“I had forgotten this is not my usual coach. I always keep a loaded pistol beneath the seats, just as a precaution.”
“My God.” Dorothea’s voice was breathless with astonishment.
“It might not be my usual coach, but it is my usual coachman driving. He knows what to do.” The viscount leaned forward and blew out the lantern, plunging the inside of the carriage into darkness. “I want the two of you to stay in here and remain very, very quiet.”
Panic flared in Gwendolyn’s chest and for an instant, she could not breathe. The moonlight provided only enough light for her to distinguish the viscount from her sister. She reached out and grabbed his knee. “You cannot go out there unarmed.”
“There are plenty of weapons for me on the top of the box,” he insisted. “No doubt my two outriders have escaped and ridden for aid, or else they are hiding in the forest, awaiting my orders.”
Gwendolyn grimaced. “The outriders could be wounded. Or worse.”
“Saints preserve us!” The terror in Dorothea’s voice echoed through the carriage.
“I will keep you both safe,” Lord Fairhurst promised.
Gwendolyn felt him move and surmised he was reaching to open the door. Blindly, she thrust out her hands, covering his wrist, squeezing her fingers with all her strength. “Wait!”
“Gwendolyn, my dear—”
“Here, take these.” She removed her earrings, then fumbled with the clasp on her necklace, her fingers clumsy with fear.
“I cannot take your jewelry.”
“Don’t be an ass.” Frantically, Gwendolyn pressed the earrings and necklace into his hands. “These are worth nothing compared to your life. Maybe they will be appeased at taking our valuables and leave us in peace.”
Lord Fairhurst pocketed the jewelr y and heaved a sigh. “Stay down,” he commanded, and then he slipped out the door and was gone.
Obediently, Gwendolyn fell to the carriage floor.
Reaching toward the opposite seat, she grabbed her sister’s arm and pulled her down beside her. Above the howl of the wind she heard a man curse, then another shot rang out. Dear God, was Jason safe?
As they huddled on the floor, Gwendolyn’s lips began to move in silent prayer. She prayed that Jason and the driver were safe. She prayed that their attackers had been run off. She prayed that no one would get hurt.
She prayed that they would all survive.
Gwendolyn heard boots thumping awkwardly on the top of the box and assumed the coachman had climbed down. But beyond that, she heard no other sounds. The quiet was unnerving, the strain was unbearable.
She wished she had a weapon to defend herself, but then realized it would be useless. She could not fire a pistol and had no chance of fending off a man with a knife. She would have to put her faith in Lord Fairhurst and trust him to keep them all safe.
For at that moment she knew in her heart that she was not as immune to him as she repeatedly told herself.
Chapter Eleven
Jason did not like the odds. Three men on horseback were off to one side of the coach, their eyes trained to the top of the box where the driver sat, his arms in the air. A fourth man, tall and broad-shouldered, was on foot. He appeared to be the leader and was standing a few feet from the coach. His eyes widened when Jason appeared and the look of surprise registered instantly in Jason’s mind.
Clearly the highwayman was expecting someone else to emerge from the carriage. The Ellingham sisters perhaps? Jason’s gut twisted at the notion that the men might be out to harm Gwendolyn. Well, they would have to get through him first.
His nerves steadied. Though each man held a pistol, Jason knew above all else he must remain calm and in control of the situation or else they would all be doomed.
“I have but a few coins upon my person, but you are welcome to them if you allow us to proceed in peace,”
Jason called out.
The man on foot gave him another puzzled look.
“Everyone out of the carriage,” he demanded.
Jason sucked in air through his teeth. “There are no other gentlemen inside.”
“There must be,” the man insisted.
“There are not.”
“If it’s not him, then what do we do?” one of the riders shouted.
Jason glanced at the group of men, taking more careful note of their appearance. They were not masked, as highwaymen usually were, and the poor quality of their horseflesh suggested they must be very new at this line of work. To his knowledge, highwaymen prided themselves on owning the finest horseflesh, bred for the necessary speed in order to escape capture.
This appeared not to be a random robbery, which left Jason at a complete loss. If they were not highwaymen, then why had they stopped the carriage?
“You, get down from there,” the leader instructed the coachman.
Slowly the driver obeyed, coming to stand beside his employer. Jason caught his eye and the servant gave him a slight nod. One of the carriage horses whinnied. The brief distraction was exactly the opportunity Jason needed. He swooped down, grabbed the pistol the coachman deliberately dropped and came up with it in his hand.
Several things happened at once. The leader lunged toward him. Jason felled his attacker with a hard blow to the stomach, feeling no sympathy when the man began to retch.
A second man scrambled down from his horse and charged. The coachman’s fist connected with his assailant’s jaw, knocking him to the ground. Another of the men raised his gun and aimed at the coachman. Reacting with speed and precision, Jason lifted his pistol and blasted the gun out of his hand.
The remaining rider turned his horse and headed in the opposite direction. The disarmed rider followed.
And then, as quickly as the confusion arose, it subsided.
“Jason!” Gwendolyn materialized by his side. She rested her forehead on his sleeve. “I was so frightened.
Are you all right?”
“Yes. But I told you to stay in the coach.”
Horses sounded down the road. The two remaining attackers scrambled to escape. The coachman managed to waylay one of them, but Jason was disappointed to see it wasn’t the leader.
Several horses burst into sight—Jason’s outriders, along with several ser vants from the manor. They awaited their orders. The danger seemed past, but Jason certainly did not wish to risk the women’s safety by lingering any longer.
“Rodgers, take two other men and see if you can catch our assailants,” Jason commanded. “The rest of you will ride with me as I escort the ladies home.”
“Is it over?” a timid voice cried from the carriage.
Jason turned. Suddenly, a shot rang out, the horses jumped and Dorothea tumbled out of the open carriage door.
“Take cover!” someone screamed.
The expression of utter fear on Gwendolyn’s face twisted him in knots. Jason swallowed hard, and rushed forward, knowing for the rest of his life he would never forget that look on Gwendolyn’s face.
He threw her to the ground and protectively covered her body with his own, his senses alert to any sounds, any movements.
“Please, we must see to my sister,” Gwendolyn whimpered.
“In a moment. My men must make sure no one else will shoot at us.”
Finally, the all-clear was given. Jason grimly rose, then helped Gwendolyn to her feet. They rushed to the fallen Dorothea.
She was slumped on the ground at an awkward angle.
Jason gathered her gently in his arms and rolled her carefully on her back. Her forehead was cut, her eyes were closed.
“Is she badly injured?” Gwendolyn knelt beside him.
He leaned over and checked, fearful of what he might discover. “Her breathing is steady and even, her pulse strong.”
“Then why won’t she open her eyes?”
“She probably needs a few minutes to regain her senses.” Jason appreciated how Gwendolyn retained her composure, even though she was unable to completely hide her terror. �
�She must have hit her head. But there is only a small amount of blood.”
“On the outside.” Gwendolyn gently brushed the ten-drils of hair back from her sister’s face. “She could be bleeding in her brain.”
Her knowledge startled him. It was exactly what he had feared. “We need to get her to a doctor.”
Jason lifted Dorothea in his arms and set her carefully inside the coach. Gwendolyn scrambled in after. Jason saw the pulse beating wildly in her throat, had one quick look at her pale, frightened face before closing the door and climbing up to the driver’s box. Gathering the reins, he eased the coach onto the path and drove as fast as he dared.
Gwendolyn sat stiffly in the viscount’s drawing room with her feet firmly on the floor, her back primly straight, her hands in her lap and her throat choked with fear. She had refused the tea his servants offered and the wine, and the brandy, knowing she would be unable to swallow anything.
An hour had passed since the incident, though it was mostly a blur to Gwendolyn. After their attackers had fled, the viscount had rushed them to Moorehead Manor, since it was closest, driving the coach himself, while she had cradled Dorothea on her lap. The doctor had been summoned and Gwendolyn waited with growing fear and barely suppressed panic to hear his diagnosis.
Her head jerked suddenly at the sound of footsteps and the murmur of voices in the outer hall. Male voices.
The door opened and Lord Fairhurst entered.
“The doctor has just finished his examination. He assures me that Dorothea is fine, resting comfortably. Her ankle is badly swollen, but not broken, and should heal without complications.”
Gwendolyn swallowed hard, tr ying to dislodge the lump in her throat. “The bullet?”
“Never struck her. She must have been startled by the noise of the shot, which caused her fall. I explained how we feared she had bruised her head when she hit the ground, but the doctor believes she must have fainted.
He insists she does not have a concussion and the cut on her head was so slight it did not require stitches.”
It took a moment for the trembling in Gwendolyn’s hands to cease. “When can I see her?” she asked, trying not to sound too anxious.
“Now, if you like. I have sent a servant with a note to your aunt and uncle explaining there was an accident and that you and Dorothea will stay at the manor for the night.”
Absently, Gwendolyn nodded her head. She was most concerned with seeing Dorothea, needing very much to assure herself that her sister was indeed going to recover.
The viscount led her to the second floor. Gwendolyn barely noticed her surroundings as they traversed the corridors. They entered a chamber, well-lit by candles, a soft, comfortable breeze blowing though the partially open window.
Dorothea lay limp and frail on the high four-poster bed, which looked too large for her slender body. Gwendolyn rushed to her side and took Dorothea’s hand in hers. There was no response, but her sister seemed calm, almost as if she were in a natural sleep.
“She seems peaceful,” Gwendolyn whispered.
“The doctor insists that she is not in any pain,” Lord Fairhurst replied, his voice also low. “I have persuaded him to stay the night, just in case there is any change in her condition.”
“I am relieved to know he will be here if needed.”
Gwendolyn released a long sigh. “I will stay at her bedside tonight, so I may attend her if she awakens.”
Lord Fairhurst shook his head. “There is no need. I have already arranged for a nurse to sit with Dorothea.
The doctor thought it unnecessary, since he has given her a sleep draught that should last until morning, but I knew you would never be able to rest unless Dorothea was given proper care.”
“Thank you.” Gwendolyn managed a weak smile. “I have been out of my mind with worry over her. It all happened so fast. I saw her fall from the carriage. She did not appear to be badly injured, yet she lay so still, so quiet. For a moment I thought—” Gwendolyn tried to swallow beyond the tightness that had formed in her throat, unable to continue.
Silence filled the air. Gwendolyn struggled with her emotions, trying to stop the inner trembling and fear.
Suddenly, she felt a large, warm hand cover her own.
The simple gesture of kindness, the gentle touch that was meant only to comfort and reassure was Gwendolyn’s undoing.
For a moment, all she could do was stare at the strong hand that protected hers. It so easily encompassed her own; the long ringless fingers, the pronounced knuckles covered with fine tufts of hair. She turned her hand and laced her fingers with his and he squeezed her hand in apparent sympathy.
Suddenly, the strain of the last few hours tumbled down upon her. Gwendolyn felt her eyes grow moist, and then her lips began to quiver. The ache in her chest turned to a sharp burn and it took every ounce of her inner strength not to burst into sobs.
Goodness, she hated public displays of extreme emotions! Cr ying should be done in front of sisters, with close female friends, or alone. She knew she should withdraw immediately, to the privacy of an empty room, but she was oddly afraid of being alone.
She stood firm, trying to maintain her composure.
But her mind replayed the events of the carriage attack.
She heard the gunshot, felt the jolt of the sudden stop, remembered her sister falling to the ground. Gwendolyn gasped out a sob, then another. Her head dropped forward and she covered her face with her free hand, giving in to the emotions that overwhelmed her.
Through her quiet sobs she heard Jason sigh. He took a step toward her, but she backed away, shaking her head.
He sighed again and this time did not allow her to protest. He simply tugged the hand he held and pulled her into his arms, holding her tight.
She squirmed for a few seconds, then sagged against him. Her crying grew louder, the sobs making a deep, bone-shuddering sound.
Thankfully, he made no comments nor did he try to dissuade her from crying. Instead, he gently rubbed between her shoulder blades and rested his cheek against her hair, in a display of comfort and support.
Which made her sob even louder.
After a few minutes she felt him press something into her hand. Opening her eyes, she saw it was his linen handkerchief. She sniffed, dabbed at her eyes, blew her nose and slowly put herself to rights.
As her emotions calmed, she gradually became aware of the warmth of Lord Fairhurst’s arms around her waist. He was close; so very close. If she raised her chin and tilted her head back, he could easily reach her lips. Tempting fate, she did just that—and then she waited.
He moved not a muscle. Nor did he make a move to release her. Instead, they stood locked together, savoring the moment. Gwendolyn could feel his chest move with each breath he took and she found herself inexplicably matching him breath for breath. She pressed herself even closer and felt the beating of his heart. For one mad instant she wondered if her own was beating with the same rhythm.
She closed her eyes and let her mind drift, let her fears and anxieties flow out of her body. Another tear leaked from her eyes and she let it fall. Gradually, she realized she was moving. The viscount had shifted his position so they could quit the bedchamber and was taking her away.
Entwined in his arms, Gwendolyn left the room, her mind slightly eased after seeing her sister. They turned down a long hallway that seemed familiar and she realized his bedchamber was located here. They reached his door and she stopped, startling him. His arms slackened.
Wordlessly, Gwendolyn gripped him tighter, not wanting to let go.
“The housekeeper prepared a chamber for you, but I do not mind relinquishing my bedchamber for the night,” he said quietly. “Would you prefer to stay in here?”
She nodded. Using his right hand, Jason managed to open the bedchamber door. Still locked in a close embrace, they entered the room. Gwendolyn could not bear the thought of being away from him; she clung to him like a vine of ivy trailing up the garden wall. They stood
that way for several long moments as something within her reached out to him, silent and pleading.
Thankfully he heard.
He dipped his mouth down to hers and drew his tongue against her lips in a warm caress. His kiss was everything she remembered and more, tasting all the sweeter since they had cheated death. It was a lover’s kiss, filled with sensual hunger and sexual fire. A rush of excitement swept over her senses. Eagerly, Gwendolyn slid her hand over his hip bone and down into the small of his back, drawing his hips into hers.
And then, just as quickly and magically as it had begun, Jason ended the contact. He moved away from her, breaking the comforting touch of his mouth against hers, leaving her feeling lost and alone.
“You should get into bed.”
“Not without you.”
The words were unplanned. They were spoken from the heart, released tonight through a mixture of fear and shock. She had not meant to say them, had not truly realized she felt them so strongly until that moment. Yet once they were uttered, she admitted they were true.
And she did not regret it—the words or the sentiment.
A flash of passion crossed his handsome face. “You are upset and unsettled by this evening’s events, Gwendolyn.”
“Are you telling me I do not know what I am saying?
What I am asking?” She moved closer until they once again touched, until the lushness of her thighs was teasing the hardness of his erection.
“I will not take advantage of you when you are in such a vulnerable state,” he declared. “It would be monstrously unfair of me.”
A hollow ache bloomed inside her at his tender words.
She knew the wanting and needing she felt whenever she was near Jason was unwise. The nights spent craving him, the days spent longing to be in his company were a fragile emotion she did not truly understand. Un-doubtedly she would regret this later, but for now she would choose to be selfish and ask for what she so desperately needed.
They had nearly died tonight. The realization that she might leave this world without ever knowing him completely affected her deeply. The need to forget all the rules she had set for herself overpowered everything else in her mind. A part of her was very aware that she was teetering on the edge of reason, toying with all common sense. But the need inside her, so strong and deep and compelling that had struggled to be free, was now released.
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