In the end, it was deceptively simple.
She heard Major Ashcroft’s voice in the kitchen. Apparently his men were eating the food remaining from dinner. She had to smile. That they had delayed their trip would not please Lord Bossley, but it suited her perfectly.
Finding a doorway was easy enough. She chose a servant’s entrance. Several capes hung from pegs by the door, and she took a gray wool one to hide her muslin gown. Sneaking outside, keeping to the shadows, she approached the coach.
The lad holding the horses was occupied with the task. Corinne knew she could not sit in the cab. She moved to the boot, the storage compartment at the rear of the coach for luggage. When playing hiding games as a child, she’d often curled up in the boot of her father’s coach, so she knew exactly how to fit herself in one.
The catch on the boot’s latch opened too quickly, a sign it might be loose or broken. She must beware it flying open or she’d be bounced out.
The boot was empty. Corinne tucked herself inside and pulled down the leather cover. Her hair had pins in it, and they scratched her scalp. She took off her gloves and began removing them. She’d keep them in her gloves so that she could make herself presentable once she reached London.
There were details she needed to work out. But the more she lay in the dark, the more plausible this opportunity became. If her sister would not help her, then she’d turn to a friend. Certainly someone could hide her for four weeks?
On the heels of that thought came the realization of how foolish she was being.
What was she doing? No one would hide her from her father or Lord Bossley.
If she was wise, she’d return to her room—
Her change of mind came too late. She heard voices outside the coach and realized Major Ashcroft and his men were ready to leave.
She held her breath, hoping no one opened the boot.
Someone must have started in her direction, but a man’s voice said, “Don’t put that bag in there unless you want to chance it falling out. The catch on the boot’s lock doesn’t hold.”
There was a grunt of an answer, then Major Ashcroft ordered his men to take their places.
Corinne reached out to grab hold of the boot’s cover.
With the shifting of weight in the cab of the coach, a snort from the horses, and a snap of the whip, they were off.
And Corinne had sealed her fate.
Doubt is the enemy of adventure.
Someone had once said such to Corinne, and she now discovered it true. If she’d had doubts before making her escape, she was assailed with them as the coach moved farther and farther away from the Bossley estate.
But she was not sorry.
With each turn of the wheels, she was standing up for herself. That was a heady emotion. She’d been told that after her wedding night, she would feel like a woman, presumably because the “deed” would have been done.
She felt like a woman now.
For too long, she’d yearned to be her own mistress, and she hadn’t wanted to wait for marriage to be one. Of course, once news of her jilting Freddie Sherwin came to light, she’d never marry.
The idea threw her into a sullen mood. “Jilting” sounded much worse than “crying off.”
Perhaps she wasn’t doing the right thing?
And then she remembered Freddie being rough with her. Oh, yes, she had her pride, and before she was done with Freddie, everyone would know it.
But in the meantime, she had a very uncomfortable ride to London to endure. The dirt from the road filled the boot—?
The coach came to an abrupt halt, the horses snorting and whinnying. The force of the stop rolled Corinne toward the door. The latch on the boot came unhooked. She grabbed it just in time to close it without, hopefully, being seen.
“What is it?” Major Ashcroft barked.
“There’s a tree across the road, sir,” came the reply. “We must move it.”
“Have your arms to the ready, men,” the major ordered.
“Aye, sir,” one of them responded.
Corinne’s head began to pound from stress, road dirt, and fear. From the urgency in the major’s voice, she could tell that he anticipated this might be an unusual situation.
The coach weighed to one side as the soldiers climbed down or out of it. It felt as if even the major had left the cab.
She couldn’t stop herself from lifting the boot cover enough to peer outside. It was too dark for her to see anything but fog and night shapes. The air smelled of forest and damp ground.
“It may have just fell, sir,” one of the soldiers said. “Trees in the forest do that. We appear to be alone.”
“Then move the tree,” the major snapped. “Come on, hurry with you now.”
Corinne wished she’d had a view of what was happening. The horses seemed to stand quiet. She was certain the brake had been set and that someone stood at their head. Her imaginings of all that could go wrong were torturing her nerves—
The cab tilted, an ever so slight change of weight.
She caught her breath, wondering if she’d imagined it and then sensed movement in the cab, just on the other side of the wall from her.
Beyond the coach, the soldiers were shouting orders at each other and swearing when they weren’t obeyed. Major Ashcroft sounded extremely frustrated.
There was a scuff sound against the wall. She smelled something start to burn.
The coach rocked to one side and the horses moved nervously just as Corinne heard the sound of a footstep on top of the coach.
She opened the boot, uncertain of what was happening but every sense warning her it was not something she would want—
A ball of flame exploded on the ground a mere three feet from the back of the coach. Hot licks of flame and sparks burst toward the sky.
The horses stamped and reared, causing the coach to rock precariously before the animals suddenly went screaming off without the coach. The soldiers shouted an alarm, trying to stop them. Obviously, the horses’ traces had been cut.
Smoke filled the boot. Corinne could feel heat and knew the coach was not a safe place.
She didn’t think, she reacted. She scrambled out of the boot just as whoever was on the roof threw another ball of flame.
Looking up, she saw the tall figure of a man and knew why they feared the Thorn. He had no face beneath his tricorne hat. Two dark holes served for eyes, but there was nothing else.
The cab of the coach was on fire, but he showed no fear of the smoke billowing around him.
“Ashcroft.” The highwayman’s voice was deep, commanding, chilling. “What is it you want me to say? ‘Stand and deliver’? Don’t worry. I already have what I want.” He held up a small chest in his hand. “You left it in the coach.”
Corinne had stepped back to see the Thorn better. She heard Major Ashcroft swear, knew he was coming for the highwayman.
The Thorn held another flaming ball of fire on a rope in his hand. He whirled it around and around his head before sending it flying toward the soldiers.
They ran before it hit the ground. They even dropped their weapons. Corinne caught a glimpse of them running into the forest and heard Major Ashcroft shouting orders for them to return.
The highwayman turned to the rear of the coach and whistled. From behind her, Corinne felt the sound of hooves before she heard them.
A midnight black charger with a foaming mouth, flaring nostrils, and red, red eyes came charging right through the smoke and the fog.
Corinne realized she stood right in the demon animal’s path.
She did the only sensible thing she thought she could do—she went running for Major Ashcroft. His face was contorted with rage. “You bloody bastard. It’s time someone sent you to hell.” He lifted his arm to aim the pistol in his hand, but then he noticed her movement. As if expect
ing an attack from another quarter, he turned and fired.
For a second, the world seemed to stop. Corinne was aware of the heat of the flames. She could sense the highwayman still standing on the coach roof. He’d been surprised by her presence as well.
And she believed she could see the bullet coming for her, but she had no time to move.
The pain of it seared her shoulder. She’d been shot.
She came to a dead halt. Took a step back.
“Lady Corinne?” Major Ashcroft said, as if he didn’t believe his eyes.
Corinne looked up at him. “You shot me,” she replied. It truly was an inane thing to say. She raised her hand to her shoulder, even as her knees buckled beneath her. She’d been shot. She started to faint. She never fainted. Ever. She struggled for a clear head.
The ground was damp beneath her shoulders, and she didn’t remember lying down. She looked up to the sky. It was clear and covered with thousands of stars, and she realized she could die, but she would not now. She believed that.
Turning her head toward Major Ashcroft, she waited for him to come to her aid, but he backed away. His face in the firelight had gone pale with horror. He tossed down the weapon, turned, and started running toward the surrounding dark forest.
He was leaving her? That was not gallant.
The Thorn’s horrible face appeared over her. His eyes in the shadows appeared to be two fathomless black holes. He’d lost his hat.
She wondered where his horse had gone. She had half expected to be trampled.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice harsh. He’d lifted her head up.
“Have we met?” she murmured, feeling dreamy. The world was growing blurry around the edges, but she couldn’t help noticing that his mask was really a flour sack. A silly, common flour sack.
“You little fool.”
Her response was to reach up, grab the top of the flour sack, and rip it off his head before he knew what she was about.
Now she knew she must have been unwell. “This is so out of character,” she whispered. “Reverend by day, highwayman by night?”
It was her last thought before her conscious world went black.
Will Norwich frowned at the woman who had passed out in his arms and knew he had a problem. He glanced toward the woods.
Ashcroft and his men had disappeared, and if Lady Corinne died, it would be another death pinned to the Thorn’s name. If she lived, and remembered pulling off his mask, it would be his death . . . at the end of a noose.
Behind him, the coach burned. Roman had tired of waiting for him to mount and started grazing along the side of the road.
Will removed a glove and placed his hand on her heart. It beat steadily, but even with the fire it was too dark to examine the wound clearly, and minutes mattered for such an injury. He had only one choice, and that was to take Lady Corinne with him.
Tearing his mask, he made a pad and bandage, which he loosely wrapped around her shoulder before giving a low whistle. Reluctantly, Roman pulled his nose away from eating and moved to join him.
Will found his hat on the ground. He used his leg to slap off the dust before placing it on his head. He gathered Lady Corinne in his arms. For a slender woman, she seemed to weigh twenty stone as dead weight. He took a step toward the horse.
Roman shot Will a look as if to say he wasn’t certain about this.
“I know,” Will said, agreeing with the horse. “This isn’t the wisest decision I’ve made, but I’m in a devil of a fix this time, Roman. A devil of a fix.”
He draped Lady Corinne over the saddle. He picked up Roman’s reins and started leading him into the forest.
Chapter Four
Corinne came awake with the sudden consciousness of a person startled by a dream.
Bright light hurt her eyes. She shut them quickly, trying to orient herself.
Her body felt battered and sore. She had the oddest images in her mind. Scarecrows chasing Major Ashcroft; Freddie kissing her; her parents encouraging him. She could recall faces, but not conversation. Not voices. There was the rushing melody of a nearby stream. The sound might have been part of her dream—but it was not a dream. It was real. There was a stream close at hand. The air was full of it.
Keeping still, she tried to remember where she was supposed to be. Bossley’s country estate.
She wasn’t there. She knew that.
Corinne attempted to open her eyes again, going slowly and letting them adjust to the light. A thatch roof came into focus. Ancient cobwebs hung from the rafters, their gentle movement in the air highlighted by a sunbeam streaming in from a hole in the thatch. Someone had best patch that hole or rain would pour in right where she was sleeping.
And what was she sleeping on? This wasn’t one of the downy-soft mattresses to which she was accustomed. This bed was slung low and hard . . . like a cot.
Glancing around, she found herself in a small room bundled up warmly beneath a soft blue wool blanket and a quilt. There was no pane on the windows, and the morning’s chill swirled around her nose and any other part of her body not tucked beneath the blankets.
A matter of more concern captured her attention—she wasn’t naked, but she wasn’t wearing the dress she’d had on for dinner.
Corinne moved to lift the blankets to see what she had on, and the motion sent a searing pain through her shoulder. Memory returned. She’d been shot. How could she have forgotten something like that?
There had been fire all around and a fiendish character, laughing and threatening her. She’d turned to Major Ashcroft for help and he had shot her.
Corinne frowned, remembering. Not intentionally. He’d been aiming for the Thorn and her presence had surprised him.
The flames, the frightened horses. All of it was clear to her again.
And what she was wearing now was a man’s shirt over her petticoats. The material was sensible stuff, not the fine lawns and muslins that filled her closet.
She reached up and felt the line of a large shoulder bandage. That was where the bullet had entered. Corinne started to rise, needing to know more about where she was and why she was here. Furthermore, she had needs.
The world spun. She held herself still until it settled. She pushed back the bedclothes and put her bare feet over the edge of the cot. There, by the side of the rickety bed, was her bloodied dress—and a knife. She looked around for her shoes but didn’t see them.
The hard dirt floor was cold beneath her toes when she stood. Another wave of dizziness threatened, but she refused to give in to it. She was stronger than that. Her stomach rumbled from hunger, but this was no time to forage for food. She needed to leave. She didn’t know how much danger she faced—
A horse snorted.
The image of a huge, black destrier with red nostrils and rolling eyes filled her mind. However, the munching sound following the snort told her that although the horse was close at hand, he was no threat to her. In fact, the ordinary sounds eased her tension—and then she remembered the horse’s master. Fear vanished.
As if she’d conjured him, there came the sound of a man’s exasperated release of breath.
He was in the other room.
She was not alone. Good. Because she had a few things she wanted to say to the Reverend Norwich. Pampering her wounded shoulder, she gathered his shirt around her and walked to the door.
Will couldn’t light the fire. He’d started one in the night, but when he’d mistakenly fallen asleep, it had gone out. He needed to stave off the chill in the air. That could kill Lady Corinne as easily as any setback from the wound he’d dressed. She was lucky the ball had gone clean through.
He struck the flint again. The charred wool in his fingers refused to catch the spark. He could have thrown the tinderbox across the room. He didn’t need this delay right now. The parish elders were paying a c
all in an hour’s time to discuss much-needed improvements to the church’s bell tower. The bell had a crack, and they hadn’t been able to ring it as a call to service for over a year.
Furthermore, people expected to see him out and about in Ferris. He didn’t need to be here playing nursemaid—not if he didn’t want his secret identity discovered.
And that was another frustration. Will had to find a way to make the Thorn disappear. He needed his life back. He needed to not be hanged. . . .
The wool caught the spark. Praise the Lord. Now he just needed to deliver it to the kindling—
“Reverend Norwich,” a sharp female voice said from behind him. “You have some explaining to do.”
Surprised, Will burnt his fingers on the wool’s tiny flame before dropping it into the kindling, where it gave a small wisp of smoke and went dead. All that struggle for nothing.
But now he did have a focus for all his frustrations.
He turned, ready to eat her up alive with his tongue. If it hadn’t been for her foolishness, he wouldn’t have had to spend the night traipsing back and forth fetching bandages, worrying if he was doing the right thing, worrying if she’d stay alive.
The tongue lashing he’d wanted to deliver evaporated from his mind at the sight of Lady Corinne standing in the narrow doorway between the two rooms wearing little more than one of his shirts.
Dear God. He leaned forward onto his knees. He remembered too clearly how soft her skin was and how full, how perfect, how luscious her breasts were.
It had been his penance to undress her, to keep his hands off of her.
And it didn’t help his sorry state to have her standing there as proud and demanding as a Teutonic goddess. Her pale blonde hair caught the beams of sun coming in from the back room, creating a halo of light around her. That backlight also delineated the shape of her amazingly long legs, which could be seen clearly beneath the sheer, fine material of her petticoats.
Her feet were bare and as perfectly formed as the rest of her.
She was The One. The Incomparable.
The Seduction of Scandal (Scandals and Seductions 5) Page 5