“You are very brave,” he continued, and even though she couldn’t see his lips, and even though she couldn’t see them turn up, she was certain he was smiling.
She’d amused him.
In her moment of greatest ferocity.
Juliet didn’t generally point weapons at people.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she reproached him, not lowering the pistol.
CHAPTER FOUR
THOUGH LUCAS WAS NOT startled to stare into the barrel of a gun, he’d been hopeful the criminals would be armed with less deadly weapons. Even when he’d imagined being confronted with a firearm, he’d not envisioned that the weapon holder would be a young woman in a frilly gown lined with ruffles and ribbons that sparkled under the glow of the small lantern hanging in the carriage.
Nor had he imagined the person beside the wielder of this weapon would be clothed in a similar outrageous outfit.
No, these women did not resemble criminals: Lucas was an expert.
Though some criminal gangs took a democratic view and employed women, perhaps adopting the pragmatic opinion that the more people willing to do dreadful things, the better, those women dressed in less sumptuous clothes. Lace, certainly, was a fabric those other women must have categorized as impractical, given its propensity to tear, making scrambling over gates and crawling through long strands of grass an unobvious use for the fabric. For a moment, he remembered sneaking off with Honoria, but he pushed that thought aside.
Their contact had said the suspected mastermind behind the counterfeit money inundating the region was unexpected. That’s why Lucas had been tasked by a high up cabinet member to investigate. These women were unexpected.
He might not know the people responsible for the criminal acts yet, but he was confident they were organized, professional, and knew how to use a firearm.
Though the women’s refined manner indicated they might have mastered how to be organized, their fresh faces differed from the mustache-and-beard adorned criminals he’d met. The women hardly resembled vile criminals. They looked barely twenty. One woman had blonde hair that hung in ringlets, as if the work of a lady’s maid. The other woman had auburn hair. Something about her appeared familiar, and for a moment, he forgot to search their carriage.
Something about the holder of the weapon was familiar. Had he seen her in some pamphlet of dangerous evildoers?
Auburn locks framed her face. Lucas suspected she’d recently arranged her hair in a bun, the most favored hair composition, for pins dotted her hair in a manner more unconventional than the pistol clasped in her long, slender fingers.
She was astonishing.
She could have been confused with a debutante, though debutantes weren’t generally lawbreakers. Perhaps she was heiress to some crime ring.
Lucas shivered.
He needed to remove the firearm from her hands, no matter how intriguing her hands were, and how happy the pistol seemed to be placed in her pale pink gloves.
I would be happy placed there.
His thought was ungentlemanly, and he shook his head. Even if these women had broken social conventions by distributing counterfeit money and seemed to have an unremarkable concern for killing him, that did not mean he had to succumb to such thoughts.
Lucas was the Duke of Ainsworth, after all.
Despite his ancestors’ tendency to stomp around their castle wearing pantaloons and pastel-colored waistcoats and frilly wigs, they’d also fought in wars.
Then he scrunched his forehead: he recognized her.
Lady Juliet.
The Duke of Sherwood’s fiancée. Lucas shuddered, half expecting the duke to appear from underneath the carriage seat.
No one else was present, thank goodness.
He returned his attention to Lady Juliet. Why on earth was she sneaking around the countryside? He’d met Lady Juliet at a house party briefly, and she’d struck him as a typical debutante. She’d been pretty, with wide-spaced green eyes and auburn hair. Many debutantes had pleasing appearances though, and he’d quickly forgotten her.
Perhaps his friends were correct, and he didn’t understand women. Perhaps everyone else knew about women’s proclivity to do this.
Thank goodness he had this scarf wrapped around his face in this ridiculous manner.
He hesitated.
It seemed odd she was taking the carriage on this particular night. Though she was not alone, the woman across from her could hardly count as a chaperone. She seemed to be the same age as Lady Juliet.
He frowned.
This wasn’t the Great North Road. Lady Juliet wasn’t en route to London or Edinburgh. She was traveling west—through Cumberland. It was not a region people often visited. It might be exquisite and enchanting, but most people quaffed at the thought of the lengthy journey. Many found mountains beautiful, but the uncomfortable carriage rides were less tempting. It was odd no chaperone accompanied them, but he’d obviously made the greater societal faux pas by stopping their carriage.
Disappointment raged through him, despite his temporary relief at not entering a fierce shoot-off.
Lucas glanced at the weapon. “You shouldn’t put yourself in danger.”
“I don’t appreciate your condescension,” Lady Juliet said.
Lucas remembered he should be pretending to be a highwayman. The idea had seemed better when he’d been convinced he was dealing with actual criminals.
Heavy footsteps tramped toward him, and Sebastian appeared beside him. “Do we have trouble?”
“Yes,” Lady Juliet replied curtly, and Sebastian raised his eyebrows.
“I’m not here for your service,” Sebastian growled.
Lady Juliet paled, perhaps contemplating what exactly he was here for.
“Please go away,” the blonde-haired woman said. “And you don’t deserve to have me say please. You should be grateful I did.”
Sebastian and Lucas exchanged glances.
“Who are you?” Lady Juliet asked.
“No one.” Lucas took care to disguise his voice.
Sebastian elbowed him.
Hard.
“Ouch!” Lucas exclaimed.
Sebastian rolled his eyes. “We are the Masked Men of Ullswater. We are here to terrify you. We are here to steal from you. We are capable of dismantling you.”
Lucas gave a wary look at the gun and cleared his throat hastily. “No dismantling.”
“My colleague jests. We excel at dismantlement,” Sebastian said in a threatening tone.
Lucas sighed.
Sebastian’s Cornish accent wouldn’t have seemed out of place coming from a pirate’s mouth. Clearly, there were many reasons why Sebastian shouldn’t spend so much time on the coast. Acting like a pirate wasn’t a skill most people found necessary. Next, Sebastian might start singing about bottles of rum. Lucas preferred brandy.
“Let’s search the carriage,” Sebastian said gleefully.
“Better not,” Lucas blurted.
Sebastian jerked his head to him. “Better not?”
“Er—quite.” Lucas was conscious of his ears burning. He hadn’t had any intention of terrifying debutantes. In fact, he’d only wanted to terrify the grizzliest criminals, and even that hadn’t been an actual aspiration.
“A highwayman never skirts his duty to search carriages,” Sebastian declared sternly.
“Perhaps you require coin,” Lady Juliet said. “I have some pin money...”
“Nonsense,” her companion said. “You mustn’t give them any money. They don’t deserve it.”
Lucas was suddenly grateful he was not a true highwayman suffering from coin flow concerns.
Lady Juliet’s friend grabbed the pistol and directed it at Lucas. “I kindly urge you both to leave.”
“Or else?” Sebastian drawled.
“Or else I’ll shoot!” the blonde said fiercely, with the threatening sound of someone who has either been a member of a criminal establishment for a long time or one who has merely been told many bedtime stories b
y dramatically inclined nursemaids that featured an abundance of witches and goblins and sorcerers.
The coach started, and a surprised look darted on Lady Juliet’s friend’s demeanor.
In the next moment, a loud shot blasted.
And in the following moment, Sebastian collapsed to the ground and screamed.
Something was wrong.
Something was dreadfully, dreadfully wrong.
Sebastian clutched his arm and moaned.
“He’s shot!” Lady Juliet exclaimed, commendably summarizing the situation.
Sebastian did not cease his writhing, evidently less immediately impressed by Lady Juliet’s intelligence and quick grasp of even uncommon situations.
“I shot him,” the blonde said in a stricken tone.
Great Olympus.
Lucas sank his knees onto the muddy ground by his friend.
“Don’t stop pointing the pistol at them,” Sebastian said valiantly. “Forget about me!”
“I won’t do that,” Lucas assured him, checking the wound.
“If I die, it will have been for a good cause,” Sebastian declared.
“You won’t die.”
“My arm hurts,” Sebastian wailed. “It hurts.”
Another equally loud blast sounded.
The ladies screamed. In fact, even the driver screamed.
This blast was nearer Lucas. Sebastian’s pistol lay beside him.
Great Olympus.
“Your weapon misfired,” Lucas admonished.
“Did it?” Weakness emanated through Sebastian’s voice.
Lucas glanced at his friend, concerned by the man’s uncharacteristic ground lingering. Crawling on the mud made sense when they were hiding in the hedge, waiting for the coach to arrive, but Sebastian was unlikely to have developed that into a firm habit.
Lucas’s chest tightened. He patted Sebastian’s head. “I’m sorry.”
The words were insufficient at conveying his emotions.
Lady Juliet turned toward her companion. “What did you do? He could die!”
“He won’t die,” Lucas said.
“I might die,” Sebastian interjected.
“I hope you don’t die.” Lady Juliet stepped onto the narrow stairs leading from the carriage, aided by a dim lantern she’d taken from inside the carriage. “We have to help.”
Her friend hesitated, then followed Lady Juliet.
“Stay inside!” the driver exclaimed.
“We must help. This man is injured,” Lady Juliet said.
“It’s a trap!” the driver admonished.
Lady Juliet frowned, perhaps considering this possibility.
It’s not a trap!” Sebastian wailed. “I’m bleeding. Tell them—er—other masked man.”
“It’s true,” Lucas said honestly, even though now was not the time to quibble about such matters, even if Sebastian had decided to spend his current moments of discomfort by imparting falsehoods.
Sebastian moaned again.
“Fiddle-faddle.” Lady Juliet practically leaped down the rickety steps.
She collided withLucas, and he caught her, temporarily stunned by her presence. He was conscious of a tiny waist and a sudden scent of roses, even though all the flowers here were wild, and tended to be smaller and less majestic than roses.
Most people who’d shot a highwayman might merely have celebrated at the accuracy of their shot, thankful to have rendered them temporarily harmless.
Lady Juliet was not most people.
Even the weapon-wielding blonde seemed to have quelled her earlier proclivity toward violence in favor of helping Sebastian. She followed Lady Juliet from the carriage.
“Get back in!” the driver shouted.
“I have to help him.” Lady Juliet swept down and knelt by Sebastian. Her auburn locks fell over both her shoulders, and she had the air of an angel.
She was beautiful.
“Get back in!” the driver shouted again.
“We can’t.”
The driver gave an exasperated sigh, then rode off.
With the carriage.
Without Lady Juliet and her friend.
“Stop!” Lucas ran behind the carriage.
His pleas evidently didn’t reassure the driver, for the driver urged the horses to adopt a quicker speed. The coach vanished around a corner, and Lucas and Sebastian were alone with the two women.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE RUMBLE OF CARRIAGE wheels faded, replaced by the occasional curse of the highwaymen. Juliet didn’t blame them. She also felt like cursing. Juliet and Genevieve were supposed to find Horatius—not two highwaymen. They weren’t supposed to have been attacked and they weren’t supposed to have injured one of the highwaymen.
Genevieve joined Juliet to examine the wounded man.
“Get her away!” he yelped. “She’s dangerous!”
“I’m not dangerous,” Genevieve retorted.
“My arm thinks otherwise,” the man huffed.
“It’s fine,” Juliet told Genevieve. “I don’t think he’s very injured. I’ll look after him.”
“His wound should be cleaned.” Genevieve stared at the two men. “Which of you has alcohol?”
“I have a satchel,” the injured highwayman said reluctantly.
His voice sounded proper, less like a former mercenary, and Juliet jerked her head.
The first highwayman scrutinized her. Finally, he cleared his throat. “You have rum.”
The second highwayman nodded. “Er—yes. Perhaps.”
“What was that song we used to sing?”
“About rum?” the injured highwayman said, his voice weak, though he gamely sang a few bars. “Yo, ho, ho and a bottle of rum.”
“You shouldn’t make the man sing,” Juliet chided. “Far too much exertion.”
“Listen to her,” the injured man said. “She’s the non-shooter. I like her.”
“I didn’t mean to shoot you,” Genevieve pouted.
“But you did.”
“I’m—er—sorry,” Genevieve said reluctantly.
The first highwayman scrambled through his companion’s satchel. Finally, he drew out a bottle triumphantly. It wasn’t rum, though even former pirates must tire of the drink.
“Open your mouth,” the first highwayman said.
“It’s for the man’s arm,” Genevieve protested. “I need to clean it.”
“Oh.”
Genevieve grabbed the bottle and poured it over the second highwayman’s arm.
“Ouch!” he hollered.
“Next time you won’t make confrontations,” Genevieve said sweetly.
“Monster,” Sebastian replied. “Let my ferocious companion do the rest.”
The first highwayman kneeled beside Juliet. He was large and powerful, and she trembled. No doubt, highwaymen had to be large and powerful. It was probably part of their job description, or at least vital for advancement.
How many coaches had he stopped before? How many people had he stolen from?
Most likely an intolerable amount.
“I despise highwaymen,” Juliet said.
The second highwayman raised his eyebrows, despite his proclaimed agony. “Are you sure that’s what you want to tell us?”
“Well—” Perhaps she might have shown greater tact. She smoothed her dress, even though the dim light rendered that task unnecessary. The absence of the light of the coach rendered the world dark. Thankfully, Genevieve had brought the small carriage lamp from the coach when they’d exited, evidently not desiring to surrender all senses to follow highwaymen.
Juliet was aware of the highwayman’s precise sturdiness. She should abhor him. A pleasant cedar and lemon aroma wafted about him, a scent she did not associate with highwaymen. Of course, she hadn’t met a highwayman before. Perhaps they all smelled brilliantly. Perhaps it had something to do with being outdoors. After all, his companion hardly reeked.
Or perhaps they’d just had their monthly bathe in the lake. Or bi
annual bath.
She waited as the first highwayman tied a cloth around his companion’s arms. Despite the coarseness of his chosen profession, he acted gently. Perhaps her presence had been unnecessary, and she should have stayed in the coach, just as the driver had multiple times insisted.
Her mouth dried, despite the footmen’s prowess at providing her with lemonade and weak ratafia.
How was she ever supposed to return home?
She shot Genevieve a stricken glance. Juliet had involved Genevieve in this frightful mess, and her betrothed was nowhere in sight. She squared her shoulders. She had got Genevieve into this, and she would need to get her out.
“I believe we’re stuck,” Juliet said.
“Nothing wrong with your mind,” the highwayman growled.
“If you’re looking for jewels, we don’t have any,” Juliet declared.
“Ah,” the man said. “You’re poverty-stricken. Poor dears.”
Juliet didn’t like to lie, so she was silent.
The fact seemed to amuse the highwayman, for he chuckled.
“It’s dreadful to be poverty-stricken,” his companion said, sitting up.
“You’re supposed to be injured,” Juliet said accusatorily. “We left the coach because you said you were injured.”
“I was shot,” the man said. “Naturally, I’m injured.”
“Please forgive him,” the first highwayman said. “He’s two months younger than me. His immaturity has always been an issue.”
“A nonsensical issue,” the second highwayman pouted. “No one is supposed to take being shot well. It was damned surprising.”
“I was holding a pistol,” Juliet said. “That should have been sufficient warning.”
This time the second highwayman was silent. Juliet was conscious they were not only in a dark region, they were also in a remote region.
She wasn’t even supposed to have tea with a man alone in her own house, lest scandal ensue. If the vicar’s son couldn’t be trusted when a teapot and Cook’s tasty tower of sweets separated them, how was she supposed to be alone with two large masked men?
“We need to return home,” Juliet said. “At once.”
“Your lack of a coach might make that difficult.”
Juliet’s shoulders slumped momentarily, but she reminded herself that there was always a way. Even though her stepmother hadn’t been interested in marrying her off, Juliet had become engaged to the most eligible man in the country before she’d even debuted.
My Favorite Duke (The Duke Hunters Club Book 2) Page 3