The Seduction of Lady Phoebe (39 page)

Phoebe threw her arms around his neck. “Marcus, if anything were to happen to you, my life would not be worth living.”

He kissed her hard and fast. “You are carrying our child. That is something to live for, but if I lost you both, I’d have nothing. You have the coach pistol and your own. Don’t be afraid to use them. My love, this time, you must shoot to kill, and if you hear guns being fired, get down on the floor.”

Phoebe’s eyes filled with tears, but she nodded.

He jumped down to the verge, waited until he heard the lock click, then turned to the coachman. “What’s in the road?”

“A dead cow, my lord,” John Coachman replied. “Right in the middle so’s there’s no way to go around.”

“Hell. It will take at least three men to move it. They’ll be unarmed. That’s when Travenor will strike.”

“Yes, my lord. Should we just sit—”

There was a loud shot and a ball whizzed over Marcus’s head.

Chapter Twenty-six

“D
own!”
Marcus shouted. He glanced around to make sure no one had been injured, before crouching down and trying to make out where the shot had come from. The coachman had gone to the horses to try to stop them from bolting with the carriage. Their outriders ranged behind the coach, pistols out. One, a Baker rifle.

A group of men emerged from the wood on the opposite side of the road. Most of their weapons were trained on the carriage, the rest on Marcus and his men. They were outnumbered. He called to the horsemen, “What is it you want?”

A muffler concealed the face of the man who spurred his horse forward. When he pulled the scarf down, his smile was pure evil.
Travenor
. “Simple, my lord. Your life, or your wife.”

Rage filled Marcus. He wanted to kill the bastard, but if he showed the pistol concealed in the folds of his greatcoat, the men guarding him would fire, possibly hitting Phoebe. He made a show of calmly rubbing his jaw while rapidly reviewing his options. Using a languid drawl, he replied, “Not a good enough offer.”

Travenor reddened, his horse sidestepped uneasily. “Perhaps I should talk to Lady Phoebe and offer her your life in exchange for coming with me. The last time I stopped her coach, she got away. This time, I intend to have her.”

Blackguard
. “No.”

Marcus fired. Travenor’s horse shied at the last second and the shot pierced Travenor’s arm instead of his heart.

Shots rang out, and a ball grazed Marcus’s temple. He stumbled and grabbed the side of the coach, steadying himself. He couldn’t see everything that was happening on the other side of the vehicle, but he heard groaning. At least one man had been hit, but whose?

Travenor gloated. “I think I’d gain a good deal of pleasure, my lord, from making you watch me take your wife before I kill you. You needn’t worry about her though. I’ll keep her in good health as long as she satisfies me.”

Phoebe gasped. Marcus willed her to stay in the coach. “You’ll never lay your filthy, ill-bred hands on my wife.”

“That so, my lord? Then neither will you. Shoot her.”

A shot ripped through the carriage. Phoebe screamed, then went silent. Marcus froze as a dark red liquid seeped under the coach door.
God, Phoebe!
He ripped the door open. The contents of their lunch basket were strewn across the floor, the bottle of port shattered, and Phoebe was gone.

“We got ’er, my lord,” one of Travenor’s men called.

“Unhand me now.” Phoebe’s voice was furious.

Thank God she was alive. Marcus had forgotten about the trapdoor.

Rocks and dirt flew out from under the coach as Phoebe fought the man pulling her from beneath the carriage.

Travenor laughed. “Bring her to me.”

Marcus grabbed the second coach pistol, slipping it in his pocket. He straightened and turned back to Travenor. One of the thugs kept a pistol on Marcus as Travenor dismounted.

He held Phoebe against his chest and rammed a pistol against her head. Marcus’s men drew closer, but there was nothing they could do while Travenor held Phoebe. He wondered where his footman with the Baker rifle was and hoped he had a clear shot.

Travenor stroked Phoebe’s cheek with the weapon. “Shall I take her here, so everyone gets a view?”

Marcus clenched his teeth. Every muscle in his body tensed to attack as he was forced to watch his wife in Travenor’s hands. “You won’t live to be hanged.”

Marcus met Phoebe’s frightened but determined gaze. Seconds later, her hand slipped carefully down her skirt and disappeared for a moment, then a sliver of silver flashed.

Travenor roared like a bull being castrated, doubling over long enough for Phoebe to jerk free, her dagger in her hand. Blood flowed from between Travenor’s legs. She dropped to the ground and rolled away to the side of the road.

Travenor leveled his gun at Phoebe and Marcus’s heart stopped. He’d only get one chance to save her. Raising his pistol, he fired, shooting Travenor through the side of his head. The blackguard’s mouth opened in shock, and his gun fell to the ground.

Pandemonium broke out. Shots were fired. One of his footmen fell. White smoke and the acrid smell of sulfur filled the air, it was like being on a battlefield. Marcus bolted to Phoebe, who was lying on the ground, blood covering her back. Then the shooting stopped. The ground trembled as Travenor’s men fled down the road.

Marcus ran his hand down her back, searching for a wound, but there was nothing. He scooped her up into his arms. “Phoebe, Phoebe, my love, are you all right?”

She held on to him tightly. “I’m fine, but you’ve been hit. Marcus, there’s so much blood!”

His throat closed. She was safe. His head started to pound like a horse had stepped on it. “It’s just a scrape. I’m a hard person to kill.”

Phoebe’s hand moved to her stomach. Marcus’s heart lurched. “Is the baby all right?”

She remained silent for a moment, focusing her attention inward, then smiled. “Yes, I believe so. Survival must run in the family.”

He held her closer. “From now on, it will be a tradition.”

Phoebe gave a watery chuckle, and he kissed her, gently, as he willed his love to enfold her and their child.

“Are you two going to wallow in the dirt all day,” Hermione asked, “or do you have a plan for what happens next?”

Holding Phoebe against him, he scanned what he could see of the area. Horses milled about and bodies lay in the lane. He glanced up at Covey. “How many did we lose?”

“One dead, my lord, and two wounded on our side,” Covey said. “Five, not countin’ Travenor, on the other side.” Covey grinned. “Their ladyships made a good showing, one dead, the other wounded, my lord, as did our former soldier. He accounted for two dead.”

Hermione glanced smugly at Hester. “Well, we know which of us is in need of shooting practice.”

Hester replied shamefaced, “Yes, well, I have to admit I have not made the time. Clearly, that must change.”

They were joined by their husbands, and the two couples looked at Marcus and Phoebe.

“He’ll get used to it eventually,” Edwin said. “I did.”

“Leave them alone,” his wife said. “He’s had quite a scare to-day. At least when we were held up I was not breeding.”

Edwin met her gaze. “No, you’re right, my love, I would have behaved very differently if you had been.” He opened the coach door and took out some napkins and poured water on them. “Marcus, let’s get you cleaned up a bit. You go back looking like that and your mother will have apoplexy. By the way, that’s the last time I give you a good bottle of port.”

Phoebe took the cloths and cleaned the side of his head. He flinched at her touch, and tried to keep his thoughts on something else until she was done. “We’ll need to move the cow.”

Hermione frowned. “Cow? Is that what’s in the road?”

Phoebe sighed. “Lord Travenor killed the poor thing and left it to block the path.” She glanced at her sister. “How did you know to come?”

Hester laughed and handed a heavy gold ring to Marcus. “Lady Dunwood remembered that Lord Dunwood had forgotten to give Marcus the signet ring. We were trying to catch up to you when the outrider found us. Just in time, I’d say.”

“I’ll agree,” Marcus said. “Thank you. We need to get the dead and wounded back to Charteries.”

“One of the outriders went back. He’ll bring a cart,” Hester said.

It didn’t seem like they’d been waiting long at all before two wagons arrived. The dead were loaded in one and the wounded in the other. Phoebe grabbed onto Marcus as he stumbled when he tried to rise.

“I’ve got him,” Edwin said.

She glanced inside her coach. What a mess. “We’ll take the baggage coach back to Charteries.”

Lady Dunwood rushed forward as Phoebe descended from the carriage. Isabel’s eyes widened. “Marcus. Get in the house right away.”

A footman rushed over to help.

She linked her arm with Phoebe’s. “Oh, my dear, what a dreadful thing to have happen.”

Phoebe summoned a smile. “Yes, I feel most sad for the man who died, and those wounded. We must do something for their families.”

“Of course, we will. How brave of you.”

“I? No. I did what I had to. It was the others who sacrificed. I think Marcus will agree with me.”

“Phoebe is right. Our first concern is to take care of the family of the man who died.”

A few days later, all of Charteries attended the burial of the one outrider they’d lost. Lord Dunwood agreed that the family should be allowed to remain in their cottage and given an annuity. The villains were buried in the paupers’ field.

One of the men who had been wounded became feverish, and for a few days, they thought they’d lose him too, but he finally pulled through.

The night before the inquest, Phoebe was at a long table in the library searching through Debrett’s Peerage and a book on the families of England, when Marcus entered.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking to see who Travenor’s heir is.” She put the book down and drew her brows together. “I found him. He’s a vicar.”

Marcus sat on the chair next to her. “If Travenor’s misdoings are exposed, it will make it difficult for the new Lord Travenor and his family, if he has one.”

Phoebe rubbed her forehead. “He’ll never survive it. The scandal will be too much.”

Marcus nodded slowly. “I’ll tell my father. No one wants to harm innocents. He’ll just have to find that the attack was by persons unknown and Travenor died as a result.”

Phoebe put the tome down and kissed her husband. “It’s a good thing your father is the magistrate.”

A few days later, Marcus found her in the solar. “I’ve had your coach repaired.”

That was good news. She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck. “When do you want to leave?”

“To-morrow, if it’s all right with you.”

“To-morrow is wonderful.”

Phoebe and Marcus arrived in Newhaven in mid-afternoon. Marcus greeted the inn’s landlord as an old friend and introduced Phoebe. After conferring with her, Marcus ordered their dinner for an hour hence, and they set off to see the village and the port.

Phoebe gave a small skip. “I’ve never visited a port or seen ships.”

He pointed out the different types of vessels to her. Leading her to the end of the pier, he pointed. “Look straight across from the lighthouse. Do you see the yacht at anchor?”

After a moment she nodded. “Yes.”

She was tight against his side, and he rubbed her arm. “That is the
Lady Phoebe.
”

Phoebe turned into his arms. “
Lady Phoebe?
How long have you had her?”

A flush rose in his neck. “About five years now.”

She gasped, gazed up at him. “Five years? You were still in the West Indies then. What would have happened if we hadn’t married?”

Marcus didn’t care who was watching, he crushed her to him. “I love you. I never allowed myself to even consider the possibility that you wouldn’t be my wife
.
”

Marcus glanced around. This area was far too public for his needs. “Let’s go back to the inn.”

“Let’s.” She started to walk. “It must be quite an honor to have a ship named after one.”

If only she knew how much of an honor. A small grin played around his mouth. “You could say that.”

Phoebe turned the new information over in her mind, until her musings were interrupted by a ribald shout.

“Ahoy there, me lord,” an old sailor shouted. “Are ye goin’ to be having a name changin’? Bad luck if ye don’t do it proper, and with plenty of rum.”

A name changing? What was that?

Marcus’s grin widened into a smile. “You’ll have to find your rum elsewhere. I married my Lady Phoebe.”

They’d come abreast of the old man who’d yelled.

“My love,” Marcus said. “Allow me to introduce Mr. Hawkins.”

His face broke into an almost toothless smile. “Well it took ye long enough.” He bowed to Phoebe. “Milady, ye’ve got a right one there. Loyal as the day is long.”

“Yes, I am very fortunate. Tell me. What is so bad about changing a ship’s name?”