The ride toward Harrow was an excruciating one, a silent, tense, anxiety-filled interval that seemed to go on forever. Although Matthews pushed the horses hard, he had no choice but to slow the horses or risk both them and the carriage as darkness fell. Burleigh had an hour on them. He wouldn’t have been traveling as fast, but that was a lot of time to make up. Alex could only hope that they would catch him on the road. Before he got to the school. Before anything could happen to two boys who deserved none of this.
He’d loaded and primed the two spare pistols Matthews kept and fetched his rapier from the rear of the carriage, leaving the weapons resting on the floor at their feet. It was all he could do though. He hated this, this feeling of helplessness. He’d been here before. Chasing, hoping, praying that he wasn’t too late. It sat like a greasy weight in his gut, compressing his chest and making it hard to breathe.
He couldn’t even imagine how Angelique was feeling right now.
He glanced at her. She was still sitting beside him, unmoving and silent. Her entire world had come crashing down around her in shards of secrets. Nothing was as it seemed.
“They’ll be all right.” He wanted to say something. Anything to reassure her.
“They’re twelve,” she said starkly. “None of this is their fault.”
“None of this is your fault.”
She looked up at him, though he could barely make out her features in the darkness. “I can’t lose the rest of my family.”
He stroked her hair back from where it had escaped its pins. “You won’t,” he said. “I promise.” He had no right to make such promises. He was smarter than this. He did not make promises he wasn’t sure he could keep. Though he was certain that he was prepared to die trying.
“I’m not sorry she’s dead,” she said into the silence, and her voice had lost some of its desperation and gained an edge he hadn’t heard before. “And I’ll kill Burleigh before I let him hurt my brothers.”
The carriage suddenly jolted, and he heard Matthews swear loudly, shouting at his horses to slow. Alex lunged across the squabs to the window and peered out, but he could see nothing. The carriage came to a shuddering halt, and now he could hear the steady drum of more hooves and the snort of a horse fighting its bit.
“Stay in the carriage,” he told Angelique.
She nodded.
“I mean it.” He handed her a pistol. “You know how to use this?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He picked up the second for himself, along with his rapier, and shoved the door open. The temperature had dropped, and the air was heavy with the promise of rain.
“What the hell is going on?” he demanded, his boots hitting the dusty road.
“Highwaymen,” Matthews answered in a clipped tone. “At least eight of ’em. An’ they got some other toff’s carriage off the road just ahead.” He was reaching for his own pistols.
Alex swore loudly. They did not have time for this. On the road ahead, a lantern was hanging at a strange angle from the side of a carriage that was tilted in the ditch. In the pool of light, Alex could see at least one man with a scarf wrapped over his face busy at the front of the equipage, unharnessing the horses with a speed that suggested he’d done it a thousand times.
The man Alex presumed to be the other carriage driver was lying in a heap on the side of the road. Alex wondered if he was dead until he heard him groan faintly. Alive then, but of no help. The occupants of the carriage must still be inside, he guessed.
Six men were approaching them warily, their horses drawn up tight and their pistols leveled in their direction. No doubt they were mindful of the weapons that were aimed in return and were approaching with due caution.
Alex evaluated the odds, aware of the clock ticking. Fighting was not a good option. They were outnumbered, and there was a good chance that he or Matthews would end up shot. Six highwaymen on fast horses weren’t bound to miss six times.
Running was out of the question. Matthews could send the carriage crashing through the road, though the tired carriage horses would never outrun them. Escaping on foot was equally as impossible—they’d be cut down before they’d gone ten steps.
“What do you want?” Alex demanded when the men were less than a dozen feet from them.
“Just collecting taxes,” one of the highwaymen said.
“You have us at a disadvantage,” Alex said. “And a gun fight right now is in no one’s best interests. How much will it take for you to ride away?”
“A man of business,” the highwayman said with some surprise.
“How much?” Alex demanded again.
“How much do you have? I’ve got nine mouths to feed at home. And this chap here has six.” He jerked his head in the direction of the man on his left. “We’re all family men, you understand.”
“A number then—”
“Harold?” It was Matthews who spoke incredulously from his perch. “Is that you?”
The highwayman jerked in surprise and then squinted at Alex’s driver. “Who’s asking?”
“Who’s it sound like?” Matthews demanded.
“Mother Mary and all the saints, it’s Matthews,” the man exclaimed. He lowered his pistol and uncocked it, shoving it in his waist. He yanked his scarf down from his face. “This man saved my life in a stinking hole outside of Badajoz.” He waved his hand, and the rest of his men’s pistols lowered.
“It was more of a ditch,” Matthews said.
“I didn’t recognize you all the way up there on a fancy cart. I thought you sat on the beasts, not behind them.”
“Yes, well, it seems they’ve managed to teach an old dog a few new tricks.”
“I’m impressed.”
“How is Marjorie? And the kids?” Matthews asked.
“Doing well. Growing like weeds, the lot of them. Just had a new baby. A son.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” The man named Harold was beaming with obvious pride.
“I thought you were still in London.”
The highwayman made a face. “Nah. Too cramped. Too much competition for the scraps, you know? You can make in a single night out here what you can make in a month in the city, and you can be home in time to tuck your kids into bed. And you don’t have to kill anyone too often. Out here, these fancy carriages pass with rich people in them all the time, loaded to the roof with all sorts of baubles.”
“Like that one?” Matthews asked.
“Yes. Driver tried to outrun us, but all he ended up doing was busting an axle and knocking himself out when he fell. Too bad about the axle. Carriage would have been worth something if we could have taken it, though Charlie there is fetching the horses. Had to settle for them, a nice pair of boots, and a turquoise cravat pin, but that’s about it. The toff was traveling light. Meek little bugger, that one.”
Alex had been listening to this exchange first with a sense of relief and then with a growing sense of impatience. But at the highwayman’s last description, he froze.
“What does he look like?” he demanded.
“Who? The toff?”
“Yes.”
Harold was looking at him askance. “Dunno. Thin, blondish hair, not real tall.”
“He still in there?” Angelique’s question came from behind him.
Alex had no idea how long she’d been standing there. But long enough. “Angelique—”
“Is he still in there?” she asked the highwayman again, as if she hadn’t even heard him.
“Yes,” Harold answered slowly, looking between Angelique and Alex and Matthews. “Hard to run far with no boots.”
“Did he give you a name?” Angelique was already walking forward. “The occupant of the carriage?”
“Never asked for one.” Harold shot a questioning look at Matthews. “Why?”
Angelique didn’t answer, only slipped between the horses, heading toward the broken and tilted carriage. She still held the pistol in her hand, and Alex wasn’t sure what she intended. He bolted forward, hearing Matthews speaking in low tones.
He got in front of her, forcing her to stop.
“It’s Burleigh in that carriage,” she said. “Run off the road by highwaymen.”
“Yes.” Alex would have laughed at the unbelievable irony of it all had Angelique’s expression not been so chilling. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you going to kill him?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.” It sounded unsteady.
“Will you let me handle this?”
She stared at him, shadows of emotion playing across her face. “Yes,” she said finally.
“Good.”
The highwayman who had been unharnessing the horses had left the animals and moved into the road when he’d seen Angelique coming. He was watching the pair of them warily.
“I’d like a word with the gentleman in the carriage,” Alex said pleasantly. “If you might be so kind.”
The highwayman glanced past them back at Harold, and he seemed to get some sort of direction, because he turned and picked his way down the slope of the ditch, wrenching open the carriage door. There was a flurry of muffled voices, and then Burleigh was dragged out by the collar of his coat and, stumbling in his stocking feet, was shoved against the side of the carriage.
Alex made his way down the bank and into the pool of lantern light.
Burleigh caught sight of Alex and blanched before his expression dissolved into one of relief. “Mr. Lavoie!” he said. “I’m so happy to see you! You must help me. These men have murdered my driver and accosted me most foully.”
Alex stood and stared at him, aware his own driver had joined him. He passed his pistol to Matthews, who took it with a grim expression. “You want me just to shoot him, Mr. Lavoie?” Matthews suggested hopefully.
“Not yet.”
Burleigh watched this exchange with wide eyes. “What are you doing?” he sputtered.
Alex hefted his rapier in his hand, testing its weight and balance. “Debating whether I should kill you right here.”
“What? Why?” Burleigh’s voice was pitched high.
“Because it would make me feel better.” Angelique stepped out from behind Alex. “I know everything.”
Burleigh’s eyes widened before his expression shuttered. “You know nothing.”
“You’re right,” she hissed. “I don’t know everything. Were you going to slit their throats, Vincent? Or just shoot them?” she asked, and there was steel in her words. “Or perhaps you were simply going to pay to have it done. How does one go about executing children these days?”
The baron’s narrow face had changed, the guilelessness that he had displayed only seconds earlier replaced with a mask of hatred and spite. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Did your mother send you to do this or was it your idea?”
“You have no right to speak of my mother!” he shouted. “Your existence is a blight on her very life. On this earth. A daughter of a whore has no right to anything.” The significance of her words seemed to penetrate then. “What did you do to my mother?”
“I did nothing,” she said with complete honesty.
“Where is she?”
“What do you want me to tell you, Vincent?”
“Did you hurt her?”
“She’s dead.”
“I don’t believe you!” Burleigh’s eyes were wild, and he lunged toward her but was brought up short by the tip of Alex’s rapier. He fell back against the carriage, his hands behind his back to steady himself.
“You sure I can’t shoot him?” Matthews asked again.
“What do you want to do, Angelique?” Alex asked gently. “This is your decision.”
“Don’t kill him,” she said quietly. “That makes me no better than him. Or his mother.”
“Do you want to take him back to London?”
“Yes. I imagine that they have an opening in the White Tower by now. He can face the justice he deserves there.”
“He’ll make claims,” Alex warned.
“But he no longer has proof.” She looked up at him. “Right?”
“No. He no longer has proof. His claims will be nothing more than the ravings of a lunatic. The Duchess and her pirate will make sure of that. Trust me.”
She was watching Alex, suddenly looking utterly exhausted and spent. “I trust you.”
Angelique turned away, and Alex moved to grab Burleigh. Too late, he saw Burleigh’s hand come out from under the back of his coat. Too late, he saw the small pistol he held in his hands. Too late, he lunged toward the weapon.
His rapier caught Burleigh’s arm as the gun went off. A searing pain streaked through Alex’s hip and down his leg. Alex stumbled back, the steep bank of the ditch making it hard to keep his balance, and he went down, his ears ringing. He tried to get his feet under him and get a better grip on the hilt of his rapier, but his hand seemed to be slipping and his leg didn’t seem to be working quite right.
The baron’s face was twisted with rage, and he staggered toward Alex. His mouth was moving as though he was screaming, but Alex couldn’t hear over the muffled ringing still in his ears. Time seemed to have slowed, and Alex became vaguely aware of hands under his arms, pulling him farther away from the carriage.
The baron took one more step and then pitched forward. Alex blinked, making out the form of Matthews standing in the wavering lantern light, both his pistols smoking. Time resumed, and along with it, the sounds of the night.
“Should have let me shoot him sooner, Mr. Lavoie,” his driver said.
“Alex.” There were hands lifting up his shirt now, and he pushed them away. The vegetation beneath his back was cold and scratchy.
“What are you doing? I’m fine.” He tried to turn over.
“For God’s sake, make yourself useful and hold him down.” It was Angelique, and she was ordering someone about in a tone of voice he’d never heard her use. Now there were more hands. There was also a ring of concerned faces floating above him.
“You’re not fine,” Angelique snapped. “You’re bleeding like a stuck pig. Stop moving.”
“Never saw no pistol when we stopped him.” Harold was fretting from somewhere beyond his view.
“Jesus, but that’s a lot of blood,” another voice said.
In the next breath, Alex felt a cold blade against the skin at his waist and then there was the sound of tearing fabric. The leg of his trousers was suddenly peeled away, and the night air chilled his exposed skin. “What the hell are you doing?” he grumbled, trying to sit up. Someone shoved him back down.
“You said you have a wife?” Angelique was asking. Who? Harold?
“Yes,” the highwayman answered.
“Close by?”
“Not too far.”
“How good is she with a needle? Specifically how good is she with a needle and flesh?”
“Did you forget what I do for a living? You don’t think she hasn’t had to patch up a few of our hides from time to time? And for the record, that’s goin’ to need more than a needle.”
“I’m fine,” Alex tried again, except no one seemed to be paying any attention to him.
“We’ll take him there. That shot must have nicked a vessel. He’s losing too much blood.”
Now his leg was being lifted and squeezed and something coiled around his limb with enough force to send bolts of pain through him. Bloody hell, but the pressure was insufferable.
“Let’s get him into the carriage,” Angelique ordered.
“Right away, my lady.” Alex was pretty sure that was Matthews.
He shook his head. No, he didn’t want to go to Harold’s. He needed to get back to London. But everything seemed to be slipping from his control, and he was suddenly too tired to figure out what to do about it.
“Can you make that body disappear?” Angelique was asking someone else now. “Don’t want you blamed for something that wasn’t your fault and don’t want anyone to come looking for something they don’t need to find. Ever.”
“’Course,” said Harold. “All sorts of good hidey-holes around here.”
“Do it. And make sure the hole you find is deep,” she instructed.
“Understood. What about the carriage?”
“The carriage as it is just looks like it broke down. Is the driver still insensible?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Take him to the nearest inn and get him a room. Tell the innkeeper the truth—that he took a tumble when his carriage axle broke and that he simply needs rest. Put the horses and harness in the stables. I’ll replace the value of what you would have gotten for them plus the cost of his accommodation.”
“And what happens when he wakes up?” the highwayman asked.
“Best case, his memory is blurry. Worst case, he remembers you and your men. Though if there’s a message left from the baron that he’s traveled on by coach, and his horses are accounted for and his carriage just needs to be fetched for repairs, you can’t possibly be called anything more than good Samaritans.”
Harold was issuing rapid orders to his men now. From somewhere on the horizon, a rumble of thunder sounded, and a few fat drops of rain fell.
“Thank God,” Angelique muttered under her breath. “I was wondering how I was going to explain the blood.”
Strong hands were lifting Alex up now and carrying him to his carriage. This was even more intolerable than the throbbing that gripped his leg. He didn’t need to be carted about like a swooning debutante. “Put me down,” he managed to demand.
“Put him in,” Angelique countered, ignoring him. “And hurry.”
He was manhandled into the interior of his carriage, coming down to rest on what felt suspiciously like burlap. The carriage door snapped shut, and the interior was plunged into darkness. The equipage jolted into motion almost instantly.
“Alex.” Angelique was beside him, smoothing the hair back from his forehead.
“Let me sit up,” he mumbled.
“Please don’t. The damn bullet cut a trough down the length of your thigh. You’re going to need a hell of a lot of stitches. Your upholstery will never recover if you move.”
“Mmmm. Have I ever told you how beautiful you are when you curse?” He was fighting a strange dizziness, and his leg was burning like a thousand stinging wasps had descended upon it.
He heard her make a muffled noise. “Yes.”
“Did you order a highwayman to hide a body a moment ago?” he asked.
“Of course I did.” It was unapologetic. “What kind of idiot leaves a body in the middle of the road?”
“Oh God.” He was gasping, and he thought it might be with laughter.
“Alex.” Her voice was worried. “Stop. Stop moving. Stop talking. Stop thinking. You’re going to be all right. I’ve got you.”
“I’m supposed to say that,” he said.
“What?”
“I’ve got you. I’m supposed to say that. I’m supposed to save you.”
She was quiet for a long time, and he was beginning to doubt that he had even said the words, as light-headed as he felt. Darkness was starting to crowd in on the edges of his mind. God, he was tired.
“You did,” she said suddenly. “You did save me. In every way that counts.”
He felt the brush of her hair, of her breath, and her lips grazed his in the darkness. “I love you, Alex,” she whispered against his skin.
Something exploded in his chest, filling every space and corner with a warmth that was almost suffocating. This, this was what happiness and joy felt like, washing through his mind and his body like a summer storm. He wanted to throw himself into this feeling, wanted to drown in it. He would remember this moment, this feeling forever, for as long as he lived. Because he loved her too.
And then he remembered no more.