Emma supressed a groan. The charms of the passing scenery had already faded for Georgie and they were barely a mile past the Knightsbridge turnpike.
‘No. Are you warm enough?’
Georgie scowled. ‘If Harry is then I am. Why can he sit up with Masters? Why can’t I sit up there, too?’
‘Because Masters has enough to do with the horses and there isn’t room. And Harry asked if he might first.’ She knew better than to mention Georgie’s recent illness.
‘But I didn’t know I could ask!’
‘What do you think we should call the puppy?’
‘Puppy?’
She had delayed telling them about the puppy. ‘Uncle Hunt says there is a puppy for you and Harry at his—our home in Cornwall. A little girl. We need to think of names.’ Hopefully Georgie wouldn’t suggest something appalling. ‘Several names that we can discuss with Harry and try out on the puppy.’
Georgie forgot the injustice of not sitting up on the box in the cold. ‘Will she be brown and white like Fergus?’
‘I don’t know,’ Emma lied. Hunt had said the puppy was black and white. ‘That’s why we need lots of different names. Uncle Hunt did say she was very pretty. What’s French for pretty?’
Puppy names in French and Italian got them through another half-hour. Outside, Emma could see that the dusk was deepening and darker than she would have expected. The carriage pulled up.
Georgie brightened. ‘Are we there?’
The trap opened and Masters’s face appeared. ‘Rain coming, m’lady. I’m sending Master Harry inside.’
‘Thank you, Masters.’
The door opened and Harry scrambled in. ‘Masters let me take the ribbons,’ he announced.
Forestalling an explosion from Georgie, Emma said, ‘We have been thinking of names for the puppy.’
‘Puppy?’
Emma let Georgie explain.
Harry looked pleased. He grabbed a rug and wrapped himself up in it. ‘It was jolly cold up there.’ He looked at Georgie. ‘I asked Masters if I could drive next time and he said I could, unless you wanted a turn. Of course, girls don’t drive, so—’
Emma cleared her throat. ‘I can.’
Harry stared. ‘I didn’t know that.’
‘And I do want a turn,’ Georgie said.
‘Oh.’ Clearly deflated, Harry changed the subject. ‘What shall we call the puppy?’
A reasonably amicable discussion of more puppy names carried them over another couple of miles, as the light faded. The rain stopped, but neither Harry nor Georgie asked about joining Masters on the box, for which Emma was deeply grateful. She could see that the clouds were thinning, but the light was fitful and Masters would have enough on his mind.
‘Mama?’ Georgie was looking out the window. ‘Do you think Masters and the footman are—?’
Crack!
The carriage jolted to a halt.
‘Stand and deliver!’
Chapter Eighteen
Hunt could see the glow of the carriage lamps ahead from time to time before the road bent, but in the rapidly fading light he didn’t push the pace. He felt settled, right in himself. He’d been a fool to let her go at all. A fool and a coward, hiding behind duty and not letting himself see the truth. Just as long as he hadn’t messed it up completely...somehow he thought Emma was the sort of woman who would give a muddle-headed husband a second—
The pistol shot shattered the night.
He froze, checking his gelding. Beside him, Barclay swore. Hunt barely glanced at him before he’d sprung Petrarch into a gallop.
* * *
‘Drop yer barkers, cullies!’ The rough voice carried clearly. ‘I got more’n one left and the next won’t be no warning shot.’
‘Mama!’ Georgie clambered into Emma’s lap, clinging to her.
‘Shhhh.’ Emma hugged her close. ‘It’s all right. He’ll want money and jewellery. Then he’ll be off.’ She didn’t have a great deal of money or jewellery with her, but she couldn’t help that.
‘You’ll bloody regret this.’ Masters’s growl was followed by several thuds as he and the footman threw down their pistols.
‘Right.’ The highwayman’s voice came again. ‘Everyone out!’
‘Mama! No!’ Georgie’s voice was muffled in Emma’s shoulder as she clung, frantic.
Gently, Emma pried her loose, fear churning in her gut. ‘Shhh, Georgie.’ She kept her voice very soft. ‘I have to.’
‘Hurry up in there or your coachman gets a hole in ’im!’
‘Mama, he’ll hurt Masters!’ Harry’s voice shook, but he kept it low.
‘Just jewellery and money,’ Emma repeated. ‘Nothing important. I’m coming!’ she called. She set Georgie gently on the seat. ‘Harry, stay with her.’
‘Mama!’
White-faced, Harry nodded and Emma snatched up her reticule, trying not to hear Georgie’s terrified screams as she opened the door and got down. Just beyond the yellowish glow of the carriage lamps she could make out a horse and rider.
‘Took yer time, didn’t you, me fine lady?’
‘Here.’ She pulled off her betrothal ring and earrings and fumbled at her throat for the pearls Hunt had given her. She dropped them all in the reticule, held it out. ‘That’s all I’ve got. There’s money there, too.’
‘Get both them brats out, bitch.’
Hoofbeats sounded, faint at first, but coming fast.
‘What? No!’ Fear, sharp and metallic, soured her mouth. ‘This is what you—’
‘Get ’em out, and hurry it up or you’ll have a dead coachman!’
‘Bugger that!’ Masters snapped. ‘There’s someone coming. Tell ’em to stay—’
‘Mama.’ Harry’s voice shook. ‘We’re here.’
She whirled to see Harry helping Georgie down, keeping her behind him.
‘Damn it, boy!’ Masters roared. ‘Get your sister back inside!’
‘Shut it, old man! Less you want her dead!’
Georgie screamed. ‘Mama!’ The hoofbeats were closer, but Emma knew they weren’t close enough...
‘You. Boy. Bring me that fancy bag.’
Horror shot through Emma. ‘No!’ She stepped in front of Harry. ‘I’ll bring it to you.’
There was a click and she froze. He’d cocked the pistol, was pointing it directly at Masters.
‘Stay where you are, bitch. The boy brings it or I use this.’ His voice mocked. ‘Reckon I’ll take a look at yer whelp.’
‘Mama, I can do it.’
Before she could stop him, Harry had taken the reticule from her shaking hand and had stepped away from the carriage, away from the shelter of her body, and was walking towards the highwayman.
The man gave a low laugh. ‘That’s it, boy. Closer now. Don’t be shy.’
She didn’t know what warned her. The satisfied croon in the man’s voice, or the steely glint as his pistol shifted...she sprang, flattening Harry in the mud as the pistol roared amid the thunder of the approaching hooves.
* * *
At the second shot Hunt forgot about steadying Petrarch for the last bend. He drove his heels into the gelding’s flanks and urged him on, Barclay close behind. He heard Masters’s furious roar, the crack of a whip and the terrified scream of a horse. They thundered around the bend into the flickering yellow light of the lamps and his heart stopped, the whole world ended.
Emma lay still on the ground, covering Harry with her body.
Too late. Too bloody late.
Time slowed and his veins iced with pure cold rage as he spurred straight at the highwayman. For an instant he met the man’s eyes, saw shock there, before Petrarch’s shoulder struck the plunging cob. The impact jarred every bone in Hunt’s body and, with another scream, the horse and man crashed to the ground. Petrarch stumb
led slightly but Hunt kept his seat, held the horse together with hands and legs, barely bringing him to a halt before he was out of the saddle and running to where Emma struggled to rise.
He dropped to his knees in the mud, lifted her into his arms. ‘Stay still!’ He ran shaking hands over her, his heart stuttering back to life when he realised that her gown was wet with mud, not blood.
‘Hunt?’ She sounded dazed.
‘Yes.’ His voice shook. Would he ever be able to hold her long enough to believe she was safe? ‘Are you hurt?’
‘N-no. Harry?’
Harry was sitting up, his face pale. He stared at Hunt. ‘I’m all right. But I... I don’t understand... Why did he—? I was taking him the stupid reticule!’
‘Mama!’
Georgie flung herself on Emma, sobbing. Emma’s arms closed around the child.
‘I thought he killed you!’ Georgie wept into Emma’s shoulder. ‘And Harry.’
Harry patted her awkwardly on the back. ‘I’m all right, Georgie. We’re both all right. Uncle Hunt came.’
Emma looked up from the children and met his gaze. Her mouth trembled. ‘Yes. We’re all safe now.’ She stretched out a hand, touched his cheek as if to reassure herself that he was there.
At the touch of those shaking fingers, words jammed, useless, in his throat. Instead he leaned forward, brushed his lips over hers, got his arms around all three of them and held on tightly, his cheek resting on Emma’s dishevelled curls, just breathing her in, the sweet Emma scent of her. He heard William take command and left him to it. In a moment he might believe that he hadn’t been too late, that she was alive. Right now he kept seeing her body in the mud as he charged, thinking she was dead. It was no thanks to him that she wasn’t. He’d failed her. Failed to protect her, failed to protect the children.
‘Come, sweetheart.’ He rose, taking Georgie on one hip and helping Emma with his free hand. He noted with shamed pride that Harry scrambled up at once, helping his mother. ‘Let’s get you all back in the carriage so we can go home.’
Barclay came up and cleared his throat. ‘We’ve got the bast—the fellow tied up, sir.’
Hunt lifted Georgie into the carriage. ‘Put the rug around you.’ He turned to Barclay. ‘He’s alive?’
Barclay nodded, his mouth grim. ‘Yes. Still unconscious. And his horse is lame. Strained foreleg and Masters’s whip cut her face. We’ve tied him on to my horse instead. Do you want him taken straight to Newgate?’
It was his first instinct. He thought it through. ‘No. We’ll take him with us.’ The fellow could have an accomplice lurking somewhere. He couldn’t risk Barclay alone with the prisoner and there was no other available horse for the groom to go. Even if there were, he wouldn’t risk his men’s lives over it. ‘He can be secured in one of the cellars with an armed guard outside. I’ll send for a magistrate in the morning.’
‘Will he be hanged?’
Hunt glanced at Harry. If he could ask the question... ‘Very likely. In with you.’
Harry bit his lip. ‘Mama?’ He held out his hand to Emma.
Hunt heard her shuddering breath as she set her hand in the child’s and permitted him to help her in.
He gripped the boy’s shoulder. ‘Good lad. Now in with you.’
Harry scrambled in, sitting as close to Emma as he could. Georgie was already in her lap, the rug bundled around them both.
‘You’ve got everything under control, William?’
Barclay nodded. ‘Oh, yes. He won’t get away.’ Vicious satisfaction edged his voice.
‘Good.’ Hunt leaped in, adjusted the rug around Harry and gathered them all close.
* * *
They covered remaining distance to Austerleigh swiftly. After seeing Emma and the children into the care of his shocked staff, Hunt went down to ensure the prisoner was secured. The man had regained consciousness, but appeared dazed. He had walked into the house under heavy guard, his hands tied behind him, and been escorted to the cellar.
Hunt found Barclay coming out of the butler’s pantry. He raised his brows. ‘You put him in there? What about the silver?’ He could see Bentham having apoplexy at the thought of locking a felon up with the family silver.
Barclay snorted. ‘Well, I know, sir. But it’s the only room, even down here, with absolutely no way in or out save the door. There’s no window because of the silver. And we all helped Bentham move that for the night, as well as anything else that might be used as a weapon. We didn’t light the fire either.’
Hunt gripped his shoulder. ‘Good thinking. We’ll alert the magistrate first thing.’
Barclay looked slightly shamefaced. ‘Already done, sir. Masters insisted on riding over himself with the message.’
Despite everything, Hunt laughed. ‘I should have known. William—’ He gripped the younger man’s hand. ‘Thank you. If you hadn’t nudged me into following them...’ He couldn’t say it.
Barclay flushed. ‘Rot. You were going to make that choice anyway. I could see it a mile away. Anyone can see what Lady Huntercombe means to you.’
Hunt swallowed. They could? Although he himself had been wilfully blind? Without returning an answer, he opened the pantry door and glanced in. The highwayman, bruised and dishevelled, glared at him. He was bound hand and foot and further tied securely in a very heavy chair. Satisfied, Hunt closed the door and locked it. ‘Who’s on guard first?’
Barclay’s jaw hardened. ‘I am. With a couple of grooms, just to be sure. There’ll be at least three of us here armed all night. Jem and Griffin are loading pistols and they’ll be along.’ He jerked his head at the door. ‘That goose is well and truly cooked!’
* * *
Hunt found Emma coming out of the night nursery.
‘Hunt!’ She hurried to him and he opened his arms, gathered her close.
‘Are they all right?’
He felt her nod against his chest. ‘Yes. But Harry wants to see you. Do you mind?’
‘Mind?’ He pushed down the hurt that she could think he’d mind. ‘No. Of course not. I was coming to see that they were settled anyway and reassure them the fellow is safely locked up.’
Emma flushed. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. It’s not about the highwayman being locked up. Harry seems to think you’ll be angry with him, but he won’t say why. Just that he needs to say sorry.’
Hunt shut his eyes. He was the one who ought to be apologising. He should never have let them go. He took a deep breath. ‘Very well. Let’s see what it is.’
Harry and Georgie were in the same room, each sitting up in bed. When Georgie saw Hunt she flung back her covers and scrambled out, running to him. ‘Uncle Hunt! Is he in the dungeon?’
He swung her up and balanced her on his hip where she clung like a limpet. ‘Close enough. He’s under guard. Mr Barclay and two of the grooms are on guard.’
‘With pistols? Will they shoot him dead?’ Georgie demanded.
How the devil should he answer that? ‘Very unlikely. But they’ll do whatever needs to be done.’ He looked at Harry. The boy’s face was nearly as white as his own sheets and his eyes were red-rimmed. ‘Georgie, why don’t you take your mama to sit by the fire in the other room for a few minutes?’
‘No,’ Harry said at once. ‘They...they should stay.’
Hunt nodded slowly. ‘Very well.’ He sat on the edge of Harry’s bed, settling Georgie in his lap. ‘What’s bothering you, Harry?’
The boy flushed, shot Emma an anguished look as she sat on the other side of the small bed. ‘I... I didn’t do as you asked. I didn’t look after them!’
‘Harry—’ Emma began.
‘Yes, you did.’ Georgie looked up at Hunt seriously. ‘He held my hand getting out of the carriage and made me stay behind him.’
Hunt pressed a kiss to the child’s forehead. �
�Thank you, Georgie. What do you mean, Harry?’
‘When the man said for me to bring him Mama’s reticule—’
‘What?’
‘I was taking it to him.’ Harry whispered. ‘I thought I was doing the right thing,’
Hunt focused on the boy, who was blinking back tears, and gripped Harry’s hand on the coverlet. ‘He told you to bring it to him?’
‘Yes.’
Everything in Hunt stilled. ‘Then you did exactly the right thing, Harry.’
‘But he shot at us anyway.’ The boy’s hand turned under his and clutched. ‘I... I must have done something wrong and that’s why he pointed the pistol at me.’
‘He pointed the gun at you? While you were taking him the reticule?’
Harry bit his lip, looked at Emma.
She reached out, touched his cheek. ‘Just tell Uncle Hunt exactly what happened.’
Harry nodded, looked back at Hunt. ‘I...he told me to bring him the reticule. Mama said no, she would take it, but you had said to look after Mama and Georgie, so I... I took it and started towards him. Masters was awfully cross, and he—the highwayman—laughed, sort of.’
‘He did,’ Georgie said, wriggling closer. ‘He had a horrid laugh.’ Hunt held her tighter, feeling the small body trembling.
Harry went on. ‘He’d been pointing the gun right at Masters, sir.’ His eyes pleaded for understanding. ‘That’s what he said to make me do it—that he’d kill Masters. And he’d threatened Mama to make Masters shut up when he told us to get back in the carriage. We could hear you and Mr Barclay coming then, only we didn’t know it was you. He might have had a friend.’
‘Go on.’ Hunt’s brain worked furiously. Any sane thief would have covered Masters, not a boy who was no possible danger.
‘I don’t really know what happened next,’ Harry admitted. ‘The gun went off and I was on the ground. I thought he’d shot me, but—’
‘I thought he’d shot Mama.’ Georgie’s voice was muffled in Hunt’s waistcoat and he held her close. ‘She sort of fell on Harry and they were on the ground. And then you and Mr Barclay were there and your horse simply crashed into the other one.’
‘I didn’t do as you told me.’ Harry’s voice was low, his gaze averted. ‘You said to look after Mama and Georgie. I... I didn’t look after Mama.’
His Convenient Marchioness Page 23
