by Tarah Scott
“Jane,” Mrs. Halloway cried.
Josephine’s mother reached across the distance between her and Jane, and yanked Jane’s horse’s reins. The beast took several quick backwards steps. Jane broke from the stupor and yanked the reins. Josephine wheeled her horse around to avoid collision with Jane as she turned her mount in a hard circle. She lunged past Josephine in unison with another shot that split the air. Jo gasped when Lord Deeds suddenly listed in the saddle. Mr. Halloway sped past him while the man who had shot at the driver lunged toward the horses.
Her mother’s eyes came around hard on Josephine. “Ride to Barthmont Keep for help. Now.” She kicked her mount’s belly and he sprang toward the commotion in one great leap.
“Mother!” Jo cried.
Confusion washed over Josephine. Her mother had ordered her to go for help but—She looked over her shoulder. The road lay empty. Surely, the other women would send help? She returned her gaze to her mother, who had reached Lord Deeds, slumped over his horse. Her mother grabbed his horse’s reins and, with one hand on his arm to steady him, drove the beast off the road. Jo’s heart rammed against her chest when her mother disappeared into the trees with the viscount.
Eyes on the man still holding the woman, Josephine urged her horse toward the trees on the opposite side of the road where her mother had gone. The brigand who had shot the driver managed to grab the reins of the nearest horse, and leapt into the saddle as Mr. Halloway reached the carriage.
Josephine nearly cried out when the giant highwayman yanked the woman around and shouted, “William!” to his comrade in the saddle.
The man galloped away.
With the highwayman’s back to her, Josephine spurred her horse into the woods and began circling around the carriage. Through the trees, the young man was visible, panting over the motionless body of the brigand he’d been fighting. The driver stood beside him and, he, along with Mr. Halloway who still sat atop his horse, stared at the remaining highwayman. He backed away, using the woman as a shield. She looked like a pale rag doll against his massive frame. The young man took a step toward them.
The brigand jerked. “Stop, or I kill her.”
The young man halted.
Mr. Halloway said, “Kill her, and you face a rope.”
The man gave a harsh laugh. “Ye will hang me one way or another. Get off your horse.”
Mr. Halloway didn’t move.
“Get off, or I shoot her!” the highwayman shouted.
“For God’s sake, man, dismount,” the young man said.
Mr. Halloway complied.
“Move away,” the giant ordered, and the three men backed away from the horse. The man edged around with the girl until he neared the horse.
“Let her go and we won’t chase you,” the young man said. “We care only for her safety.”
The brigand swung the gun and fired into the group, shoving the girl toward them. The young man stumbled, and Jo gasped when he collapsed to the ground. The driver caught the girl in his arms, but she pulled free and dropped to her knees beside her companion.
Fury swept through Josephine. She kicked her mare’s ribs as Mr. Halloway lunged for the highwayman, and her horse shot out onto the road. The giant moved quicker and swung his pistol at Mr. Halloway’s jaw. The older man’s head snapped with the force of the blow and blood spurted from his mouth. Yet he still drove a fist into the brigand’s belly. The man swung an upper cut to Halloway’s jaw.
The young woman hugged her comrade, crying. The driver stripped off his coat and pressed it against the man’s chest. Jo forced back the need to retch and stopped beside the coach. She spotted a large rock near the wheel and jumped from the saddle.
Jo cringed with the brigand kicked Halloway’s leg, but forced her legs into motion and lunged toward the rock as the older man dropped to his knees. The brigand kicked him in the belly. She hauled up the rock and whirled. Her mother appeared from the trees on her horse and was bearing down on the highwayman.
Mr. Halloway tried to rise. The driver jumped to his feet, but the highwayman yanked a dirk from the sheath on his belt and threw it at him. The driver dove aside, but the knife sunk deep into his shoulder.
The highwayman whirled toward Jo. She heaved the rock with all her might. It hit his leg with a dull thud. She took a step backward, when he lurched forward and grabbed for her.
Another shot rang out and Josephine cried out before movement drew her attention to the pistol her mother lowered. The man staggered toward Josephine. She jumped back, barely evading a swipe of his big hand. In the next instant, her mother halted her horse beside them. Jo noted with odd detachment that her mother now rode astride instead of sidesaddle. Her mother gave the giant a hard kick to the head. He stumbled forward with the force of the blow, then slumped to the ground.
Jo stared in shock. An instant later, hands seized her shoulders.
“Are you all right?”
She looked up at her mother. “Y-you shot him.” Before her mother could reply, Josephine collapsed into her arms, and turned her head away from the bloody body.
Her mother gave her a fierce hug, and for an instant she was a little girl again, surrounded by her mother’s warmth after waking from a nightmare. Then her mother held her at arm’s length.
“When we return to Barthmont Keep, we shall have a talk about daughters obeying their mothers.”
Her no nonsense tone sobered Jo.
Her mother continued, “Are you unharmed?”
Jo nodded. “Aye.”
“Good. Then let us see to the others.”
She grasped Josephine’s hand and Jo glanced at the giant as her mother pulled her away. Her heart tightened. Her mother had shot a man to save her, then put herself in jeopardy by attacking him. A tear managed to slip down her cheek before she could stop herself. She hurried alongside her mother to where the driver knelt.
Jo’s stomach turned at sight of his blood soaked shirt, and she was surprised when her mother said to him, “You will live.”
“Aye,” he croaked.
She continued to the young man and knelt beside the woman.
“He isn’t moving,” the young girl said.
Josephine’s mother pressed two fingers to his neck, then pulled away the coat the driver had stuffed inside his jacket to staunch the blood. When she yanked open his shirt the young girl sobbed and Josephine had to breathe deep for fear she would swoon. Blood oozed from the bullet wound.
“He is far from dead, my dear.” Her mother took off the pelisse she wore. “His pulse is strong and he is young.”
Movement in the corner of Jo’s eye drew her attention to Mr. Halloway who limped up to them.
“Can you drive?” he asked the driver.
He nodded. “Aye.”
“Where is Deeds?” Mr. Halloway asked.
“In the woods,” Josephine’s mother replied as she pressed her folded pelisse over the man’s wound. Pressing her hand against it, she gently lifted him on one side. “The bullet grazed his lordship’s skull,” she told Mr. Halloway. “He will need assistance to walk. Perhaps you and the driver can bring him up.”
Josephine caught the worried furrow on her mother’s brow as she inspected the young man’s back.
“Bartholomew,” the young woman addressed the driver. “Are you well enough to assist?”
“Aye, the wound isna’ bad.”
“What of those two?” Mr. Halloway motioned to the two brigands.
Josephine’s mother’s attention remained on the young man as she held her folded pelisse to his wound. “I doubt they will awaken, but leave your knife.”
“My lady,” Mr. Halloway began.
“Sir,” she swung her gaze onto him, “we have no time to lose. This man needs a doctor immediately. Please bring Lord Deeds, then we shall go on to Castle Cruden. It is closer than Barthmont Keep.”
“You are right,” he said, and waved Bartholomew to accompany him.
When the men disappeared into the tr
ees, Josephine’s mother shocked her by standing and stepping out of the two petticoats she wore.
“Mother,” Jo said, horrified. “What are you doing?”
“Making a bandage.” She used her teeth to start a tear in one of the petticoats, then ripped it down one side. “What is your name?” she asked the girl as she folded the second petticoat.
“Mary Ann Roberts. This is my brother, Lord Crawford.”
“Mary Ann, you and my daughter will lift your brother upright so that I can wrap this fabric around him. Can you do that?”
She nodded.
“Each of you take a side. Josephine, keep the pelisse pressed firmly against the wound.”
Josephine followed her directions, and she and Mary Ann lifted her brother into a sitting position. Jo’s mother made quick work of removing his jacket and Josephine stifled a gasp at sight of the blood that soaked the back of his white shirt.
“Dear God,” his sister whispered, and Josephine feared the girl might faint. But she held her brother steady while Jo’s mother deftly wrapped the torn petticoat snugly around him. When they laid him down, Josephine released a slow breath in relief at sight of the continued rise and fall of his chest.
“Do you really think he will live?” his sister asked.
“I do,” Jo’s mother replied, and Josephine couldn’t halt the rush of pride when the girl looked at her mother with tears in her eyes.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Thank me when he is safely in bed.”
Tears threatened Jo again. This was the mother she had known for twenty three years. Bold, confident...honorable. How could this woman have betrayed her husband and family?
The men arrived, supporting Lord Deeds between them, and Josephine rose in an effort to find a distraction from the turmoil of her emotions. She held open the door as they put Lord Deeds and the young man into the carriage. They threw the two highwayman over the backs of horses—though Josephine wondered if the man her mother had shot would live—and Mr. Halloway rose with the driver up top. Jo’s mother sat on one cushion with the young man’s head in her lap, while the other three sat opposite them. Jo noticed the worry lines around her Mother’s eyes, which made her anxious for the young man’s life.
It seemed hours before they reached Castle Cruden, though the ride was no more than twenty minutes. Lady Arlington welcomed them and immediately called for a doctor. Minutes later, a ruckus sounded outside the sitting room where Josephine and her mother waited, and Jo’s father and Nicholas burst into the room.
Chapter Eight
Nicholas had never been so afraid in all his life as when the three ladies arrived at Barthmont Keep with news that their party happened upon highwayman robbing a carriage. If Jo was unharmed—and she would be, for he could consider nothing else—he planned to take her over his knee for not returning with the other women. Given the ashen look on Montagu’s face when he heard the news, Nick suspected the marquess planned for his wife the same punishment.
Seeing mother and daughter now, dusty and disheveled but sitting on a lavish settee sipping tea as if it were any other afternoon, Nick’s gut loosened a notch. He would never again let Josephine out of his sight without an entourage of bodyguards that would incite terror into the blackest hearts of any criminal.
He strode alongside Montagu to the woman. The marquess pulled his wife up and into a hug. Nick reached for Josephine. She shied away, but he grasped her arm and drew her to him. She stiffened, then her warm, soft curves melted against him. He felt a burning pressure against the back of his eyes and released a shuddering breath. She shivered in response. Suddenly, he needed her more than he’d needed any other woman, more than he’d needed even her.
He pulled back and looked down at her. The room melted away and he saw only her dark eyes staring up at him, wide with an answering heat that took his breath. Nick bent over her and brushed his lips against hers. She leaned into him. Raw desire streaked through him. The scent of lilac soap teased his senses and he wanted to devour the scent, devour her. He tightened his arms around her and deepened the kiss. She grasped his shoulders, her fingers digging into his muscle. He wanted—needed those fingers on his skin.
A sound penetrated the haze. Someone was clearing their throat. Nick froze, the realization that they weren’t alone slamming into his brain, and he forced himself to break the kiss. He met her father’s gaze and saw no condemnation in his eyes—or the marchioness’ eyes when he dared a glance at her—but the message that this was not the time or place to make love to their daughter.
Josephine pulled back, obviously aware she, too, had forgotten where they were. Satisfaction swelled on a rolling tide through him. Whatever had her afraid of marriage had nothing to do with the marriage bed. He’d known as much yesterday. The way she had responded to him after he’d caught her with Beaumond told him that. But to forget they were in public with her parents standing beside them meant she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. Perhaps it even meant she loved him.
“You are unharmed, my dear?” Montague asked his wife.
“Not so much as a scratch,” she replied.
“You will have to replace Mother’s petticoats,” Jo said.
“Petticoats?” The marquess’ expression darkened. “If those ruffians—”
His wife cut him off. “They did not lay a hand on Josephine or myself. I used the garments to bandage the young man they were trying to rob.” She looked at her daughter. “But I will be disciplining my disobedient daughter. I instructed her to go with the other ladies.”
“As you should have done,” Lord Montagu said.
The marchioness lifted a hand and stroked his jaw with the back of her fingers. “Nonsense, my lord. If anything, it was Lord Deeds who should have returned home. He charged haphazardly into the fray.”
“What happened?” Montagu asked.
They sat, the women between them, and the marchioness recounted the story. When she finished, Nicholas said to Josephine, “I believe your mother is correct, Lady Josephine. You deserve some sort of punishment for acting so rashly.”
Jo’s eyes glinted with fury, but before she could say anything, her mother said, “What punishment did you have in mind, Lord Grayson?”
“A hand to her backside would be a good start,” he growled.
“You are mad if you think for an instant that I will let you touch me,” Josephine retorted.
“You letting me will have nothing to do with it,” he replied.
“My mother was right,” she said. “There was no need for us to flee.”
“I believe I said there was no need for me to flee, my dear,” the marchioness said.
“I can do anything you can do,” Josephine said.
“Is that so?” the marchioness said.
Something flickered in Jo’s eyes, and Nicholas was struck with the thought that she regretted her words.
“I doubt Papa ever spanked you,” Josephine said.
The marquess and marchioness exchanged a glance and Nicholas was sure he had, in fact, taken her over his knee.
Josephine seemed to have interpreted the look to mean the same thing, and Nick wasn’t surprised when she changed the topic by saying, “How did you know where to find us?”
“Castle Cruden is the closest residence to where you encountered the brigands. It stood to reason if there were any injuries, you would come here first.”
“Arlington told us the highwayman shot a young man. How is he?” Montagu asked.
“The bullet went clear through his chest,” the marchioness said. ”But nowhere near his heart, thankfully. His biggest danger is the loss of blood.”
The marquess nodded. “And Deeds?”
“A bullet grazed his temple. He will be unsteady for a few days, but nothing more serious, I suspect.”
Montagu looked at Nicholas. “I haven’t heard of a robbery on the roads here in ten years.”
“Perhaps five years,” Nick said. “At least, nothing fatal in that
long. It is unusual.”
“I will speak with the sheriff about patrolling the roads.”
Nicholas caught movement in the corner of her eye and looked up to see Wylst and Henry Maxwell enter. Jo stiffened beside Nicholas. He looked sharply at her, but she leaned forward, picked up her teacup from the table and took a leisurely sip.
“Wylst. Henry.” Montagu rose. “What are you gentlemen doing here?”
The men came to where he stood beside the sofa.
“We learned the party had encountered highwayman and came right away,” Henry said. “Is everyone all right?”
“The man the brigands were trying to rob was shot,” Montagu said.
“Good God. Killed?” Wylst asked.
The marquess shook his head. “No, but it is serious. The doctor is with him now. Deeds sustained a flesh wound, and the driver of the carriage was wounded.”
“I am relieved our services aren’t needed,” Wylst said.
“It was good of you to come,” Montagu said.
A young woman appeared in the doorway.
The marchioness rose. “Lady Mary.” She crossed the room and took the young girl’s hand in hers and led her to the group.
Nicholas stood and noted with disgust the flicker of Wylst’s eyes to the girl’s breasts. She couldn’t be a day over seventeen, barely out of the schoolroom and more than half his age. The man had no self-control. Except, Nick realized, he hadn’t looked at Jo like that. At least, there had been no trace of lust when he’d found them in Lady Allaway’s garden. Now that he thought of it, he couldn’t recall Wylst looking at Jo with a man’s lust at all.
“This is Lady Mary,” the marchioness said to the group.
She introduced the men and when she came to Wylst he took the young lady’s hand and bent over it. “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Mary.”
“Lady Mary’s brother is the young man we spoke of,” Lady Montagu said. “How is he, my dear?”
“He is resting. The doctor concurs with your prognosis, ma’am. He is young and strong.” The girl clasped her hands. “I cannot thank you enough. You saved his life—perhaps all of our lives.”
