How I Married a Marquess (33 page)

She was already paying for his mistakes, Thomas thought grimly, glancing out the window just long enough
to notice that they'd crossed into the cover of the woods.

“She's a pretty little thing, and so spirited.” Royston tugged at his gloves. “But I don't suppose it would take much to break her.”

So much more than you realize
.
Josephine Carlisle was the toughest woman Thomas had ever met.

“Your silence, Chesney,” the earl pressed, “in return for the girl's safety.”

His eyes remained intently focused on Royston now, but he was alert and aware of every movement and sound around them, from the creak of the carriage as it bounced over a rut in the road to the distant howl of a dog. The night was alive, humming with electricity, but Royston was oblivious to the tension rising around them. And that lack of attention to the details would be his downfall.

“I would do anything to protect her,” Thomas assured Royston quietly, and meant every word. He would lay down his life for hers.

Royston smiled, a slow and wicked grin full of arrogance. “I'm glad you're being so reas—”

Gunshots and shouts split the quiet night. The carriage lurched to the side, swaying dangerously onto two wheels and forcing both men to grab for the handholds to keep from being tossed to the floor.

“What's happening?” Royston demanded angrily, pounding his fist against the roof to get the coachman's attention.

“We're being robbed, of course,” Thomas answered calmly.

Royston's eyes widened in the darkness. “Impossible! Cooper's locked away in a cell, his horse is being held in the constable's barn.”

Thomas said nothing and watched the earl through the shadows, letting the night's events unfold exactly as he'd planned.

The sound of pounding hoofbeats swarmed around them, more gunshots and shouts. With a yell from the driver, the team pulled to a skidding stop. The carriage creaked and cracked, halting so suddenly it rocked dangerously back and forth on its springs.

Shouted orders for the driver and tiger to move away from the carriage, horses snorting, the sounds of scuffling—through all the noise and confusion, Thomas stared straight at Royston, never taking his eyes off him.

The door opened with a crash as it smacked against the side of the coach. The highwayman leaned down from his horse to point a pistol inside at Royston's chest. “Put up your hands!”

“What is this?” Royston exploded with surprised fury.

“You're being robbed, you nodcock.” The highwayman's deep voice rang with annoyance. “So put up your blasted hands!”

Thomas's lips twitched. From the irritated scowl behind the black mask, Edward Westover was clearly not enjoying his part in tonight's events. But as the former colonel of the Scarlet Scoundrels and a well-seasoned veteran of the Peninsular War, he possessed the skilled horsemanship to be a successful highwayman, able to hold up the carriage and lead the constable's men on a chase across the countryside without being caught or shot—

“Hand over your money, goddamn you.”

—if not the dashing temperament.

Thomas rolled his eyes. Edward hadn't even bothered to dismount, instead staying straight in the saddle as he tossed the burlap bag at Royston. The earl searched his pockets and withdrew what few valuables he had, dropping into the sack a handful of money, his gold pocket watch, and his signet ring.

The pistol swung toward Thomas. “And now you,” Edward demanded gruffly.

“Not me,” Thomas muttered quietly, no longer amused by his friend's antics.

“
Especially
you.”

With a murderous glare, Thomas reached into his inside jacket pocket and withdrew his money, taking advantage of the distraction to expertly palm a tiny pistol against his large hand. He dropped the money into the sack and casually settled his hand over his thigh, the gun hidden from sight.

Edward shoved the sack into his saddlebag and fastened it securely, then signaled for the three men with him to leave. They spun their horses and dashed off into the woods, vanishing from sight in mere seconds in three different directions. He leaned back in the saddle and holstered his pistol as he glanced around the stretch of dark road, which remained quiet and still. Drumming his fingers on the saddle pommel, he waited impatiently as the seconds ticked by.

“Christ,” he muttered, losing all patience. He swung his horse in a tight circle and pointed down the road. “When the constable
finally
arrives, tell him I went that way!”

Then he dug his heels into his horse's side, and the large chestnut gelding leapt into a gallop. The horse's hoofbeats faded into the distance, leaving the stopped carriage in darkness and silence with the bound driver and tiger the only evidence that a robbery had occurred.

As the sound of Edward's horse faded, three riders clamored down the road toward the carriage and pulled up sharply. The constable nearly fell out of his saddle from surprise.

“That way!” Thomas pointed urgently down the road after Edward. “After him!”

“Yes, sir!” The constable spurred his horse and galloped off after his men and straight into the wild goose chase Edward had planned for them, one that would lead them across the countryside and far away from the carriage.

Then Thomas slowly raised his pistol at Royston. “Make any sudden moves, and I'll kill you,” he said calmly, noting the flare of surprised fury in the earl's eyes. “We're getting out of this carriage, and you'll send the driver and tiger on into the village while we wait here for the constable to return.”

“You'll swing for this, Chesney,” he threatened.

His lips curled into a grim smile. “I'll take my chances. Step out of the carriage—and slowly, keeping your hand away from that knife you've got tucked up your sleeve.”

With a furious glare, Royston did as ordered and stiffly descended to the ground.

“Untie the driver,” Thomas commanded beneath his breath and followed along less than ten feet behind the earl, far enough away that Royston couldn't surprise him with any sudden punches or kicks yet close enough to fire off a kill
shot if necessary. There was no way in hell he was letting this traitor escape, certainly not after the way he'd threatened Josie.

Royston freed the driver, then set loose the liveried groom beside him.

“Are you all right, sir?” The tiger's voice shook from the surprise of the robbery, while the driver quickly checked the team and carriage.

“Fine,” Royston bit out. His eyes darted murderously toward Thomas, who stood with his hand tucked conspicuously beneath his jacket. “You two drive on into the village.”

The two men exchanged puzzled glances at the strange order.

Royston's eyes narrowed on Thomas. “The carriage might be damaged,” he lied quickly, and rather expertly, Thomas noticed. “You two ride into the village and have the blacksmith check it over. Chesney and I will wait here for the constable to return.”

“Sir, beggin' yer pardon, I don't think it's safe—”

“Go on!” Royston bellowed.

“Aye, sir.” The driver tugged at the brim of his hat, then gestured hurriedly for the tiger to take his position at the rear of the coach. Without questioning his employer further, the man swung up into his seat and set the team forward. They rattled off down the road toward the village, the lamps dimly lighting their way.

“What the hell is going on here?” Royston demanded furiously, wheeling on Thomas. “What are you up to?”

“I'm putting everything to rights tonight.” Thomas withdrew the pistol from his jacket and pointed it directly at the earl's chest. “Starting with arresting you for treason.”

Royston snorted derisively. “With what proof?”

“The ledger you hid in your study, the one containing the names of British agents you've been selling to the enemy and the recorded amounts of bounty you received for each one you delivered.”

As Royston paled at the accusation, a bitter taste rose in Thomas's mouth, and he knew without a doubt the full damage the earl had done to the men listed in that book, to the War Office, and to England. What damage he could have done to him and his family.

“You bastard,” Thomas bit out, white-hot fury seething through him. “You listed the price next to each one! Good men died because of your greed.”

“Spies,” Royston returned. “Not good men.”

“My name was on your list. Good God—” The thought sickened him as he forced out, “Our families have been friends for years. Is that why you didn't hand me over?”

Royston stared at him coldly. “I would have, eventually. But you became worthless. A bullet saved you.”

With a slight shake of his head, Thomas muttered, “You have no idea.” Then he raised two fingers to his lips and gave a shrill whistle.

At his signal four men on horseback, led by Grey on his imposing black horse, surged out of the woods and surrounded them with drawn pistols pointed at Royston. The earl slowly raised his hands.

“You were right, Royston, when you said I didn't come back the same man after the shooting.” Thomas leveled his gaze down the barrel of the pistol pointed straight at the man's cold heart. “I came back better.”

He cocked back the hammer, the soft click reverberating through the night like cannon fire. Royston shuddered and closed his eyes.

“Grey!” Thomas yelled over his shoulder. “Get him out of here before I kill him.”

“Yes, sir,” Grey answered firmly, then motioned for his men to come forward and arrest the earl.

Grabbing him roughly by the arms, two of the men pinned Royston against a nearby tree, grinding his face into the rough bark as the third man searched him and pulled the knife from his sleeve. Then they grabbed his wrists and clamped metal shackles around them before tugging him toward the horses and shoving him up onto a saddle. With a pounding of hooves, they were gone, disappearing down the road and into the black night.

Grey tucked his pistol beneath his jacket, retrieving a second pistol and handing it over to Thomas. “That belongs to Miss Carlisle. Give it back to her, will you?”

Thomas grasped it and, with a heaving toss, threw it away toward the black river as hard as he could. It landed out of sight with a dull plop in the cold water, lost forever on the river bottom.

Grey arched a surprised brow.

“I don't like guns,” Thomas explained dryly as he tucked his own pistol into his coat pocket, then took a deep breath and exhaled hard to expel the last of the murderous anger inside him.

“Here, catch.” Grey tossed him a set of keys.

He easily caught them one-handed. “You'll ride straight through to London, then?”

Grey shook his head. “I don't think the earl's fit enough for that, and I want him delivered alive and in one piece.”

Thomas's mouth pressed into a grim line. “So they can torture him and then execute him?”

“Exactly what he deserves. God only knows how many of our men were killed because of him.” Grey sent him a hard look. “And he had your name, too, remember. No one comes after my family and gets away with it.”

He swung easily up into the saddle. His horse pranced in a circle, eager to be off after the others, but Grey checked him expertly with a firm hand on the reins.

“You'll be staying in Lincolnshire a bit longer, I assume.” Grey grinned. “After all, you have that pretty loose end to enjoy tying up.”

Thomas ignored the teasing innuendo. He was too preoccupied with that same little hellcat to join in on the joking
and simply shook his head. “Only until tomorrow morning. Edward and I will take care of everything here tonight and catch up with you by nightfall tomorrow.”

Grey leaned down and extended his hand. “You did well.”

He clasped the outstretched hand of this man who had become a true brother to him and acknowledged quietly, “Couldn't have done it without you.”

“Damn right.” With an arrogant grin and a teasing glint in his eye, Grey drew up straight in the saddle. “Give my best to Miss Carlisle. And tell Westover he makes a damnably poor excuse for a highwayman.”

He pressed his heels into the horse's sides, and it reared up onto its hind legs, then plunged forward down the black road at a gallop and out of sight in a matter of seconds. The sound of fading hoofbeats lingered in the night long after he'd vanished.

For a moment Thomas continued to stare through the darkness, letting the silence and stillness of the woods sink beneath his skin. He held his breath and waited for the attack to come, for that fear of the darkness and silence to set his heart racing and his lungs gasping for breath, for that surge of alarm to course through his muscles and leave his body shaking and his stomach sick. The same fear and anxiety that had paralyzed him nearly every night since that evening last year in Mayfair.

He waited…and nothing happened. His heartbeat remained slow and steady, his muscles loose, and with a heavy sigh, he exhaled deeply and began to breathe.

For the first time in over a year, he welcomed the cool air of the night, the silence that let him hear his own heartbeat, and with every pulse, every chill, he felt alive and strong. There was no fear left in the darkness because now the night reminded him only of a pliant and warm body molding against his, a soft voice whispering his name as if he were the only man in the world, a calming touch…and all of it wrapped up into one challenging, stubborn slip of a woman.

Of all the women in the world, he thought with both aggravation and amusement as he untied his horse, which had been left for him in the woods as planned, the one woman who calmed him was the same one who heated his blood. The one for whom he'd have surrendered his life was the same one he couldn't live without.

The same one, he thought, grimacing as he mounted and set the horse into a canter toward the village, who was currently sitting locked behind bars with nothing to do but think up new ways of tormenting him.