The Wicked Sister Page 12

  The ruffian scowled. “What in hell’s—” A thump above had him leaping off the seat, reaching into his pocket. At the same time, an explosion rent the air—surely a pistol shot.

  Maria let out a moan of horror and fear. Something—a body—tumbled past the window into the road.

  Grim faced, her captor opened the door, letting it slam back against the side of the coach while he peered upward, pointing his pistol with one hand and hanging onto the doorway with the other. When he cocked it, Maria’s paralysis broke, for she realized, with a sob of relief, that against the odds, Michael had won the tussle for control of the carriage. It was the driver who had fallen, not him.

  And she would not let this brute shoot him now.

  She lunged forward, and with all her strength, shoved him out the door. It was so sudden, so unexpectedly forceful, that he had no chance to save himself.

  “Michael?” she called up through the wind. “He’s gone!”

  “Give me a moment!”

  Never had she been so happy to hear anyone’s voice. She fell back into the seat, praying his injury was not severe, while the air whistled around the inside of the carriage. It might have been the cold that caused her to start shaking at this point. But the horses were slowing at last and drew finally to a halt.

  Maria stumbled out into the road, anxiously calling his name. And then he jumped down from the box and with a cry, she threw herself into his arms. They closed around her, strong and wonderful. She closed her eyes for an instant, unable to bear the relief of him being there with her. But still, her fear for him forced her eyes open again, and she wrenched her head up from the soothing solidity of his chest.

  “Michael, the shot! Are you—” The rest was lost in his mouth as it swooped down on hers, hard and ruthless.

  Her knees gave way as her stomach dived. Everything else seemed to leap upward. After the first stunned moment, she tried to speak, even seized his face between her hands to make him listen. And certainly, the full force of the desperate kiss eased into something no less wild, but more tenderly sensual. His mouth moving on hers, the feel of his rough, slightly stubbled jaw under her fingertips, the unyielding strength of his body plastered to hers, all combined to distract her. Surely no one who could kiss like this could be suffering from a gunshot wound?

  “I’m fine,” he uttered against her lips. “The gun fired in the air when I jumped on him. Are you hurt, Maria? Did they…?”

  “I’m fine, too,” she said shakily. “Gideon hired them for a forced elopement.”

  The harsh anxiety in his gray eyes softened. “Thank God.” His voice wasn’t steady either. “Thank God.” He caressed her cheek, pressed his lips one last time to hers, and drew back enough to look around him. Somehow, he was still wearing his spectacles, though the lenses were clouded and splashed with mud or worse. “We’d better find my horse.”

  Hand in hand, they turned and looked ahead. A large, saddled, black horse stood cropping the rough grass at the side of the road, only a few yards ahead. They walked toward it.

  “He looks familiar,” Maria said at last.

  “He belongs to the vicar.”

  Her eyes widened. “Does Mr. Grant know you have him?”

  “Yes. They’re all covering for your absence so that we can back without scandal. We’re to go to the Muirs’, wherever that might be.”

  “It’s Lady Wickenden’s family—Bernard who is her brother, and their stepmother. They are family friends. How did you find me? Did you see me being abducted? Was that you in the street?”

  He nodded again and caught the reins of Mr. Grant’s horse. The horse snatched a last mouthful of grass but came without protests. They turned, walking back toward the coach. “I’d noticed the men with the carriage, looking too furtive to have good intentions, and then I saw you come to speak to them. I tried and failed to stop the carriage, so I ran to the vicarage instead, asked Lady Tamar to cover for you and borrowed the vicar’s horse. Your sister suggested the Muirs.”

  “But the Winslows, Lord Underwood…”

  “Your sister and Mrs. Grant seem quite capable of dealing with such minor problems. Would you mind leading the horse while I clean my spectacles?”

  Obligingly, Maria took the reins from him and watched as he removed his glasses, breathed on them, and rubbed at them with a large handkerchief. She found the process oddly endearing.

  He replaced the spectacles on his face and gazed straight ahead. Something in his expression jerked her back to reality, and she followed his stare. A man was striding angrily along the road toward them.

  “Oh dear,” Maria said. By this time, they had reached the carriage. She came to a halt. “Could you turn the coach and drive us back to Blackhaven?”

  “Maybe, but we’d have to leave Grant’s horse. There’s nothing to tie him safely to the carriage.” He took the reins from her once more. “Have a look inside, will you? See if there’s a blanket or any way we can disguise you.”

  Of course, she could not return to Blackhaven in only Michael’s company. Tongues would inevitably wag, and that would do neither of them any good. However, even as she obligingly rummaged inside the carriage, she couldn’t help feeling such considerations were secondary to getting rid of her wrathful, erstwhile captor. She checked the corner pockets for weapons and even looked under the seats, but in the end, all she could find was what she thought was a blanket.

  She dragged it out, suddenly afraid the horses would get too restless and set off again with her still inside the coach. Shaking the woolen mass out, she discovered it was a large, travelling cloak, which would easily engulf her. Folding it over her arm, she hurried forward to join Michael who was now some yards ahead, quite casually leading the horse on toward the man she had pushed out of the carriage. That he wasn’t obviously injured, apart from a graze on the side of his face, didn’t make her feel a great deal better.

  “Hand over the goods,” he growled. “Or you’re dead.”

  “Death comes to us all,” Michael said mildly. “But not today.”

  “Damned little—” Without further warning, her captor charged Michael like a bull.

  Michael tossed her the reins of Mr. Grant’s horse and moved speedily away from her. His attacker swerved, fist raised for an almighty punch.

  Maria’s heart plunged, but at the last moment, Michael ducked and side-stepped with surprising speed and agility, and his attacker swiped the air. Maria looked wildly around for something, anything she could use to help Michael. Her gaze fell on a large stone at the side of the road, and she dragged the horse over so that she could pick it up.

  By then, Michael was facing her captor with both fists raised. And, somehow, he’d found the time to take off his spectacles. As she urged the horse nearer, the ruffian lashed out again with both fists.

  Michael blocked the first on his arm and veered away from the second, even as his own fist shot up under the other man’s guard and landed a flush hit to the jaw. The ruffian stumbled backward with the force, and Michael followed, landing a blow to his stomach and another to the face that laid him out flat in the road.

  “I didn’t know you could fight,” Maria blurted.

  “One learns a little of everything at school,” he said vaguely. “All the same, I’m glad you softened him up for me. It’s easier when they’re groggy from falling out of carriages.”

  He bent over his victim who looked a lot groggier than a minute ago, although he hadn’t quite lost consciousness, and searched through his shabby coat pockets. To her distress, Michael’s knuckles were split and bleeding.

  From the first pocket, he brought a purse, from another, a rolled up, floppy-brimmed hat. He held up the purse. “Do you want it back?”

  She curled her lip. “I think he’s earned it. The task was rather more difficult than Gideon led him to believe.”

  “We’ll just take the hat, then.” He hauled the man by the shoulders into the side of the road and dropped the purse on his chest before ris
ing and facing her. “You’ll have to take off the bonnet. Is that a blanket?”

  “A travelling cloak. It smells unpleasant.”

  “Can’t be helped. You can hide the bonnet beneath it. Doesn’t have a hood, does it?”

  She shook her head, swinging the evil-smelling garment about her shoulders. It fell around her, drowning her and bundling around her feet.

  Michael grinned. “Just the thing.” Advancing, he shook out the even less salubrious hat and placed it over her hair, tucking away the stray strands that had come loose from their pins.

  She forgot to breathe, reminded all over again of the sudden, wild, wonderful kiss that had melted her bones. Their eyes met.

  His lips quirked. “You’ll have to hold on to it or it’ll blow off in the wind. It’s far too big for your head. Come. I’ll boost you in the saddle and come up behind. If we walk back, it will be dark before we reach Blackhaven.”

  She stepped on his joined hands and landed in the saddle. By means of drawing up her skirts under the voluminous cloak, she managed to sit astride and settle the folds of the cloak over both legs until it covered even her elegant, little boots.

  Michael landed behind the saddle, much to the horse’s annoyance. It snorted, tossing its head, but she tightened the reins, leaning forward to pat it soothingly. A moment later, Michael’s hands closed over hers, taking the reins.

  Her breath caught. She wanted to look at him and couldn’t. After a moment, surely too long a moment, she merely slid her hands free to hold onto the pommel with one and the nasty hat with the other.

  They set off at a trot, and then broke into a canter.

  Chapter Twelve

  There was something about journeys, Maria thought, that caused both the past and future to fade from one’s thoughts and leave only the present. And the present was sweet. It felt almost like being somebody else in a life that wasn’t much related to the one she had come from or the one she was going to. There was only the steady motion of the horse beneath her, and the man so close behind her, his arms binding her on either side as he held the reins in his strong, grazed hands.

  All she could think of was the way Michael had kissed her and the sheer pleasure of being with him in this way. Somehow, she had leaned back against his chest, and she could feel his breath on her cheek. The road was deserted, apart from one man sitting on the grass at the side, rubbing his ankle while blood trickled down the side of his face.

  “Is that…?” Maria began.

  “Yes,” Michael said.

  They trotted around the bend and up the hill. The sea came into view with Blackhaven nestled below them, and the castle beyond on the next hill. It wasn’t a long journey home, something she couldn’t help regretting, which meant Michael had been very quick in rushing to her rescue.

  “Thank you for coming for me,” she whispered. Part of her hoped he wouldn’t hear, but then his lips brushed her ear.

  “I’ll always come when you need me.”

  She closed her eyes. “Because we’re friends.” There was a pause. She didn’t know if she felt pain or pleasure. If he did.

  “Yes,” he said. “Because we’re friends.”

  “You know I will do the same.”

  His arms tightened, and she wanted to turn into him, to feel again the wonder of his kiss. But he straightened, drawing away from her, and she saw that a smart carriage was driving toward them. She sat up straighter, making sure the cloak still covered everything it had to. Michael urged the horse into a canter and Blackhaven drew ever nearer.

  “Mrs. Muir’s servants will never let me in like this,” Maria said suddenly.

  “I’ll shield you while you whip off the noxious hat and cloak and slap the bonnet back on your head.”

  She couldn’t help the sudden laughter that bubbled up. “What about the smell?”

  “We’ll all have to live with the smell. I’m used to it already.”

  They must have looked somewhat odd as they entered Blackhaven. Two men on the same horse, one respectably dressed but with no hat, the other in a floppy, greasy hat, bundled in a cloak. Maria guided them to the quieter streets until they came to a small park with no houses and no one close by.

  With some difficulty, she dismounted, and let Michael take the saddle. She strode along in as manly a manner as she could while trying not to trip over the huge cloak. Holding the garment up from the inside, she struggled to hide her smart, feminine boots.

  By the time they came to the Muirs’ respectable street, there was some distance between them and nothing very much to connect them. Michael dismounted at Maria’s signal and looped the reins around the post before opening the gate and walking up the path. Maria, enjoying her role by this time, slouched along after him.

  Michael half-turned at the front door, gazing around him, and then all but hauled Maria in front of him, snatching the hat off her head. She shrugged out of the cloak with relief. He caught it, and she set the bonnet on her head, leaving the ribbons untied. Michael knocked on the door.

  It opened almost at once, and as it turned out, they needn’t have been so careful. Lady Wickenden stood there.

  “Maria!” she gasped in relieved tones, all but dragging her into the house before she hugged her.

  “Don’t mind the smell,” Maria said, hugging her back. “It isn’t me!”

  “Don’t look at me,” Hanson said wryly as the lady’s accusing gaze swung on him. He closed the door. “Perhaps you have somewhere to dispose of these garments?”

  Lady Wickenden pointed wordlessly under the hallstand and led the way toward the stairs. As a servant emerged from the back of the house, she pointed toward the hallstand. “Get rid of those, if you please!”

  Lady Wickenden led them to a cozy drawing room where her step-mother, a proud-looking Spanish lady, rose to greet them. Maria curtsied to her, to old Miss Muir, Lord Wickenden, and Bernard, and knelt to speak to Lady Wickenden’s half-brother, a lively, raven-haired two-year-old. Michael was duly introduced to Mrs. and Miss Muir, after which Bernard somehow swept everyone out of the room, leaving Maria and Michael alone with the Wickendens.

  “Where is Serena?” Maria asked anxiously.

  “She went back to the castle with Lord Underwood, claiming to everyone that you had come here.”

  “That was very clever of her!”

  “It was, but where have you been, Maria?”

  “Not far, but I was…um…abducted.”

  “Another scrape?” Lord Wickenden drawled.

  “Yes,” Maria confessed. “But truly, this one was not my fault!”

  “And how, pray, was Mr. Hanson involved in this abduction?” Wickenden inquired.

  “He saw me taken and rescued me,” Maria said, staring at him. “If he hadn’t, I would by now be on my way to Scotland with a man of no principle who makes my flesh crawl!”

  “I see.” Wickenden’s indolent eyes became piercing. He shifted them from Maria to Michael. “What a fortunate coincidence that you saw.”

  “Not really,” Michael replied. “I was on my way to the vicarage because I knew Lady Maria was there.”

  “And you will now tell Lord Braithwaite of this brave and astonishing rescue?”

  “Stop it!” Maria said fiercely. “I am always grateful for your friendship, my lord, but I cannot allow you even to think such things! For your information, Mr. Hanson is engaged to another lady and is helping me out of this scrape at some personal cost.” She marched up to Michael, and before he could guess her intent, grasped his hand and showed the Wickendens the state of his knuckles.

  Michael snatched his hand back, frowning at her, and whipped it behind him. “We pushed the men concerned off the coach, but one of them seemed inclined to object. I understand you and your family will pretend Lady Maria has been here since leaving the vicarage?”

  Lady Wickenden nudged her husband. “David.”

  But his eyes had already lightened. “Forgive my suspicious mind. Maria seems to be even more plagued b
y fortune hunters than her sisters. I am delighted to learn you are not among them. For what it is worth,” he added, offering his hand, “you have my gratitude. And my friend Braithwaite’s, even if he doesn’t yet know it.”

  Michael took the outstretched hand without rancor, and Maria said hastily, “I will tell Gervaise, just not yet.”

  “But you seem to be involved in something quite dangerous, Maria,” Lady Wickenden said anxiously. “I’m not sure you are safe! After all, Mr. Hanson cannot be your bodyguard all the time, and you are, you know, putting him in a difficult position.”

  “I put myself in the position,” Michael said mildly. “And my hope is that the matter can be resolved quite quickly. If it can’t be, I’ll inform Lord Braithwaite myself.”

  Wickenden said, “You do know, these decisions are not yours to make?”

  “They’re mine,” Maria said fiercely.

  Both Wickendens regarded her in some consternation, for of course, as a minor and a female, very few decisions were truly hers to make.

  Lord Wickenden glanced at Michael. “We shall be here until next week. You may call on us whenever necessary. And on Maria’s entire family and most others in the town, too.”

  Maria flushed, unsure what to make of this statement. She knew an urge to tell her family everything. However, she did want to deal with the matter personally, without her powerful family behind her. Just, when necessary, with one clever, thoughtful man to be her ally.

  *

  As dusk fell, Gideon Heath waited by the side of the road on his hired horse, restive and quietly fuming. How long did it take to abduct one wispy girl and bring her a bare three or four miles out of town?

  Something must have gone wrong. They had sent him word that she’d been seen in Blackhaven early this afternoon, and he’d been waiting here for two hours already. Perhaps they hadn’t been able to get her alone. Perhaps they had abducted her and were keeping her hostage on their own account.

  A surge of fury passed through him at that thought. Although perhaps such treatment would ruin her to the point that even her high and mighty family might be glad to see her married to a respectably born officer like himself.