Nobody was watching. Nobody really cared a jot right then what she was doing. She could sneak out and get back to Andrew, try to convince him not to do anything dangerous. Or at least offer to go with him.
It was scandalous, of course, to offer to ride alone with a gentleman. But she loved him and believed that he loved her, and she didn’t really care what people thought of it.
With her mind made up, Evelyn went to collect her cloak, trying not to draw attention to herself.
Once outside, a footman offered to call for the carriage, but Evelyn stopped him with some convoluted tale of waiting for her cousin first.
His smirk made her uncomfortable; he obviously had his own opinion on what she was up to. Odious man.
But she couldn’t take the carriage and leave her family stranded.
Evelyn huffed out an impatient breath and looked around, hoping for some inspiration.
The nicker of a nearby horse drew her attention, and she crept round to where the noise had come from.
Midnight! Of course, Jonathan had ridden the horse earlier when the vicar’s wife had demanded his services.
Glancing around to make sure nobody was watching, Evelyn closed her eyes and kissed goodbye her reputation before hitching the satin skirts of her gown up around her thighs and hefting herself onto the horse’s back.
The saddle gave her no choice but to ride astride, and, frankly, she preferred to ride this way, in any case.
Hopefully, there would be nobody about at this time to witness her disgrace.
As silently as she could, she whispered to Midnight, assuring the horse that it was she and not some stranger who had clambered inelegantly onto his back.
Clicking her heel against his flank, she set off at a steady trot before she reached the main road toward the estate and set the horse to a faster pace. Galloping was out of the question, given the darkness of the night, but hopefully she wouldn’t be too far behind Andrew.
Evelyn arrived at the stables, furious with herself for her cowardly thoughts throughout the journey.
The whole ride home she’d convinced herself that she wasn’t alone on the road, that someone had been following behind her. Which was ridiculous, of course, and she didn’t like feeling like a silly little miss.
But she hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that someone was watching her, and it was with great relief that she entered the familiar surroundings of the stable.
Bringing Midnight to a stop, she watched as Robert, the stable lad came rushing over, a lantern dancing in his hand.
His face was a picture of concern.
“Don’t worry, Robert. I’m perfectly safe, as is the rest of the family.”
He still looked stricken and opened his mouth to speak, but Evelyn quickly cut across him.
“I know it is a little unorthodox for me to have turned up like this but, well… the least my family know of it the better and really—“
“Miss,” Robert’s voice interrupted Evelyn, and the urgency in his tone sent ice water through her veins.
“Yes, what is it?” she asked, not moving from the horse’s back.
“It’s Lord Ashdon, Miss. He — well… Mr. Grant. That is to say, there was a gun and—“
Evelyn’s heart stopped beating then kicked back in, racing loudly.
“What do you mean? Has he been hurt? Lord Ashdon?”
“Not as yet, ma’am. But, well… it could be a matter of time. After what I saw, well… heard really—”
Robert was fast becoming incoherent, and Evelyn wanted to throttle him, but if he were dead, she’d have even less information.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened, from the start. And—“she continued as he went to rush into another, no doubt, garbled speech. “—take your time please.”
Robert thankfully heeded her, and Evelyn listened with ever-dawning horror to his tale.
According to Robert, he’d been coming round the side of the stable, having readied Beast for Lord Ashdon’s journey, when he’d seen Mr. Grant sneak up behind the other man, pistol raised toward him.
The clever lad, rather than alert them to his presence, had listened closely to their conversation and then followed them to the conservatory.
He’d been about to raise the alarm when Evelyn had come thundering into the stable.
“When did they leave?” she demanded, her stomach turning with fear for Andrew.
“Not above fifteen minutes ago, Miss,” said Robert. “Shall I go and raise the alarm now, Miss?”
“I-I’m not sure.” Evelyn’s mind was whirling, and Midnight was prancing around beneath her, sensing her mood.
The most sensible thing to do would be to send Robert to the village to get Jonathan and anyone else who could help, but that would waste valuable time.
Without another moment to doubt herself, Evelyn turned Midnight around and faced the woods.
If they were in a carriage, they would be a lot slower than Jon’s prize stallion.
Evelyn took a deep, steadying breath, making up her mind.
It would appear that her highway robber was about to make one final appearance.
Turning her head to Robert, she spoke swiftly whilst reaching down and plucking the lantern from his grasp.
“Time is of the essence,” she said a little breathlessly, anxious to go. “You must go to the village and tell my cousin Mr. Spencer to come at once. Tell him everything you told me.”
“Of course, ma’am,” Robert said, “but where are you going?”
“I’m going to rescue Lord Ashdon,” she called and, without another word, set off into the distance, lantern in hand and prayers for Andrew’s safety in her heart.
Andrew couldn’t quite believe the depths to which Peter Grant had sunk on his journey to wealth and respectability.
It seemed that since Grant had decided that Andrew was no longer a threat, since he intended to kill him, he had no desire to keep his dastardly past to himself.
For the last few minutes, he had taken great delight in regaling Andrew with tales of acts he’d committed for a hefty price until he’d built his way up to hiring ruffians to do the dirty work and had begun trading in state secrets rather than acts of violence for a price.
Andrew offered not a single comment or reaction. He wouldn’t feed Grant’s ego by appearing even remotely interested.
And obviously he wasn’t about to let the man kill him. But he wouldn’t make any sort of move until there was a goodly distance between this carriage and Eve.
As long as she was nowhere near, he would—
“Stand and deliver.”
Andrew’s heart damn near stopped beating at the commanding, recognisable, female voice that suddenly sounded in the still night.
“What in the blazes?” shouted Grant as the carriage came to an abrupt stop.
He would kill her himself, Andrew thought furiously as Grant kicked the door open, his temper roused, and preceded Andrew out of the carriage.
Andrew stepped out in time to see the coachman scrambling from the seat of the carriage and moving to the side. It was so similar to the first time she’d robbed him that he almost laughed. Almost.
“Miss Spencer, what a pleasant surprise.”
Andrew’s blood ran cold at Grant’s welcome. The whole bloody reason he’d not disarmed the man from the start was so he could get him away from Eve, and here she was, ruining it all.
He stepped around from behind Grant and saw her fully.
If the situation weren’t so dire, Andrew would have burst out laughing.
There she sat, regal as a queen, the satin of her gown the height of fashion, her jewels sparkling in the white moonlight.
It would have been an extremely fetching sight if she weren’t sitting astride with far too much of her legs on show for Andrew’s liking. He wanted to be the only one seeing that much of her body.
Her cloak was folded in front of her, concealing what he assumed was the same pistol she’d used for her last run of hold-ups.
“I wish I could say the feeling was mutual,” she responded coolly to Grant’s welcome, and Andrew, much as he was furious with her, couldn’t help but respect her gumption.
Of course, he wouldn’t let her know that he admired her even an iota. When she looked in his direction, he made sure to communicate his fury with his facial expressions as well as his words.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he barked.
Her jaw dropped open in surprise before she frowned in that way that he recognised as her fast losing her temper.
“What do you think I’m doing?” she snapped. “I’m rescuing you.”
Andrew threw his eyes to heaven and prayed for patience before speaking again, trying to keep his tone even.
“You shouldn’t be here, Eve. Turn the horse around and go home before you get hurt.”
“Before I get hurt?” she scoffed. “From where I’m sitting, it looks as though only one of us has been abducted by this mad man. And it wasn’t me.”
“Now, now, there’s no call for animosity, is there? I am a relative, after all,” Grant cut in.
“Only until you hang for what you did to my father,” she answered sweetly, “then you’ll be my dead relative.”
Andrew couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped at her words.
God, he loved her. He could strangle her right now, but he loved her.
Grant didn’t seem to find her words amusing, however.
After stepping back, he pressed the gun against Andrew’s temple.
Evelyn gasped and stared in horror at Andrew, her eyes suddenly filling with tears.
He gave as imperceptive a shake of his head as he could, to indicate that she shouldn’t cry, shouldn’t worry.
“I suggest you get out of the way, Evelyn,” Grant snarled. “The only reason there isn’t already a bullet in your head is because your viscount here traded his life for yours. Don’t make me regret my agreement to his suggestion.”
“Andrew, you didn’t,” she whimpered, and Andrew’s gut clenched.
How he hated seeing her so upset, so frightened.
He smiled at her, trying to reassure her.
“Of course I did, my love,” he said softly, and her answering smile, tearful though it was, was worth a hundred guns to his head.
“This is all very touching,” Grant drawled, “but we really do have to be going. So kindly get out of the way, or I’ll have to put a bullet in him.”
“Not if I put one in you first,” Evelyn retorted.
There was a moment or two of tense silence before Andrew decided this had gone on long enough.
With one swift movement, he turned and grabbed Grant’s wrist. He pressed it back until the other man cried out with pain and dropped the pistol.
Both men dived for the gun. Grant got there first but Andrew gained purchase on the ground quicker. He flipped Grant onto his front and punched him with all his might.
Pain exploded through Andrew’s hand, but he ignored it and grabbed the pistol.
Andrew jumped to his feet and trained the weapon on Grant, who lay still but looked positively murderous.
“Eve, my love, are you all right?” he called, not taking his eyes from Grant.
When she didn’t answer, he turned to see what the problem was, and, not for the first time that night, his heart stopped in fright.
Apparently, Grant hadn’t been lying when he’d said that he’d had some henchmen watching Eve, for she stood with one on either side of her, holding an arm each.
His jaw clenched in fury as he watched her struggle, her screams silenced by the hand of one of them covering her mouth.
There would be nothing for it now.
He’d have to hand over the letters and hope that Grant had meant it when he’d said killing Eve would be more trouble than it was worth.
She’d never forgive him, but at least she’d be alive.
Releasing an oath of frustration. Andrew stood back and lowered the pistol.
It was over.
Evelyn’s eyes filled with frustrated tears as she watched Andrew.
She saw the moment he decided to give up, and it crushed her.
He would hand over the papers now, and it would be all her fault.
The entire ride here, she’d swung between worry for Andrew and fury that Peter Grant had been the one to kill her father.
It was nearly impossible to comprehend.
And now she was going to have to watch him walk away, never having to be held responsible for his crimes.
If she could just get away from this pair of oafs, Andrew wouldn’t feel so concerned for her.
Then, as Grant stood back on his feet and grabbed the pistol with a triumphant smile, inspiration struck.
Evelyn said a swift prayer that her plan would work before closing her eyes and letting her body go limp.
“Bloody ‘ell. She’s fainted,” one of the brainless ruffians exclaimed.
As one, they let go of her, and she dropped with a painful thud to the ground.
“What are you doing, you idiots?” she heard Mr. Grant snarl.
She risked a quick opening of her eyes and saw that her captors were solely focused on Mr. Grant and he on them.
Taking a gulp of air for courage, Evelyn sprang to her feet and ran as fast as she could toward the trees.
She heard the commotion behind her — the shouts, the curses. Then, the unmistakeable, terrifying sound of a gunshot.
Evelyn froze, waiting for the searing pain. But nothing came.
Whirling round in confusion, she felt the whole world slow to a horrifying, devastating stop.
Andrew stood before her, looking straight at her. And for a moment, she couldn’t understand what had happened.
But as she watched, the colour drained from his face, and his eyes, his beautiful, full-of-life eyes, grew dead and glazed over before, with a sickening crash, his body fell to the ground.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Evelyn heard a blood-curdling scream followed by a piteous moan, but she didn’t realise that the sounds were coming from her.
“Andrew. No. No, Andrew, please. Please, please wake up. Please.”
She was rambling as she ran toward him and dropped to her knees at his limp body.
She had no idea where he’d been shot or if he was breathing, and she couldn’t gather her thoughts enough to check.
Her teeth were chattering, and, on some level, she knew she must be in shock.
This is all my fault. All my fault. All my fault.
The words played over and over again in her mind as she ran shaking fingers over his face, his hair, his chest.
Her hands stopped as she felt a faint but steady beat in his chest, and she wept in earnest with relief. He was alive.
But he was still in danger. Mortal danger.
She needed to get help, but, before any of that, she needed to make sure that Peter didn’t finish the job.
Reaching inside his coat, she rummaged around until she found the letters.
Leaning down to his ear, she whispered quickly as Mr. Grant and his cronies approached.
“I’m sorry, my darling. I will be back, I promise. I love you.”
Pressing a kiss against his brow, she stood and faced her cousin’s husband, her father’s murderer.
Raising her hand high enough for him to see that she clasped the letters, she turned and darted into the trees.
Her slippers were torn to shreds, the branches of what felt like thousands of trees scraping her skin and snagging her hair, but on she ran.
She could hear the pounding footsteps of her pursuers, growing ever closer. The cacophony of gunshots tearing through the air as they took aim after aim at her.
They were gaining on her, and it wouldn’t be long before they caught up, she was sure.
But if she led them on a chase long enough for Robert to bring Jonathan back from the village, he would aid Andrew, and right then, that was all she cared about.
<
br /> Her lungs were burning, her chest heaving, and her eyes watered as the wind whipped up a frenzy around her.
Just as she began to slow and thus give up hope, she spotted a glimmer in the trees ahead of her.
Without coherent thought, she ran toward it.
Behind her came the sound of a pistol being cocked once more, and Evelyn thought this was it.
She would never see Andrew again. Never know if he would be all right, if he would live.
She closed her eyes in anticipation of a shot but instead, felt a pair of strong hands grasp her shoulders and pull her to the side.
Looking up, she caught a quick glimpse of Jonathan, looking for all the world like an avenging angel before he thrust her away from him and strode forward to block Mr. Grant’s path.
Grant fairly skidded to a halt.
“J-Jonathan,” he stuttered, “thank goodness you are here. Your cousin seems to have run quite mad. She shot Lord Ashdon, and I—“
“It’s over, Grant.” Jonathan cut across the other man’s desperate ramblings, his tone brooking no argument.
“But, but—“
“But nothing,” Jonathan bit out. “Both you and my father will pay for this for a very long time. I will personally see to it.”
Jonathan turned toward Mr. Carter, who was standing by with a group of villagers, holding various weapons, all trained on Mr. Grant and the two men who had pursued her.
Evelyn should have felt some sort of satisfaction seeing Grant tied up and carted off, but all she cared about was Andrew lying alone and bleeding in the woods.
“Jonathan, Jonathan, quickly. It’s Andrew. He’s been shot.”
Her words were like a match to a firework.
As soon as she’d spoken, Jonathon took off, crashing through the woods, shouting instructions at men as he went.
Evelyn raced behind him, determined to be there to help in any way she could. If only she’d had a real weapon under her cloak, instead of bluffing. She might have saved him somehow.
They reached Andrew, still lying prone on the forest floor, and Evelyn went to run to him.
But there was such chaos, so many people, that she couldn’t get near.
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