The Most Unlikely Lady

by Barbara Devlin

  “No.” Sabrina stepped forward. “You cannot do this.”

  “I can do whatever I want.” The highway summoned his partners in crime. “Watch these ladies while I sample a bit o’ fluff.”

  “Wait.” Sabrina put herself in his path. The world stood still for a scarce moment, and her breath came in a rush of pants. Her stomach was a ball of nerves, and her heart beat a rapid salvo in her chest.

  She knew what the bastard intended, what he would do to Celia. She recalled the first time Everett made love to her. The tender caresses. The intimacy. The desire. She could not let Celia be taken in fear, in terror, in infinite cruelty.

  “Take me, instead. I will come willingly.” To further her offer, she added, “I am a married woman, and I know how to pleasure a man. I can make you howl like a wolf baying at the moon in under three minutes.”

  The last was a subtle reference to her husband. The mere thought of Everett gave her strength. She resolved to think of him if her hastily sketched plan went awry, and she ended up seducing the villain. That was how she would think of it.

  Seduction.

  She could not bear to consider the reality.

  The highwayman hesitated. He glanced at Celia, who blubbered as a child, then eyed Sabrina. He licked his lips and shrugged. “Makes me no difference, my bloods up.” He shoved Celia to the ground.

  Rough and unrelenting, he clutched Sabrina by the arm and opened the door of the coach. “In you go.”

  “Not here.” For her plot to work, she required an alternate location. A small grove on the other side of the coach fit her needs perfectly. “How about the trees? We will be more comfortable there.”

  He motioned with the pistol. “Right here’s fine with me.”

  Sabrina gulped. “If I am to service you, the least you could do is allow me a measure of privacy.”

  “My lady,” he replied, his tone dripping sarcasm, and bowed. “After you.”

  Memorizing the positions of the other highwaymen, Sabrina rounded the black coach. Visions of her life with Everett swirled in her mind, and she prayed she would see him again as she stepped from the road and into the field. The tall grass shushed against her skirts, and she fisted, released, and fisted her hands again. She walked slowly, drawing out the moment. Shadows danced among the trees as the sun dipped on the horizon.

  “That’s far enough,” the highwayman called from behind.

  With her pulse beating in her ears, she turned around. She was afraid, genuinely terrified. Her mouth was dry, and she tensed as she set her hands to her bodice.

  “I do not wish to soil my dress.” Her voice quavered, and her fingers trembled as she slipped a button free.

  Although he was masked, she could see his gaze, focused and intent, on her movements. His grip on the pistol faltered, and the barrel dipped.

  Sabrina knew she had to act fast because she would have only one chance to strike. Uttering another prayer in silence, she lashed out with her fist.

  And caught him right under the chin.

  The highwayman swayed, and his eyes widened with shock. He stood, suspended, with his arms limp at his sides. The gun fell from his grasp, hitting the grass with a muted thud. Then he stumbled forward and dropped face first to the ground.

  Sabrina scrambled for the pistol.

  After making certain the highwayman no longer presented a threat, she set her sights on the others. As she tiptoed through the grass, perspiration coursed her temples. She wiped her face with her sleeve and trudged forth. Careful not to make a sound, she peeked around the rear end of the coach.

  The situation remained as she had left it.

  To her good fortune, the highwayman guarding the driver and footmen had his back to her, as had the blackguard standing watch over Celia and the marchioness. She waved frantically and knew the moment one of the footmen spied her. He coughed loud and covered his mouth. Before long, the other escort made contact, as had the coachman.

  Sabrina nodded, then stepped from behind the equipage. Leveling the pistol, she took careful aim. “You there, hold hard.”

  The highwaymen stared straight at her.

  At that precise instant, the footmen and driver moved, swift and sure, and overpowered the robber guarding them. Once he assumed control, one of the footmen came to her aid.

  “I have him, my lady.” He disarmed the criminal she held at gunpoint. “What of the other villain?”

  “I hit him.” Sabrina ran to the marchioness and Celia and threw an arm about each frightened woman. She glanced over her shoulder. “He is unconscious, in the trees.”

  Celia lifted her tear-stained face, mottled with fear. “Are you all right, Sabrina? Did he hurt you?”

  Sabrina shrugged and managed a lopsided grin. “My knuckles will bruise but, other than that, I am fine.” She gazed at her mother-in-law. “My lady, are you injured?”

  The marchioness, her eyes round as saucers, merely whimpered and cradled her head in her hands.

  The footmen returned, dragging the highwayman Sabrina had knocked unconscious in the trees. And though she was not cold, she shivered and rubbed her arms.

  The coachman approached. “My lady, someone should alert the watch. And I need to see you safely home.”

  Sabrina shuffled the marchioness and Celia into the coach. “I will not leave one person here to stand guard over three dangerous highwaymen.” She frowned. “We will remain here until such time as one of the footmen returns with the watch. Afterward, we shall journey to Beaumaris.”

  The coachman appeared skeptical of her plan. “My lady, if I may, I fear that is most unwise. His lordship will wring our necks if we do not return with you, posthaste.”

  “His lordship will do no such thing.” She planted hands on hips, winced when pain shot from her injured knuckles, and brought her chin to new heights. “I will explain that you acted on my orders.”

  “Yes, my lady.” The coachman acquiesced with obvious reluctance. “But his lordship will not be happy.”

  Staring at her swollen appendage, Sabrina tried not to think about His Lordship.

  #

  The sun had long since dropped below the yardarm.

  Everett reached into his waistcoat pocket and withdrew his timepiece. Dinner should have been served an hour ago. He descended the main staircase and crossed the foyer to the front entry. Turning the knob, he opened the door and stepped outside.

  As he stared at nothing, he shrugged his shoulders in an effort to release some of the tension gripping him, but his efforts were for naught.

  “I am sure everything is all right.” His father puffed on a cigar. “Your mother probably got to talking and lost track of time.”

  “I do not like it.” Everett rubbed the back of his neck. “They should have been home before dusk.”

  “But...what do you suppose could have happened?”

  Everett faced his father and frowned. “I do not know, but I am not going to remain here doing nothing any longer.” He hailed his butler. “Ware, have my horse saddled and brought around this instant.”

  Ware bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

  “You do not think you can find them?” the marquess cautioned. “It is pitch black out there. You will end up just as lost as they are.”

  Everett snapped to attention. “You think they are lost?”

  With an upraised hand, the marquess shook his head. “Poor choice of words, my boy.”

  “But you think something is wrong.” It was a statement, not a question.

  The marquess shrugged. “Who knows with your mother?”

  “And my wife.” Everett rolled his eyes. “I need to change.” He retraced his earlier steps and headed up the stairs.

  “Everett,” the marquess called. “It appears the mystery is solved.”

  Rejoining his father on the front steps, Everett peered into the darkness and spied the glowing yellow orbs of coach lanterns in the distance.

  #

  As they entered the forecourt, Sabrina spi
ed her husband running from the steps to meet them. Why had she agreed when the captain of the watch insisted on escorting them home?

  “Are you all right?” Everett shoved aside the footmen and opened the door of the coach. “What happened?”

  The concern in his voice made her gut clench. She had tried to think of some way to soften the blow, to color the truth in the best possible light.

  Though the marchioness had said nothing since the ordeal with the highwaymen, she had whimpered and moaned plenty. Something she resumed with great frequency just then.

  Celia stepped down and, with Everett’s help, assisted Lady Elizabeth as she descended the coach. After passing them to his father’s care, Everett stared inside and offered Sabrina his escort.

  One glance at his face, and for the first time since the attempted robbery, the apprehension she had kept in check threatened to overwhelm her.

  Sabrina wanted to cry.

  Deep lines of stress extended from the corners of his eyes. His brow was furrowed, his jaw firmly set. But his amber eyes were filled with worry and fear, and he reached for her with both hands.

  Without thinking, Sabrina set her palm to his--and winced.

  Even in the dim lamplight, the swelling and dark bruises on the knuckles with which she had hit the highwayman were evident.

  “Good God!” Everett froze. “What happened?”

  “It is a long story.” Sabrina scooted to the edge of the seat and kissed his cheek. “Let us go inside, and I will tell you everything.”

  They gathered in the drawing room. The marchioness and Celia were given brandy to calm their nerves. Over Sabrina’s protests, Everett sent for a doctor. To her frustration, the captain of the watch insisted on providing a detailed account of the whole affair, including how Sabrina sacrificed herself in Celia’s place.

  And she was forced to stand helplessly as her husband’s expression went from one of worry, to shocked disbelief, to blank acceptance, and finally settled into a black anger she knew all too well. When it looked as if the captain would deaprt, Sabrina found herself grasping for excuses to extend his stay. She tempted him with dinner, a drink, a cigar, and a room for the night. But, alas, the captain departed.

  Leaving Sabrina to face her husband.

  And his wrath.

  Not to mention her mother-in-law, who had yet to share her thoughts on the whole affair. And Sabrina was certain that whenever Lady Elizabeth found her tongue, her words would be anything but kind.

  Everett closed the drawing room doors, and she braced for the storm. When he faced her, his heated stare left her in no doubt she was in trouble.

  But how could it be helped?

  In a meager attempt to spike his guns, and with shoulders squared, Sabrina inhaled deeply. “My lord, we were caught unaware, and the highwaymen were armed. Our escort and driver were taken prisoner. They threatened Celia, and I did what I thought best to protect her.”

  Everett had paced throughout her little speech, and though he appeared calm, Sabrina was not fooled. Danger lurked beneath that placid façade. When his footfalls brought him before her, toe-to-toe, anger emanated from him like heat from a fire. And while she resisted the urge to cower, she shook violently.

  “And who, may I ask, protected you?” he inquired softly. Too softly.

  Sabrina would have preferred a good old-fashioned tongue-lashing. Having imperiled her posterior on many occasions, she knew very well that his seemingly sedate inquiry was a trap. She proceeded with caution, taking great care not to incite him any more than she had already. “I beg your pardon?”

  “My question was simple.” His eyes flared, and his answering smile was anything but friendly. “I asked who protected you?”

  She opened her mouth, considered the question, and then clamped it shut. “I do not understand.”

  “Everett,” the marquess interceded. “The women have had a trying day. What say we have dinner, and let them retire early?”

  “We will dine soon enough.” Everett rested hands on hips. “I would like to know what on earth my wife was thinking when she confronted an armed criminal with nothing more than her fist!”

  With arms spread wide in supplication, Sabrina tilted her head. “I had to do it.”

  “You could have been killed.”

  “And so might have been Celia.”

  “She would not have been foolish enough to try such a stunt.”

  “I could not let him take her.”

  “And why not?”

  “Because he was going to...violate her.”

  “So you went with him in her stead?” Everett impaled her with an angry stare. “Knowing full well what he wanted?”

  “Yes.”

  Emitting a beastly growl, he turned on his heel and stomped to the fireplace. Resting a hand on the mantel, he shifted his weight. Just as fast, he whirled around. “You had no right.”

  “What do you mean?” How she hated arguing with her husband.

  “You are my wife.” He stalked her, till his nose hovered mere inches from hers. “You belong to me. I did not give you leave to tender what is mine.”

  Now Sabrina had heard enough. “I am not your property to be placed under such restraints.”

  “You are exactly that, madam wife. And I will set such precepts as I deem necessary.”

  “How dare you--”

  “Just a minute!” The marchioness was on her feet, and it was clear she was not happy.

  Closing her eyes for a brief moment, Sabrina steeled herself for the onslaught. That was it, the final straw. Everett’s mother would declare her daughter-in-law a lunatic and have her packed off to an asylum. And as angry as her husband was, he would probably allow it.

  Those were her thoughts as a protective arm closed about her shoulders. Peeking against her better judgment, Sabrina almost swooned when she realized Lady Elizabeth loomed at her side.

  Her mother-in-law inhaled and, on a blustery exhale shouted, “How dare you speak to my daughter-in-law like that!”

  A collective of jaws dropped.

  Sabrina blinked wide as an owl and tried to pull away, but the marchioness held her tight. She was not sure what scared her more, the look on her husband’s face? Or her newfound favor with Lady Elizabeth?

  “She saved our lives and this is her reward, you ungrateful man?”

  The marchioness held out her other arm and beckoned Celia. She hugged both young women in a motherly embrace. “Come along, my dears.” She shuffled them through the doorway and into the foyer. “We will leave the men to consider what horrible tragedy might have befallen us today had our dear Sabrina not acted with such courage.”

  Ware stood at the foot of the stairs.

  The marchioness stopped. “Send for our maids. We shall need baths. And inform his lordship the countess will take dinner in her room before retiring. That will be all.”

  Sabrina submitted, as the mysterious creature once known as the wicked mother-in-law ushered her upstairs. She stared, she knew it, but she was afraid to drop her guard lest the woman eat her alive.

  As they reached the landing, their lady’s maids appeared.

  The marchioness surrendered Celia, with strict instructions she be bathed, fed, and put to bed--in that order.

  With Millie on one side and Lady Elizabeth on the other, Sabrina rushed to her apartments. By the time she gained her room, her ears rang and her head swam in a dark vortex of confusion.

  That woman could not be the same person who had berated and reproved Sabrina at every turn. The interloper who had come to her wedding with annulment papers tucked in her reticule. The shrew that had declared Sabrina an unfit countess. Now, the marchioness appeared Sabrina’s greatest ally.

  Finally, Sabrina gazed at Lady Elizabeth and asked, “Who are you, and what have you done with my mother-in-law?”

  “Poor dear.” The marchioness smiled and patted her cheek. “She is overwrought.”

  Millie shook her head.

  Dear?

/>   She was sure that, at any minute, the marchioness would mutate into a hideous, fire-breathing dragon and reduce Sabrina to a pile of ashes.

  It was too much to digest.

  Sabrina collapsed in their arms.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  It was as though she floated on a fluffy white cloud. She was warm, safe, and content. Someone massaged her feet and slowly worked their way to her calves. It felt good, and Sabrina moaned her appreciation.

  “She appears to be all right.” A strange voice penetrated the blissful haze. “It was probably nothing more than a delayed reaction to the events of this evening.”

  “Poor girl,” said Lady Elizabeth. “Is there anything I can do?”

  Through the fog obscuring her senses, bits and pieces of the epochal day flashed in her mind. The robbery. The argument with Everett. The sudden transformation of the woman who, for all appearances hated Sabrina, into...her champion?

  She shuddered.

  “Sabrina, can you hear me?” Everett loomed, and she cringed.

  “Let her rest. The amount of laudanum I administered will help her sleep, and that is what her ladyship needs,” the stranger dressed as a doctor stated. “I will bandage her hand and be on my way.”

  A maelstrom of confusion colored her thoughts, and Sabrina fought to say something--anything. But it seemed there was no escape from the milky haze, so she surrendered to the sweet oblivion.

  #

  As his name fell repeatedly on a whisper from his wife’s lips, Everett stood at her bedside and frowned. His mouth was dry as desert sand, and he was hot and cold at once. At her utterance, the anger investing his body washed away in seconds, but he could not relax. A strange force held him prisoner, kept him on edge.

  “I will show you to the door, doctor.” He turned from his countess. “Thank you for responding so quickly.”

  “Should her ladyship suffer a fit of hysteria, send for me at once,” the physician said as they stepped into the hall. “Otherwise, I shall her progress in the morning.”

  The butler stopped Everett on the landing. “I beg your pardon, your lordship. But the marquess requests your presence in the study.”

  What now? He stifled a groan of impatience and dipped his chin. “Ware, see to Dr. Howell.”