No one should have been able to execute an attack so perfectly.
It was astonishing that they hadn’t been more successful. By all accounts, they should have been, which led Jeremy to believe that they were hired hands and not skilled operatives themselves.
One operative, an asset, and two cowering women should not be enough to put such a group off.
Granted, Jeremy was rather skilled in all things combat, and Mullins was a skilled shot, but even then, it shouldn’t have played out the way it did.
And that made him more nervous.
Who was to say that another attack was not imminent? Even now, others could be lying in wait for them, and the outcome could be different.
The motivation was unclear, but there was no time for analysis when innocents were at risk. Once Helen and Millie were safely ensconced in York, they could look at the problem from all aspects and angles. Jeremy would interrogate their captive with all the intensity and thoroughness such tasks required, then he would pass him, and the information, off to the others, who would take him back to London for the League to deal with.
At which point, Jeremy would continue on to Cheshire, and all that needed to happen there.
There was no time for the romantic falderal he’d been enjoying of late, and he should have known that. He had been tasked with seeing Helen to York, and then continuing his investigation into Trace’s work. Everything else had to be secondary for the good of the League, London, and England itself. There was far too much work and danger for him to forget all of that. His life was not his own, and nor was his attention.
It couldn’t be.
It wasn’t fair to Helen, given what he’d been doing, but he couldn’t apologize for it. If she understood, she would see the wisdom in his actions. But she could not understand, and there was no time to explain it.
So out here he sat, rain pouring down on them, pretending he didn’t ache everywhere.
The horses pummeled the road in their haste, barreling them all down the lane at the rate of a mail coach, and their accompanying riders kept easy strides. No one said a word.
There was no need to.
Jeremy winced as he recalled Helen’s face at their first exchange after the attack. She’d looked concerned and bewildered, still so lovely even in her distress that his heart had lurched painfully within him. She’d opened her mouth to say something, and he’d turned away, forcing himself to ignore everything about her as they made quick work of changing horses. Orders had been barked to the others, and he didn’t even care that they all called him Rook within her hearing.
She could think whatever she liked about him; it made no difference anymore.
There was no hiding her wounded expression at their second exchange. She hadn’t tried to speak to him again, but her eyes had spoken volumes.
He’d worked even more brusquely then, needing to avoid her eyes and hurt more than ever before. Mullins had seen to securing food for the ladies, as it had been hours since anything had been had, but Jeremy hadn’t dealt with anything in that regard. He’d been too busy conferring with their riders on the appropriate maneuvering for the darkness of the roads, anticipating more danger than they would probably have.
It was an adequate excuse and distraction.
And now they would exchange again.
He prayed she would be sleeping now. His fatigue was beginning to set in, and his worry and guilt over her could incline him in a direction he dared not proceed.
“Inn ahead, Rook,” Mullins grunted.
Jeremy nodded, seeing the lights. “See to the horses. I’ll fetch us warm drinks and a brick for the ladies. Then I’ll drive, and you take a rest.”
Mullins gave him a sidelong look. “You sure, Rook? You’ve not slept.”
“No, nor will I,” he replied firmly. “Not until this is done.”
There was no response from the man beside him, and he was grateful Mullins was not more inquisitive.
It made him an ideal traveling companion.
Mullins called their arrival at the inn, and a few drowsy lads sprang forward. Jeremy whistled once, and the riders spread out a little, dismounting as they reached the inn. Drinks were brought to them, and they stretched their backs, checked their weapons, and assisted with the horse changing.
Jeremy strode into the inn and requested a hot brick from the innkeeper, who took one look at his set expression and dashed off.
That didn’t happen often. Rogue was the one with a glower to make gargoyles weep, and Cap had the authoritative persona to make even the unruliest obey. Even Gent could look imposing if he were so inclined.
Jeremy had never been in possession of intimidating expressions, but every now and again, he managed well enough.
The brick, wrapped in linen, was brought in and handed to him. He took the edges of the fabric in hand, nodded at the innkeeper and tossed coins on the desk. Before he could think about it too much, he went back out into the rain, walked directly to the carriage, and opened the door.
Helen looked at him blearily, her hair almost completely down around her shoulders. He fixed his gaze to the floor of the coach before he would be tempted to open his mouth, and set the brick down, pushing it across the floor close to Helen and Millie’s feet.
“Thank you,” Helen murmured as she slid her feet from her unlaced boots and rested them upon the brick.
The weak tone of her voice caused a lump to rise in his throat, and he swallowed once.
Damn. He wasn’t supposed to feel anything at all, and suddenly he wanted to leap into the coach and haul her into his arms. But he only nodded, closed the carriage door, and moved to climb back up to the seat where Mullins was already waiting.
“Sure you want to take the reins, Rook?” Mullins asked, looking unconvinced.
Jeremy held out a hand, sighing as the rain intensified and began to pour down the brim of his hat and down his back. “Yes. I need the distraction.”
Mullins gave him the reins, nodding once. “Aye, Rook. If you insist.”
“I do,” he grunted in return as he set the horses in motion. “Get some rest if you can, Mullins. It’s going to be a long night, and a long day tomorrow. And then the real work will begin.”
Despite his words, Mullins gave no indication that he would do any such thing, and his eyes constantly scoured the dark and damp horizon.
York was still a way off, but pushing through the night would get them there soon enough.
That had to be his goal and his aim.
Helen would be safe, and he could move on.
He’d have made her miserable eventually as it was. He had no notion how to be a proper gentleman in truth, or how to trust anyone with the sort of vulnerability she would require. No polite or staid marriage would do for Helen Dalton, should she have ever wanted something so far-fetched with him as it was. She would want absolutely everything a man could give and would give just as much of herself in return.
Jeremy could never do that. He could not offer up the whole of himself without reservation, and that sort of holding back would wear on the relationship eventually. The strain between them would build and build until it ripped apart entirely, reducing everything they had been to shreds of memory and emotion. He could not bear to do that to her, or to himself. To endure such agony would destroy more than the ties that bound them.
Helen would have been unrecognizable after that, and he refused to subject her to it.
Jeremy flicked the reins harder, pushing the horses faster still.
York needed to come sooner rather than later. He needed physical distance from Helen if he had any chance of emotional distance.
Or any distance at all.
Whatever was between them, it needed to end, for the good of everyone.
Each change of teams at inns along the way forced another small crack into Helen’s heart, and it was all she could do to keep her composure.
She was cold, she was wet, and she was exhausted. The rain had been incessant, and though she had
not disembarked often throughout the night, she had done so enough to dampen nearly every inch of her, and the coach did nothing to dry her out. The further they went, the colder she became, and the more uncomfortable.
But nothing could be more uncomfortable than how she felt inside.
The Jeremy she had come to adore more completely than she had ever thought possible was gone, and in his place was yet another stranger. Not Mr. Pratt, not Jeremy, but a cold, firm man with no thought but the task before them. There were no smiles, no fond expressions, no glimmers of mischief or flirtation in his eyes. If she looked too closely, she was sure there wouldn’t even be a distinguishable color to those eyes. He was all hard angles and stern looks, nothing to indicate warmth or regard in any respect.
Yet throughout the night and in the early morning, at every stop, he had seen that the warming brick had been exchanged for a fresh one, that food was at hand, and their welfare seen to. The food she had expected, the welfare a given, but that warming brick… Every single time he appeared to remove the brick only to appear with a blessedly fresh one, she found a small inkling of hope.
He never looked at her for long, and never said more than a few words, but she felt warmed by the brick as though he had taken her hand in his.
She tended to forget that in the course of the uncomfortable coach ride, but she was reminded with every brick exchange.
They had stopped every three hours or so, though she was convinced it had been four once or twice. The poor horses would be weary to the bone in their haste, not to mention the exhausted and soaked riders. Mullins and Jeremy alternated driving, and it seemed to her that the carriage and teams moved just a little faster with Jeremy at the reins.
Helen didn’t understand why they had to be quite so pressed in their efforts. Clearly there was danger, but now they had accumulated seven or eight additional riders that surrounded them, though she had no idea where they had come from. No one would attack such a guarded coach, and they were a right spectacle for anyone to see.
It didn’t make any difference, she supposed. It had been clear from the start that they would not stop until they reached Leighton, and so she had said nothing on the subject. Jeremy had said from the beginning that he needed to be sure she was safe, and he had been tasked with protecting her. Why shouldn’t he wish that task to be completed with some expediency?
Could he blame himself for the attack on the coach? It was a ridiculous thought. He could not have known that highwaymen would attack them, nor could he have prevented it. And he had seen to their protection himself without needing much assistance.
Despite his telling her not to watch, she had done so every chance she could. He had been a magnificent sight, moving with certainty and authority, a creature of power and danger that stirred an excitement within her. Fear in abundance, naturally, but not necessarily at what she was seeing. Fear that she would lose him. That it would not be enough. That, for all his incredible skill, she would be parted from him in some way.
Questions had risen in her mind one after another until questions were all she could think, and yet she had no answers. Worse than that, she may have lost him after all.
She’d be well on her way to believing she had were it not for the exchange sometime in the early morning hours. Millie had been sound asleep, as she usually was in the coach, and Helen was not. The coach had rolled to a stop, and she’d heard the riders dismounting, the sounds of teams being changed, and she waited in anticipation for the door to open.
It had moments later, and Jeremy had reached for the brick, sliding it towards him without looking at her. Water ran down his hat in great sheets, and she could see clearly that he was soaked through. He had handed the brick off to one of the riders, who had taken it inside. Then Jeremy had pushed his hat back just a little and almost sagged against the coach. His eyes had shifted to Helen, and he seemed surprised that she was awake, let alone staring back at him.
This time, he hadn’t looked away. He’d kept his gaze steady on her. “Are you all right?” he’d inquired, the words polite, the tone rough.
No, she’d nearly said, but she’d opted for a short nod.
“Do you need anything?” he’d pressed, something almost hungry in his eyes now.
You. Helen had swallowed once as a shiver raced across her skin. “N-no,” she’d managed. “Thank you.” Then, against her better judgment, she’d cocked her head and asked, “Do you?”
His lips had quirked slightly, and he’d shaken his head slowly. “No. Though I could do without the rain.”
That had made Helen smile, which had made him stiffen, and then he’d turned away.
She’d almost wept at that, but he’d returned moments later with the fresh warming brick and an additional blanket, half climbing into the coach to set the brick beneath her feet and lay the blanket across her legs.
His fingers had brushed her leg and she’d felt the jolt of sensation race into her heart.
“Thank you, Jeremy,” she’d whispered.
He’d paused, but his eyes had never lifted to hers again. A nod was the only answer she’d received, and then he’d left the coach, closed the door, and the carriage had rolled on as it had done before.
He hadn’t said a word to her since.
Now, the sky was beginning to lighten, and a sinking feeling washed over Helen.
Somehow, she knew there would be no more changing horses, no more warming bricks, and no more chances to glimpse the man she had fallen in love with.
York would be here all too soon, and there would be nothing left of the whirlwind venture with him.
Millie snored against the wall opposite her, but Helen only dozed fitfully, as she had the rest of the night. The pounding of the horse hooves all about her made for an odd percussion amidst the sound of the pouring rain and the thunder, somehow both soothing and jarring at the same time.
Her emotions echoed the sensation. She had no desire to be at Leighton now, she acknowledged, as she stared out of the window at the gloomy countryside. She’d never wanted to be anywhere less than Leighton and York. Yet she was desperate to be free of this carriage, and away from Jeremy.
Jeremy as he was now, not the man she had known before.
The man she had kissed with such exuberance, who had left her breathless and giddy, would have changed everything. She would have gone anywhere for and with him, no matter the danger, length, or inconvenience. This man who barely spoke a word, who was distant and unfamiliar, held nothing for her but pain and anguish.
Yet he resembled her Jeremy often enough to make her ache.
To be away from the pain would be a blessed relief, but Helen suspected that, once away from him, the pain would only increase. To have known his affection and felt his tenderness and then have it ripped from her would be a torment she couldn’t bear to endure.
But what choice did she have?
She whacked her head against the wall of the coach in frustration. Cursed girl, it was her own blasted fault for being desperate to be away from London for a time. None of this would have happened if she’d had an ounce of backbone and stayed with Rafe and Margaret. She would never have had to endure the journey to York with the man she’d been trying to escape. Then she would never have known just how much more there was to discover about him, and how much more to love.
Or that he had returned her feelings.
Or that he could make her dream unspeakable dreams.
Or that he would be even more perfect for her than she’d already believed.
Or…
Helen closed her eyes on a wash of tears. Lord, how she’d dreamed, even in this coach in her fitful dozing. Dreams of a life with Jeremy, of their wedding, of their children, of the mad, passionate flirtation they would engage in across London’s ballrooms… All lay shattered now.
But it had not ended yet. There was nothing to say that once they arrived at Leighton, he would not be returned to her.
She could not manage the hope that such an
event would occur.
The coach suddenly turned down another road, and Helen’s eyes sprang open. The city of York was before them, and she recognized the impressive edifice of York Minster in the distance.
Five miles.
Five miles was all that stood between them and Leighton. And the end of anything and everything she had hoped for her and Jeremy.
This dream that had turned into a nightmare.
“Hush, Helen,” she hissed to herself. “It’s not so bad as all that. Don’t be dramatic without purpose.”
Millie suddenly stirred noisily. “What was that, miss?” she asked as she righted herself, her eyes puffy and unfocused. She wrapped her shawl more tightly around her and peered out of the window. “Oh! York! Well, that’s a pleasant surprise. I cannot wait to be out of this ruddy coach. If you’ll forgive the impertinence, miss.”
Helen waved that off instantly. “Of course. This is not a usual trip, and we have endured a great deal.”
Millie nodded almost frantically. “If it weren’t for Mr. Pratt, I don’t know what might have become of us.”
Helen forced herself to smile and nod, then returned her attention to the window, pretending to watch the scenery.
It was true, no matter how she might have hurt by the fact now. Jeremy had saved them all, and quite spectacularly. If anyone else had been hired by Rafe to escort her, she was fairly certain a great many things would have been stolen, and someone amongst them would have been injured, if not killed.
Yet they were all well and whole, and not even a hair pin had been lost.
The man she had thought about nearly constantly for a year, and with more intensity over the last few days, had saved her life. Had saved all of them.
At this moment, she felt no thrill at the admission.
Only pain.
Millie said nothing else as they rambled on, keeping busy by setting herself to rights, rearranging her appearance and the like, and Helen was grateful for her distraction.
Leighton would be bustling with the children in their excitement, and Helen had absolutely no interest in taking part in that. She wanted peace and quiet, a place of refuge and reverie. A haven for her heart, and a balm for her soul. She doubted Charles, or his wife Fanny, would be able to provide her that, but at least they were not intrusive people.
By Hook or By Rook (London League, Book 4) Page 11
