his whisper reached her with ease in the still of the night.

"Almost, Mr. Fuller." Charlotte swept past him again on her way back to the dressing room, she needed clean underwear, and he certainly could not help with that. Although, remembering how easily Mr. Fuller had stripped away every last stitch of clothing from her in his cave, she wondered if he was quite familiar with a woman's delicates. The salacious memory made her realize just how little she knew about the man, but this much she was sure of, Randolf Fuller with all his faults and flaws was more of a man than Jason Worthington and certainly more trustworthy than her own father. In the dressing room she selected a collection of pettycoats, two slips, a silk chemise and a handful of stockings and panties which she rolled together modestly in a tight ball.

She'd need a cloak and a hat … and boots that weren't covered in mud … the enormity of what she was doing finally began to sink in and she hurried back to Mr. Fuller and pressed her teary face against his shoulder. She should be terrified at the thought of leaving her home and family with a man she barely knew, but for the first time in months Charlotte could see a light at the end of the tunnel. To her relief instead of saying a word he simply wrapped his arm around her and drew her firmly against his chest. After what seemed like an eternity condensed into a second of time, Mr. Fuller took the bundled underwear from her hand and placed it in the trunk.

"That's enough," His firm voice cut through her doubts like a cool breeze in the summer. "Whatever you don't have we can either buy or do without." He tested the weight of the case, and after a moment of hesitation handed his flintlock to her. The pistol felt cool and heavy in her hands, it was nearly the size of her fowling piece with a shorted barrel but much heavier caliber.

"Don't shoot unless you have to," he warned as he picked up the chest, "if that goes off, every soul in this house will be awake and after us." Charlotte could only nod in silence as she considered his words. She was a good shot, when shooting at targets or clay pigeons, but she hated shooting animals and could not imagine killing a man - not even to save herself.