The carriage bounced, the horses neighing. “What are they doing?” she whispered.
“I do believe they are taking the horses so that we’re truly stuck.”
“Bastards!” She’d just purchased this carriage. More than annoyed, she started to reach for the door, intending to stop their progress.
Gideon lifted his arm, blocking her exit. “Stay in here, no matter what.”
She was so stunned by his sudden show of gallantry that she actually paused. Perhaps he thought he must protect her in order to get the money he would make. Or maybe he was in on the attack. If he thought she would cower in the corner praying for her soul, he’d learn soon enough she was no quivering miss. He blew out the lantern, throwing the carriage into darkness, then waited, pistol raised.
She heard the softest shuffle of feet right before Gideon kicked the door wide. It hit the man closest, sending him stumbling to the ground. Gideon pulled back the trigger at the same time the two standing cohorts did. There was a soft click, click, click. Elizabeth’s heart actually stopped beating for a breathless moment. She would have to do something and fast or Gideon would end up getting himself killed, and she needed him much, much more than he realized. Slowly, Gideon moved from the carriage, his gaze trained on the two men still standing.
“Mr. Frond,” Elizabeth said, following Gideon from the coach. The men were hard to decipher in the dark, but she could make out her driver’s portly form. “You will not receive a recommendation from me.”
Gideon slid her an exasperated glance. “Did I not tell you to stay put?”
“Well really,” she whispered, “there are no honorable men anymore. It’s quite upsetting.”
“Hand her over,” the driver muttered.
If it wasn’t for his trembling arm, the sweat glistening on his brow would have given away his unease. Elizabeth’s lips drew back in disgust. An unpleasant pig. There was nothing she despised more than a coward, and Mr. Frond and his men were definitely cowards.
Impatient, she glanced toward Gideon, wondering when he’d make some sort of move. Yet, the blasted man seemed quite relaxed, looking them over as if attempting to decide if they were worth the effort. He didn’t seem in the least bit worried, but then he didn’t understand the truth of the matter. He assumed they were merely highwaymen looking for a few coins, but she knew better.
Although his pistol was still trained on the nearest man, there was a flippant air about Gideon that greatly annoyed her. “I hand her over, I don’t get paid.”
Elizabeth frowned. She was glad her life meant so much to him. The cur. Mr. Smith had been right, what little soul Gideon had been born with had most likely withered and died years ago.
The driver sneered. “Aye, and we know ye like to get paid for yer services, don’t ye?”
Elizabeth stiffened. They knew…they knew about her visit to the brothel, which meant all of London would know by the week’s end. She pressed her hands to her lower belly, seized by horror. She’d been so bloody careful.
“There’s no need to be rude,” Gideon said in such a calm voice that the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, telling her something was most definitely wrong.
Slowly, her gaze slid to him. There was something utterly magnificent about the man. He was preparing to pounce. She could sense it in his very being, see it in the slight tautness of his shoulders. She knew immediately this would not end well. She could only pray that she and Gideon would come out unscathed.
“Then we’ll shoot her.” One man shifted, pointing his gun at Elizabeth. The driver kept his pistol trained on Gideon. While the third man lay groaning upon the ground.
“Aye.” Mr. Frond nodded. “Good idea, Sam.”
“Fine,” Gideon said, pointing his pistol into the air. “Come and get her then, because I’m not dealing with the hellion.”
Elizabeth didn’t bother to pretend outrage. Her mouth fell open on a startled gasp. If she hadn’t had a gun trained on her, she very well might have punched him in his beautiful face. As it was, she had to curl her fingers into fists to keep from reaching out and strangling the man. She should have known he’d turn on her for a few pence. Mr. Smith had been right, the man was a bounder. A cad. A…a…
“Go on,” Sam urged Mr. Frond forward while their friend still lay upon the ground, moaning in anguish.
Mr. Frond narrowed his beady eyes on Gideon as if he didn’t quite trust the man and shuffled toward Elizabeth. Gideon lunged forward. It happened so quickly that it was all a blur, but suddenly Mr. Frond was in Gideon’s grasp. It was as he lifted the knife to her driver’s throat, the blade flashing under the moonlight, that Elizabeth came to her senses.
“No!”
He paused. They all paused.
“Don’t kill him.”
Gideon’s dark brows drew together. “Why?”
Why? Why! Did he really have to ask? Because…because she was tired of death, tired of witnessing the life drain from a person; she’d seen too much of it in London. But mostly because dead men drew attention and they most definitely did not need attention. “Because…because his blood might get on my gown.”
Gideon sighed in obvious annoyance but eased the knife away and shoved the man forward. When Sam stumbled back a step, avoiding his friend, she knew by the spark in his eyes he was preparing to flee. Apparently so did Gideon. With a flick of his wrist, he threw Elizabeth’s blade. For the briefest of moments it twisted and turned before striking the man in the arm. He cried out, dropping the pistol. Startled, one of the mounts took off into a wild gallop, and Sam took the opportunity to tear the knife from his arm, dropping the weapon and bursting toward the trees.
“Can I shoot him now?” Gideon asked as they watched the man flee.
Elizabeth sighed. “No, not in the back. It wouldn’t be honorable.”
Gideon snorted. Perhaps she sounded ridiculous, but she understood why men did desperate things. When you watched your family starve, it would tempt even the saintliest of men to behave like demons. And she could tell by the man’s scrawny body that he was lacking in nourishment. Besides, they would just send more. There would always be more.
Gideon lowered his pistol and glanced at the driver. “Go before I change my mind.”
Frond didn’t need to be told twice. He scampered toward the dark woods, a shadow running after his friend. Gideon glanced at the carriage. It looked as if the wheels had been tampered with.
“Apparently, we’ll be riding mounts the rest of the way.”
He didn’t notice the man on the ground lift his pistol, but Elizabeth did. Instinct had her reacting before Gideon. He lifted his pistol and fired only a split second after she had. The blast rang out, startling a nest of birds above and scaring off all but one mount, which Gideon managed to grab. The remaining man fell back with a gasp…his last breath of air.
“You lied,” Gideon snapped, getting the mount under control with his smoothing strokes that belied his annoyance. “You had another pistol.”
Elizabeth lowered the gun, refusing to feel guilty. “As did you.” She swallowed hard, sickened by the sight of the dark liquid seeping across the man’s chest. “You know how to fight, yet led me believe you were nothing more than…”
Warmth rushed to her cheeks as she caught herself just in time.
“A whore?” He seemed only amused by her comment. “Lady Lavender insisted we keep in good health. In fact, she even liked to watch us spar.”
She frowned, focusing on the dead man upon the ground. She hadn’t offended Gideon in the least, because the man had no heart. But they were down to one mount and they’d killed a man and she couldn’t seem to keep her hands from shaking.
As if sensing her nerves, Gideon gently reached out and took the pistol from her fingertips. “We should find shelter,” he said, the first rational thing since she’d met him.
A chill mist started to fall that coated her face and hands like ice. Elizabeth nodded, her gaze focused on the body. Perhaps this
would be for the best. She slid him a glance. Abandoned in the middle of the countryside wasn’t ideal, but it would give her more time alone with Gideon. Still, she certainly hadn’t expected to kill someone. That did put a damper on her plans to seduce the man. Nothing ruined the mood like death.
“Shall we?” he said, holding the mount steady.
When she didn’t respond, but continued to stare at the body, he took her arm and pulled her close. She’d barely had time to object before he’d wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her onto the saddle.
“I take it you’ve never killed before?” he asked.
“Of course not. Have you?”
He didn’t respond, merely scooped up her dagger and slipped it into his waistband. Then again she wasn’t quite sure if she wanted to know his response. Elizabeth stiffened as he jumped up behind her. She could feel the hard set of his thighs pressed to her bottom and hips. His muscled chest pressed indecently to her back. His close proximity was unsettling but also strangely enticing.
“Highwaymen in this part of the country are normal,” he said.
Why did she have a feeling he was asking her a question? As if he wasn’t sure? As if he’d been trapped in that gilded prison Lady Lavender had constructed for so long, he hadn’t a clue how the world worked? His steel arms wrapped around her waist, his hands taking up the reins. Exhausted emotionally and physically, she had to resist the urge to sink back into his strong body. Somehow she remained rigid, leaving at least some distance between the two of them.
“Yes, highwaymen would be normal,” she replied. The rain thickened, pattering against the trees and soaking her dress. Elizabeth wrapped her arms around her waist. “But they were no highwaymen.”
Gideon’s breath was warm on her neck as he started the mount forward with a gentle tightening of his thighs. The night stretched out before them like a vast and empty pit. “Who were they?”
Thunder rumbled, shaking the ground and causing the mount to give a nervous sidestep. “They were the men my mother-in-law sent to kill me.”
Chapter 4
The inn left much to be desired and was made all the worse under the glow of the lamplight hanging suspended from the eaves. The large Tudor lodging with its dingy plastered walls and sagging dark beams leaned precariously toward the south, as if pointing the way to better accommodations. If it weren’t for the soft glow of firelight coming through the dusty windows, he would have assumed they’d come across an abandoned building.
“The-the Ole Sh-Ship Inn,” Elizabeth muttered between teeth that chattered. “Odd, considering there isn’t e-even a lake nearby that I’m aware of.”
There were a lot of things odd about this day, but in his opinion the name of the inn was the least strange. No one dared to loiter in the rain. The only sounds were the neigh of their mount and the soft patter of rain on the leaves above. As they were a good day’s ride from Mrs. Ashton’s country home, they had no choice but to stay the night at this secluded building that claimed to be an inn.
“Will it do?” she asked, turning so her warm breath whispered seductively across his neck.
He didn’t miss the hint of a plea in her voice. It was the first time she’d willingly handed control to him. Apparently his manly prowess back at the carriage had gained her respect and admiration. He knew better than to puff up his pride; a woman’s attentions were as fleeting as summer in Scotland.
Over an hour ago she had finally given in to temptation and had collapsed against his body. Her back was now plastered to his chest as she attempted to get warm. He wasn’t cold, although he was soaked through. How could he be cold with the woman’s soft body pressed to him? How could he be cold with her lush bottom snuggled so intimately against his lap?
But she was chilled, obviously. He was sadly aware of every little shiver. Aware of each quivering breath she drew. Had even felt the quick patter of her heart against the side of his arm when they’d heard the snap of twigs in a nearby forest. Merely a deer, but it hadn’t mattered. His arm had tightened around her narrow waist and he’d felt the sudden urge to protect. He’d tried to protect his mother. Pointless. He’d tried to protect his sister. Look how well that had turned out.
“Aye, it will have to.”
He sure as hell wasn’t going to let her fall ill. Not that he cared; he merely wanted his pay…at least that’s what he told himself. Besides, being outside made him feel uneasy. There were too many shadows, too many places where an enemy might hide. At the rate his luck was going, he wouldn’t even make it to the coast, let alone America before he’d be shot dead. Bedbugs were the least of his worries.
A shadow of a boy raced from the decrepit stables, taking their reins. He didn’t miss the way Elizabeth slid the lad a coin, the metal glinting under the lamplight. No matter what his problems with the woman, and there were many, he couldn’t say she was greedy.
Gideon jumped from the mount. The entire front garden was made of a particularly sticky muck that clung to his fine leather boots, but he was barely aware. He scanned every shadowed corner, finding suspicion in the smallest noise, even in the snort of pigs as they rooted through the refuse piled along the side of the house.
“Do help me, please,” Elizabeth called out.
Reluctantly, he turned to her. As if he could forget her presence. Although they no longer touched, he still felt the pressure of her body, as if she’d permanently burned his skin. Aye, she was much too distracting, and he would be wise to keep his distance. Still, he had to remind himself over and over that she was merely a client, nothing more.
“I’m quite cold and my skirts weigh at least two stones, soaked as they are; I could use some assistance getting down.”
He wrapped his hands around her waist, his fingers biting into her hips, and lifted her with ease. Hell, he barely knew her. He owed this woman nothing. Almost as soon as he’d touched her, he released his hold. Her boots hit the ground, and mud splattered across the hem of her gown. She didn’t seem to be the least offended by the mess. Instead of reprimanding him for not carrying her to the door, as he’d expected, she gathered as much of the sodden material that made up her skirts as she could and headed toward the inn on her own.
Her show of independence might gain his reluctant respect, but in this place, she would only find offense. In a few quick strides he was at her side, following her into the smoky warmth. He hadn’t been to an inn in years, but it was very much as he remembered as a lad. He took in everything at once, from the weary travelers seated around small tables, to the roaring fireplace close by, to beams above covered with webs and dust, to the barkeep behind the counter against the far wall. The place smelled of ale, of smoke, and of unwashed men.
Suddenly, Gideon was a young lad again, the memory coming swiftly and bitterly.
“Where are we, Mama?”
“Hush now, Gideon.” She shifted the baby to her right hip and took his hand. He’d never stayed at an inn and was nervous and excited at the same time. “We’re here to meet your papa.”
But his father had never shown, and they’d wasted the money they didn’t have on a room, waiting. His mother had been forced to entertain a man in the back of the stables just to get enough coins to return home. Gideon forced the memory into the past, where it belonged.
Not surprisingly, the Ole Ship Inn was full of travelers. And not surprisingly, they all turned to stare at Mrs. Ashton as if they’d never seen a woman before. A handful of pale, weathered faces hunched around small tables. Gideon’s hackles rose, and he stiffened to his full height, which was rather impressive at over six feet. For a long moment, the only sound was the crackle of the fireplace and the soft patter of raindrops. Instinct told him that it was imperative he enforce his dominance immediately. With a thorough glare, he managed to scare off a few, who shifted their attention to the tabletops.
Aye, he was annoyed with their blatant interest. But at the same time, he didn’t blame them for staring. Her face was flushed, her damp clothing
clung to her lush body, and that hair was like sparkling fire that drew a man’s attention whether he wanted to look or not. Gideon shut the door, and the sound of rain abated. He sure as hell didn’t need trouble. And Mrs. Ashton courted trouble.
“Ken I help ye?” the barkeeper barked.
Mrs. Ashton lifted her chin high and started toward the man. “A room—”
Gideon gripped her arm tightly. Startled, she paused in midstride. Those wide, innocent eyes told him she hadn’t a clue that she’d almost destroyed her reputation. Gruffly, he pulled her back beside him, anchoring his arm protectively around her shoulders. “A room for my wife and me.”
She flushed, realizing her mistake almost too late. What the hell had she been thinking? She might be in charge in her world, but not here. Christ, he hadn’t signed up to play nursemaid to a woman with no common sense. He slid some coins across the counter, thankful Lady Lavender gave them an allowance, as small as it was.
The keeper hesitated, his bushy white brows drawn together. Gideon would have been suspicious as well. They were wearing fine clothing yet had arrived on one mount and had no luggage.
“Very well,” the man grumbled, scooping up the coins, recovering quickly enough from his confusion. “Mary, get yer arse over here.”
A woman pouring ale behind the counter sashayed toward them. She looked forty if a day, although he had a feeling she was more likely around his age; life had taken its toll on the wench. She plopped her elbows onto the counter’s surface, her bosom practically bursting from the low neckline of her dingy brown gown.
The woman didn’t bother to glance at Mrs. Ashton but only had eyes for Gideon. “What ken I do fer yer?”
“Room,” the owner snapped.
Gideon leaned closer to the woman and gave her a disarming smile. “And make sure it’s clean.” He winked, and her round cheeks flushed. “We’d also like a bath, if you can manage.”
Lori Brighton - [The Seduction 02] Page 5