My Lady Scandal (2 page)

It was not until a shout came from their coachman that either of the passengers knew that something was amiss. There was the sound of a shot followed by the high-pitched, panicked whiny of the horses. The coach gave a sudden jolt as the horses started, but slowed as their driver gained control once more.

‘What is it?’ Viola demanded, alarmed.

On the seat opposite, Grif barely moved, long legs stretched out, slouched in a corner. ‘Highway robbery, I should imagine.’

‘Oh!’ Viola had heard that highwaymen were becoming a real danger on the roads, but she had never dreamed that she would fall victim to one. She felt sick with fear. ‘What are we going to do?’

‘Relax, Viola. Aunt Marianne would be very unhappy with me if I let anything happen to you.’ He sat up and yawned, ‘try not to scream, there’s a good girl.’

All well and good
, Viola thought angrily.
But they were being
held up! She cowered down in her seat, listening to a rough voice demanded they put up their guns or bleed for their courage. Another shot rang out which was immediately followed by a curse.

Grif arched an eyebrow. ‘I trust they have not shot Jenkins. He has a way with my greys.’

Viola gave him a disbelieving look, clutching the seat with shaking fingers as she listened to the sounds outside.
What was happening?

The carriage had come to a complete stop now. They could hear the jingle of bridles, the stamp of horses’ hooves. Then the door was wrenched open and a great, black figure filled the doorway.

‘Give us your precious or give us your life!’

‘How poetic,’ Grif drawled. Viola shrank back in her seat but her cousin leaned forward a little, hand in the pocket of his coat. The upper part of his face was in shadow but his lazy smile was visible. ‘I am afraid I do not care for either of those choices. Let us try for a third one, hmm?’

The sound of a shot was hellishly loud in the close confines of the barouche. Viola screamed as the highwayman staggered back, hand clutching his shoulder. Grif removed the pistol from his pocket and reached out to close the door, moving cautiously, reluctant to have his head shot off by any accomplice outside. He had heard that these fellows often worked in pairs.

Sure enough, the rider who had been covering the coachman and the footman was sliding off their horse and hastening forward. When they heard Grif open the window, the gun came up to point squarely at his head. ‘Throw it down!’ Grif stared at the figure in surprise. A woman? What the
devil
? ‘Throw down that gun or I will put a hole in you. Do it
now
!’ He threw down his gun. ‘If you attempt to leave that carriage, rest assured I
will
kill you.’ Somehow, he did not doubt it. There was something very definite in those low, feminine tones. Hurrying forward, she reached her wounded accomplice who was holding his shoulder, half-bent over. ‘Oh, God! Are you all right?’

‘Get the hell out of it.’ The rough edge had gone, replaced by a gentleman’s strained tones.

She ignored him. Turning her head, she raised her voice. ‘Talbot!’

The shout brought a giant figure lumbering around the back of the carriage, leading an equally giant horse. Grif blinked at the size of the man and concluded that sometimes, they hunted in
threes
. The new arrival must have been all of six and a half feet tall. He had probably been covering the servants from the other side of the carriage, which seemed an excellent strategy. When he spied Grif, he waved his gun at him gently. ‘Stay where you are or I’ll pop ya.’

Grif showed both of his hands, empty of any weapons. This episode was not turning out as he had imagined it would and he had no intention of doing anything more. He watched as the giant strode over to the wounded bandit. ‘What happened?’

‘He was shot!’ The girl had pushed her hat back and Grif caught a glimpse of pale hair and the softly curving silhouette of a female face.

‘I’m all right, dammit! Just… get me to my horse.’ The ragged tone suggested that the wounded man was anything but all right. Grif knew he had shot him in the right shoulder, thanks to the fact that his aim had been off. Firing through the material of the coat had made it a tricky shot. But the ball would have probably gone straight through flesh and muscle at that range, tearing a nasty hole.

Bending, the giant picked up the wounded highwayman as if he weighed nothing at all and slung him over his horse. ‘Hold on, lad. We’re gon’ ta have ta lead ya.’ He glanced at the girl. ‘Quick smart, now.’

She nodded, turning to sprint back to her horse. With a liquid grace that was a pleasure to behold, she was up and moving in one, deft motion, urging the gelding forward gently so that she came up alongside the wounded man’s chestnut. She gathered up her fallen companion’s reigns as the giant turned to keep an eye on the carriage. When the two riders were clear, he took off after them, heading east. Grif watched the small party go with interest, wondering if he had just put a hole in somebody he knew. Maybe it was a bet of some kind. Some of his friends had discussed just such an escapade only a week ago, holding up a coach for the fun of it. The arrest of Captain Night had sparked considerable interest.

‘Griffin, please,’ Viola wailed behind him, ‘what is going
on
!’

He sat back in his seat and looked at his cousin. She was white faced and shaking with shock. ‘They have gone. It is over Viola. You are perfectly all right.’

‘Whatever for? As you see, we were not robbed of anything more than a bullet. Speaking of which, kindly hand me my pistol.’ Jensen looked down, bending to retrieve the weapon. He handed it to Grif. ‘Thank-you. Now, if you please, inform Lennox to proceed. Miss. Durham tells me that we are late and she does hate being late.’

The man hesitated for a little longer but after a few moments, they were moving forward again. Viola sat shivering in her seat. ‘You can’t seriously mean to go on now?’ she said through chattering teeth, ‘Good heavens, Grif… you
shot
somebody!’

‘I did, did I not?’ he agreed thoughtfully, ‘I wonder who it was…’

Her brother looked dreadful and Nell was more frightened than she could ever remember being. The wound was slowly seeping blood, which Talbot regularly wiped away. Perry was propped up on pillows, his face as white as the linen he was lying on. Nell watched Talbot as he cleaned the torn flesh carefully, waiting for his diagnosis. For all that he had such large hands, his touch was remarkably delicate. Talbot knew more than most physicians about how to heal the human body from his time spent as a medic on the battlefields of the Somme. Nell watched him work on her brother and prayed that his skills would be enough to heal Perry.

From the other side of the bed, Emma stood holding a dish of warm water and some bandages, her expression grim. She was supposed to be resting, but there was no keeping her in bed, not when her two charges were in difficulties.

Perry watched his sister pace and gave a weak grin. ‘Stop fidgeting, girl! You will give me a fever.’

She stopped, holding on to the bedpost tightly. ‘Talbot -’

‘Be easy,’ the big man grunted, ‘young devil was lucky; it missed anything vital. Lad’ll live if infection don’t take hold. Em?’ His sister held out a salve, a mixture of yarrow and comfrey and Talbot wiped the wound clean before patting it dry and spreading the salve around liberally.

‘Perhaps now you’ll stop haunting the highways like ungodly heathens.’ Emma snapped. She did not approve of their life of crime. ‘T’isn’t decent, no more than you dressing like a boy and riding about like a wild thing.’

Nell bit back a smile. She suspected that the thing Emma found the most scandalous about their new profession was the fact that Nell went on their nocturnal jaunts dressed in breeches. ‘Well, it will certainly give us pause. Perry must heal. Perhaps it is just as well. This might have happened at any time.’

‘Who got him? Nob in the carriage?’ Talbot asked, winding a clean strip of linen around the wound.

Nell thought back. Her memory of what, exactly, had happened after she had heard that dreadful report of a pistol was blurred, thrown into confusion by panic over her brother being shot. She vaguely remembered that she had threatened some nobleman who had pulled down the carriage window but he could have been anybody. It was unfortunate, apart from anything else, that she had given her sex away but there had been no time to be circumspect.

‘So says the voice o’ doom,’ Talbot muttered, winking at Perry as he eased some of the pillows out from behind him, lowering him gently onto his back. ‘Sleep; I’ll be in yon room tonight to be close by.’

‘Better than a mother,’ Perry murmured, but his voice was reedy and fading fast, exhaustion and shock setting in.

Nell walked around to sit in the chair that Talbot had vacated and watched her brother’s face as he drifted into sleep. It was true; Emma and Talbot
had
been better parents than either of their own had been. Always there, always reliable. She thought about how the night could have ended and sighed.

‘You should rest,’ Emma said, eyeing Nell with an anxiety her brusqueness could never quite conceal.

‘And you should return to bed,’ Nell replied firmly, ‘I am not the one who has been ill. Go and lay down, for heaven’s sake, or I’ll be sitting with you once again.’

Emma set her lips mulishly but her brother intervened. ‘Off you go, woman! Get you to bed and let the bairns have some peace.’

After she was alone with Perry, Nell settled herself more comfortably; listening to her brother’s breathing, which was comfortingly steady.

It had all been a bit too close. Perhaps it was time to throw in their cards and call it even. They had played a fair hand so far and, really, there had to be other ways of making money. Ways that would not get them killed.

Settling back, she watched her brother sleep and thought about the future.

‘You were actually held up?’ Captain Frame, of the 14
^th
Infantry, stared at Viola in consternation. While condemning her cousin as being an unfeeling beast for not taking her home, Viola had rapidly come to realize that there were definite benefits to be had in being the damsel of the hour. She had been trying to secure Hugo’s exclusive attention for weeks. Had she known it would take her being half scared out of her mind, she might possibly have considered highwaymen before this.

She was seated on a velvet settee in a small antechamber away from the main ballroom, fan in hand while Hugo sat beside her, satisfyingly close. Improper as this intimacy was, she had claimed faintness and he had solicitously led her away from the crush of the dancers. ‘But that was not the worst of it, Hugo! Grif shot one of them!’

Captain Frame frowned. Carlisle had a reputation as a hellion, but this… ‘Good God, Viola, you might have both been killed! These ruffians are a menace to the road. Did he report it to the Watch?’

At this moment, Grif himself wandered into the room. He had been looking for his cousin and suspected the minx would have culled Frame from the herd and headed somewhere quiet. He arched a dark eyebrow at the sight of the Captain sitting so close to Viola. ‘Dear me, must I run you through to preserve poor Viola’s honor?’

Viola looked horrified. ‘Good heavens, Grif, do not dare! I was feeling faint and Hugo helped me find a seat.’

Grif looked amused. ‘How very chivalrous of him.’

Hugo had risen to his feet and was looking the man over, expression grave. The Captain presented a fine figure in his red regimentals, black boots highly polished and as neat as a pin. Despite the fact that he was by no means a striking figure – unlike Grif who had inherited his French mother’s dark good looks – he was tall, neatly turned out and possessed an air of quiet confidence. Grif suspected it was for this reason his cousin was enamored with the man, for there was nothing remarkable about Frame. Brown hair, cut a la Brutus, serious grey eyes. He positively oozed calm good sense, unlike Viola’s family, who, it must be admitted, had a flair for the dramatic that rivaled none. That, along with the fact that he did not dangle after her like a besotted fool made the man honey to Viola’s bee.