“You can’t,” Joe said, having already considered and discarded the possibility. “I need you to take Emma home.”
“But—”
“Please, don’t argue,” Joe interrupted. “I don’t have time, and it’s important she’s safe and seen at Brightoaks.”
“And what do we say about you and Hazel?” Emma demanded. “You can’t have thought—”
“That we were inveigled into tea with someone or other in town while you escaped. Mama will scold us both for you being alone with Bart, but I think when you are back so quickly, it will be fine. Bart? Give me the mask in your pocket.”
Bart opened his mouth, then closed it with a shrug and handed over the mask, which Joe shoved into his pocket. He paused only to dirty his hands a bit more, running them over his face and hair before shoving the laborer’s cap on his head. Then he strode toward Pike, already emerging from the inn.
Surreptitiously, Pike took the wicked-looking pistol from his apron and passed it over to Joe, who placed it somewhat gingerly inside his coat pocket. As a youth, he had enjoyed certain not entirely sober parties here that had involved shooting competitions with this very pistol.
“Thank you. I’ll pay for the horse as well,” Joe said and seized the reins of the mare he had noticed earlier. Vaulting into the saddle, he didn’t even say goodbye but rode out of the inn yard at breakneck speed.
Chapter Fifteen
Catching up with the carriage on the otherwise empty road, Joe pulled the mask down over his eyes and yanked the neckcloth over his nose and mouth. It didn’t smell too pleasant, but there wasn’t a lot he could do about that.
The mare was fast and obliging—once he had convinced her she shouldn’t buck him off into the ditch—and it didn’t take long to overtake the carriage. A wave of his pistol was enough to shock the coachman into yanking on the reins, causing the horses to come to a very uneven and outraged halt.
“Down you come,” Joe growled, and the man almost fell down from the box in his hurry.
Crime was not common in this part of the county, and Joe was counting on shock tactics. An old gentleman was hanging out the coach window. The irascible local vicar, Mr. Atwood, no doubt visiting his brother who lived on this side of Great Finglebury.
Joe allowed himself to swear in annoyance. Hastily, he demanded the furious old clergyman’s purse. Atwood flung it at him so hard it would have bruised Joe’s face if his instincts hadn’t been quick enough to snatch it from the air in the nick of time.
Joe saluted him with his pistol, growled at the coachman to get back up. Without waiting any longer, he wheeled the mare around and galloped on up the road in search of the next vehicle. He just hoped he was correct in assuming Barden and Selim would head for the main London road.
*
“Selim,” Hazel repeated, staring at him.
The Ottoman prince’s eyes glittered. “I see you know my name.”
Hazel curled her lip. “Sir Joseph still calls you his friend.”
“But he is aware I no longer call him mine.”
Lord Barden, who had been following this exchange in some bafflement, suddenly said, “I believe I met an associate of yours. In an Essex inn called the Red Lion. He was looking for Sir Joseph Sayle.”
“And once more, it seems, our searches have converged. So, tell me, good sir, what is the young lady to Sir Joseph?”
“Nothing,” Barden replied. “Less than nothing. The young lady belongs to me.”
“The young lady,” Hazel spat, “belongs to no one!”
“It is true that even an apple does not truly belong to the man who steals it.” Selim regarded her thoughtfully.
Barden laughed. “No, but that man may still take a bite out of it. What do you want with Sayle? If he’s not your friend, I’m guessing he is your enemy.”
“It would seem there is no middle ground between us,” Selim observed.
“Then let me assure you that taking this woman will both annoy and embarrass him, and you may safely leave the matter to me.”
Hazel made another lurch toward the door, and again, the valet seized her and jerked her back onto the seat.
“I do not think,” Selim observed, “that such rough handling will win the lady.”
“Oh, the lady is won,” Barden sneered. “Rolled up, penniless, and defeated. She won’t be playing again, except by my rules.”
Without appearing to move, Selim rapped his cane down on the valet’s elbow, causing him to cry out and release Hazel’s arm.
Both Barden and the valet gawped. “Sir!” Barden began in outrage, but Selim interrupted him without apology.
“And Sir Joseph will care about this why?”
“Who knows?” Barden said irritably. “But he has taken her under his wing, into his protection, you might say, so trust me, yes, he will care. If you wished,” he added cunningly, rapping on the ceiling as the carriage bowled out of town, “you could go and explain the matter to him. I think you will enjoy his reaction.”
The coachman appeared to ignore Barden’s signal, for if anything, their speed increased.
“I might,” Selim agreed, apparently tempted. “But where shall I tell him you have taken her?”
Barden stopped smiling. “I don’t believe I want him to know that just yet.”
“No, I don’t suppose you do,” Selim gazed thoughtfully from one man to the other and then to Hazel, who tilted her chin and looked as haughty as she wished to be. Inside, she trembled with anger and fear that would surely impede any effort to escape.
Selim turned back to Barden. “On the whole, I believe my curiosity is greater. Vengeance has waited so long already; it may easily be delayed by another few hours. I shall stay.”
It crossed Hazel’s mind to wonder exactly what Selim was up to. But mostly, she was simply dismayed. She knew Joe would be hurt at this betrayal, however he might hide it. And more immediately, Selim’s continued presence pitted her against three men rather than two.
She knew a moment of hope when Barden barked, “You mistake the matter, sir. You are not invited!”
Selim smiled. “I rather think you mistake the matter, sir. You are not armed.” Casually, he tugged the handle of his cane, and Hazel glimpsed a steel blade. It was a sword stick, a sword hidden within a smart walking cane. Some gentlemen carried them for protection—or mischief, she suspected, certainly in Selim’s case.
Her breath caught. Barden stared at the prince with acute dislike. “See him off, Rogers.”
“No chance,” Rogers said bluntly. “Let him stay. What harm can he do?”
Selim smiled amiably, apparently untroubled by the fact that nobody liked or trusted him.
Hazel saw no harm in sewing a little further discord. “You are deluded, my lord, if you imagine he can do you no harm. He is just as treacherous as you but a good deal more clever.”
Selim’s gaze focused on her face, as unreadable as Joe’s. More so, for she had learned to read many of the tiny changes in Joe’s expressions. “Did Sir Joseph tell you that?”
“I deduced it for myself. A man he calls friend abducts one of his guests, what would you call it?”
“I abducted you!” Barden broke in, apparently furious to have his crime misappropriated.
“Which proves my point about cleverness,” Hazel retorted. “Do you really think, ruined as I am, that I would voluntarily spend one moment in your company? I will run as soon as your back is turned. Even if you chain me up like an animal, I will find a way to kill you!”
If her venom surprised Barden, it astonished Hazel. She wasn’t quite sure where the words came from, but she realized they were true. If she hadn’t been hopeful of a safer escape in the near future, she would already have hurled herself into the road. She still might, but Selim’s interference intrigued her; even though he was a cleverer opponent, she did not wish to be allied with Barden.
“I like her,” Selim said with amusement, “She has spirit and passion. I will buy her from you.�
�
Hazel’s mouth fell open with fresh shock.
“She is not for sale!” Barden exclaimed. “She is mine for vengeance, not pleasure, though I dare say the two might coincide.”
“Vengeance?” Hazel repeated, staring at him. “Because I stood on your toe once? Because I rejected your insult? You must have a long line of enemies, my lord!”
Selim laughed. Beyond the window beside him, a shadow swept by in a clatter of hooves—a rider going at full tilt. The carriage horses, which were traveling quite sedately, screamed in protest, and the carriage lurched and bumped to a halt.
Barden scowled. “What the devil is going on now?”
Hazel tensed, ready to take her chance as soon as she had a clear path to the door.
Selim peered out of the window. A breath that might have been laughter escaped him. “Highway robbery, I believe. How could I ever have thought England was dull?”
“What?” Barden shoved him rudely out of the way and reached for the door.
Abruptly, it was wrenched out of his hand, and Barden staggered forward, almost falling headfirst into the road. Somehow, he clung onto the sides of the carriage and saved himself, but a large, vicious-looking pistol followed him, pointing straight at his heart.
“Stand and deliver,” growled a strangely familiar voice.
The highwayman bent from the saddle—a dirty, scruffy-looking individual in a ragged coat and laborer’s cap. A black mask covered the top half of his face, a grubby kerchief had been pulled over his mouth, muffling his voice.
No. Impossible. Hazel stared at him. Through the mask, his eyes glittered with an unstable, frightening fury. Nothing like… And yet…
Those dangerous eyes swept around the inside of the carriage.
“Beginning with the girl,” he snarled. “Out.”
Rogers, the valet, shoved Hazel toward the door. By the time she clambered down, the highwayman had dismounted. His horse bent its head to crop the grass at the side of the road. For an instant, the brigand met Hazel’s gaze, searching, the anger controlled, perhaps by relief, but in that moment, she knew without doubt that it was Joe. Her heart almost burst with gladness because he’d come for her.
He turned to the others, his pistol leveled now at Selim. And a new fear battered her. If he killed them, he would be hunted down and hanged. Even more than that, he must not shoot Selim. Friend or foe, he could not live with that.
“Purses and gewgaws,” he growled.
Hazel glanced nervously at Barden, who clearly did not recognize his suave host in this lout. Nor did the valet who hastily dropped a large purse on the ground at Joe’s feet.
Joe crouched to pick it up, his pistol still pointing at Selim. “And yours.”
Selim was staring at him. He might have suspected. It was impossible to tell. But he seemed to be testing the water as he said, “And if I choose not to?”
Joe straightened and curled his finger more tightly around the trigger.
“My money or my life?” Selim said. “Show a little British justice. Fight me for them.”
Hazel was sure a smile flickered beneath Joe’s neckcloth. “You have a pistol?”
“No,” Selim replied. Again, he lifted the knob of his cane, revealing the sword.
“A sword?” Joe spat, still in character. “Bad luck. I still win.”
Slowly, Selim drew a thin rapier out of the stick, which he dropped to the ground and kicked toward Joe.
Curiously, Joe picked it up, though the pistol still didn’t waver. “Another sword,” he observed. “Quite a weapon. But I’ll be keeping the pistol.”
“Or you could give the pistol to the lady,” Selim suggested.
Hazel stared at him. Oh yes, he knew it was Joe. And he was giving her a chance to escape, whether or not he meant to kill Joe.
Joe coughed, which she guessed was his way of covering laughter that might have sounded too familiar. “Well, sweetheart?” he threw at her. “Who would you shoot first, if I gave you the pistol?”
“Him,” she said flatly, jerking her head at Barden.
“There you are, then,” he said, casually passing it to her. “And don’t worry if you miss the first time. You get two shots with this beauty.”
It was a warning to Barden and the valet, but it was still good to know. Joe’s fingers brushed against hers as she took the pistol from him.
“Don’t fight him,” she pleaded beneath her breath.
He laughed hoarsely and threw one arm around her waist. His head swooped, and he pulled down the kerchief to kiss her soundly on the mouth. “There, I’ve already won.”
It was light, casual. Behind the mask, his eyes might even have danced, had they not been conveying a message to her. Run.
He released her and stalked into the middle of the road. Her lips still tingling, she stared after him. Selim followed on his heels.
“Give it to me,” Barden said urgently, reaching for the pistol.
At once, she swung around to point it straight at him. “Don’t move. I would love to shoot you.”
“The fellow’s mad!” Barden exclaimed. “And that foreigner is no better. What do you think they will do to you?”
“At this precise moment, I don’t care,” Hazel said with such truth that Barden blanched and dropped his pleading hand to his side.
Of course, she knew what Joe meant her to do. He had left her in possession of both horse and pistol. Now, if ever, was the time for her escape.
Leaving Joe to deal with three angry men on his own and no means to escape except in Barden’s coach. Even if he beat Selim, there were far too many difficulties in such a plan. And she would not allow it.
She backed away from Barden, still leveling the pistol at him.
In the middle of the road, Selim had taken off his constricting coat and now took the fencer’s stance. Joe was examining his rapier as if wondering what it did.
The valet took a step forward, perhaps meaning to rush her.
“Don’t,” she said. “Two barrels, two shots, remember? And yes, I have practiced with firearms. My father is an excellent shot and an excellent teacher.”
With her free hand, she reached for the reins of Joe’s horse—an animal she couldn’t recall ever seeing before. Mounting presented a challenge, not just because she needed to keep control of the pistol while she did so, but because this was no lady’s saddle. Her walking dress was blessed with wider than usual skirts, but as she hastily jumped and hauled herself into the saddle, throwing her leg across the mare’s horribly broad back, she had to yank at her skirts. Her petticoats slid up and bundled above her thighs. The gown itself was stretched so far, it must have shown several inches of stocking above her boots, but she refused to look.
Instead, she gathered the reins closely in one hand and aimed the pistol once more at Barden. Both he and Rogers had lunged closer to her, but they halted warily now.
“Walk,” she commanded, gesturing with the pistol.
Reluctantly, they walked in front of her to where Joe and Selim faced each other.
Joe still looked as if he didn’t know what to do with the sword. Uneasily, Hazel hoped this was merely part of his act. Joe glanced at her. A quick frown and a faint jerk of his head gestured her to continue down the road back to Great Finglebury.
And then Selim attacked.
*
Joe’s sword sprang up to block the lunge. It was purely instinct, but Joe knew Selim of old and had been expecting the attack. What he didn’t know was whether or not Selim was aware of his opponent’s identity. Offering a duel to a robber currently with the upper hand was exactly the sort of thing Selim would do, both through recklessness and a simple attempt to change the odds.
Selim smiled.
Electing to stay in character, Joe held his rapier clumsily, pretending to parry Selim’s series of attacks with more luck than skill. At the same time, he was very aware of Hazel, mounted on the mare as she should have been, still with Pike’s pistol trained on Barden—
but not galloping off as she should. Her gaze, accusing, commanding, and urgent, burned into him.
Leave with me, she was demanding as clearly as if she had said the words. Leave with me now.
And if he didn’t, she would not go. Frustrating, maddening, and yet so Hazel, he wanted to kiss her and never stop.
“She is waiting for you,” Selim said in Turkish.
A highwayman could not have been expected to know Turkish. But then Selim would not have so addressed a highwayman. He knew perfectly well who he was fighting. Of course he did.
Joe knocked up Selim’s sword and drove him back toward the coach. “That is your fault,” he answered in the same language. “You shouldn’t have suggested the means for her to do so.”
“I thought that was what you wanted.” Selim slipped cunningly beneath Joe’s guard, forcing him to leap back. He sidestepped when Selim followed and slashed with his blade, compelling Selim to an awkward parry that almost made him lose him footing. “Or did you just follow to kill me?”
“It crossed my mind. Did you not come to England to kill me?”
Selim appeared to think about it as the swords clashed together repeatedly, neither finding an opening. “It crossed my mind,” he said at last.
An unexpected twist of Selim’s blade almost scraped along Joe’s arm. Joe spun into an attack, driving Selim toward the ditch.
“I can forgive you for that,” Joe said savagely. “What I can’t stomach is your using her to punish me.”
“Interesting,” Selim observed, skipping back and sideways to avoid the ditch. “She is very beautiful, very desirable, with just the spirit to tame a man like you.”
Joe lunged furiously after him, reckless at first, then recovering control when Selim very nearly pierced his shoulder.
“But I did not take her, you know.”
“Barden spoke to your man in Essex.”
“And so, you think we are in league? Really, Joe?”
It was the use of his name that penetrated his fog of rage. “No. No, I suppose it is not your style. At least, it never was. But you are a driven man now to come after me, blaming me for a mess that is entirely of your own making.”
Pursued by the Rake Page 16
