JORDAN Nicole (11 page)

The highwayman’s voice was surprisingly unsteady but determined enough to suggest he would carry out his threat if thwarted.

“We should do as he says, Winifred,” Roslyn said, not wanting to risk the servant’s life.

Gathering her courage, she stepped down first, then assisted Winifred. As she turned to face the highwayman, Roslyn drew her cloak a bit tighter around her silk-clad shoulders. The June night was warm enough, yet she couldn’t help shivering at the danger they faced.

“What do you want, sir?” she asked, trying to keep her own voice calm.

“What do you think I want? Your money and your jewels.”

Her reticule was looped around her wrist, but it was empty except for a bit of pin money. And she had no jewels other than a lovely pearl necklace and earrings given to her by Marcus. Winifred, however, was practically dripping in diamonds.

The highwayman seemed to know it, for he only had eyes for Winifred.

“Hand over your jewels, Lady Freemantle,” he demanded, brandishing his pistol.

He sounded rather nervous, or at least he didn’t seem to be enjoying his villain’s role. Roslyn wondered vaguely if this was his first foray into crime. Regardless, she thought it wiser not to argue.

When she reached up to remove her pearl necklace, though, the thief shook his head. “Not you, Miss. Her ladyship’s is all I want.”

Scowling, Winifred fumbled with the clasp of her diamond necklace, but the fellow again shook his head. “Give me the brooch first.”

“What brooch?”

“The one pinned to your bodice under your shawl.”

Roslyn wondered how the thief knew what Winifred was wearing under her satin shawl and decided he must have seen her earlier this evening. Winifred, however, was evidently unwilling to hand over her prize possession, for her spine went rigid. “I won’t give it to you!”

“Damn and blast it, do as I say!” he demanded.

“You needn’t curse at me, you devil.”

When he aimed his pistol at Winifred’s ample chest, his hand shook, as did his voice, yet the dame seemed finally to realize the danger. “No, please, take all my other jewels. Just leave me this piece.”

Hearing the tremor in her friend’s plea, Roslyn understood. Winifred would dislike surrendering her expensive baubles, but she positively couldn’t bear to part with her brooch, since it held a miniature of her late husband.

Seeing Winifred’s distress, Roslyn stepped forward protectively, hoping to reason with the highwayman to leave the brooch. “Surely you could be content with her diamonds. They are far more costly. The brooch is not particularly valuable. In fact its value is mostly sentimental.”

“No matter, it’s the brooch I want. Now give it to me!” he insisted, just as they heard the rattle and accompanying thud of hooves of an oncoming carriage and team behind them.

The highwayman froze. Another vehicle was bowling down the dark country road, Roslyn realized. When it rumbled to a halt behind the barouche, she recognized Arden’s coach from the ducal crest emblazoned on the door panel.

Cursing, the highwayman clenched his horse’s reins, sending the animal prancing as he debated what to do.

While his attention was thus distracted, Roslyn acted on sheer instinct: She slipped her reticule off her wrist and threw it with all her might at the footpad’s face.

At the same time she lunged toward his horse, hoping to seize his weapon and possibly disarm him.

The unexpected blow made the highwayman flinch violently and jerk his pistol upward, causing it to discharge harmlessly over Roslyn’s head, yet with a report loud enough to frighten not only his mount but the Freemantle team as well.

To her horror then, the highwayman abruptly fumbled in his coat pocket and pulled out another pistol, which he started to point at her.

Roslyn halted in her tracks, just as his attention was captured again by the shout Arden gave behind her. The duke had leapt from his coach and was sprinting toward them, his own pistol drawn.

When the brigand swung his weapon toward the new threat, the duke took aim and got off a deterring shot first.

The thief cried out in pain and slumped forward, clutching his right arm. Awkwardly then, he whirled his horse and galloped away, apparently having lost his combative appetite.

Watching the fleeing bandit disappear into the darkness, Roslyn felt weak with relief—and so apparently did Winifred, for the older lady sagged against the barouche.

Concerned, Roslyn went to her side and took her arm to support her heavy weight. “You weren’t hurt, were you?”

Winifred shook her head while clutching her brooch possessively. When the duke reached her side, she said in a trembling voice, “Thank you, your grace. You saved us. I thought that cutthroat might murder us.”

“He didn’t seem intent on murder,” Roslyn said, trying to calm her friend.

“No?” Arden’s tone held a hard note of skepticism. “Then why did he shoot?”

“Because I threw my reticule at him.”

“Indeed.”

He was eyeing her narrowly, Roslyn saw. “I hoped to wrestle his pistol away from him,” she explained.

“That was foolhardy of you. You could have been killed.”

“I decided it worth the risk. He was so agitated, I didn’t think his aim would be very accurate.”

“Which made him all the more dangerous.”

Roslyn grimaced impatiently. “We shouldn’t be standing here debating, your grace. We should ride after him.”

The duke’s mouth curled sardonically. “And what do you expect to accomplish in the dark?”

“We could at least attempt to find him.”

“Her ladyship’s servants could search the countryside tonight, but it would be pointless. He’ll be long gone by now.”

“So we should simply do nothing?” Roslyn asked in frustration.

The duke’s eyes, cool and green, met hers. “A thorough search can be conducted in the morning. I wounded him, so there may be a blood trail to follow. But for now there is nothing to be gained by trying to chase after him.”

The duke directed his gaze toward Winifred’s coachman, who was still attempting to calm his jittery team. “You will take her ladyship home and see to her safety.”

“Aye, yer grace.”

Roslyn wanted to argue, yet she knew Arden was right. It was pointless to search for the wounded highwayman until morning.

“Iwould like to go home,” Winifred murmured in a weak voice.

She looked about to swoon, which alarmed Roslyn even more than the holdup had done. Her friend was one of the strongest women she knew and never succumbed to the vapors.

“You need to sit down, Winifred,” Roslyn urged, guiding her to the door of the barouche.

Arden helped her inside, then handed Roslyn up beside her.

He was about to step back to allow the footman to close the door when Winifred leaned forward to address him. “Please, will you accompany us, your grace?” she implored. “I would feel ever so much safer with your presence.” When he hesitated, Winifred patted her bosom with a fluttery motion. “Please…my heart is beating so hard, I think I might faint.”

Roslyn shot her friend a highly suspicious glance. Winifred had never before suffered heart palpitations either, and the possibility that she was feigning weakness in order to secure the duke’s time and attention was too strong to dismiss.

Arden, however, nodded in polite agreement, perhaps because he was too much of a gentleman to question her motives. “Let me direct my coachman to follow us.”

Roslyn was not overjoyed that the duke would be riding with them, for she’d expected to be rid of him by now. Yet she could hardly object when Winifred claimed to need his comforting presence to soothe her frayed nerves.

When he turned away, Winifred sagged back against the seat, fanning herself weakly. In the glow from the interior lamp, her complexion was as ruddy as ever. Her voice, too, was steadier when she said, “You were very brave, my dear. I am grateful that you tried to save my brooch, but it wasn’t worth your life. I am so thankful you weren’t shot—and that Arden was there to rescue us.”

“I am as well,” Roslyn murmured.

The duke returned just then and climbed in to sit opposite them. He was still armed, she saw as the barouche began moving.

“I always carry a brace of pistols when I travel,” he said, seeing the focus of her gaze.

“Thank heavens you did,” Winifred said. “You are a capital shot, your grace, and quite heroic. Was he not, Roslyn?”

“Yes, indeed,” she admitted reluctantly.

His mouth curved. “You managed to stay calm, I noticed, Miss Loring. Some young ladies would have given way to hysterics.”

“I am not the hysterical sort.”

And yet she was more unnerved by the holdup than she’d realized. They all could have been injured or worse. Roslyn felt herself shudder, remembering how the bandit had threatened to kill Winifred’s footman. No doubt she was suffering from a delayed reaction, but she was indeed grateful for the duke’s presence.

“Bloody coward,” Winifred muttered, “accosting two unarmed ladies.” She glanced at Arden. “I hope you will stay the night at Freemantle Park, your grace. We need you to protect us.”

“I had already decided as much.”

Roslyn shifted uneasily in her seat. “Surely it isn’t necessary to impose on his grace.”

His eyes held a gleam of amusement. “Are you so eager to be rid of me?”

She felt herself blush at his perceptiveness.

“Someone,” Arden continued, “must organize a search and speak to the local authorities tomorrow. Perhaps set up a watch to try and prevent future robberies. You have a bailiff or a steward, my lady?”

“A bailiff.”

“Then I will meet with him in the morning and make arrangements.”

Roslyn still was reluctant to involve the duke in their affairs. “You needn’t put yourself to such trouble.”

“I have no wish to tell Marcus about the attempted robbery, do you? If I handle the matter, he won’t need to know.”

She hesitated, acknowledging his point. If Marcus thought there was a highwayman at large threatening the district, he would likely postpone his wedding trip, and Arabella deserved to enjoy her newfound happiness uninterrupted.

“I suppose not,” Roslyn finally said. “But still—”

“I will deal with it,” Arden stated, cutting off any further protest. There was an implacable note of finality in his tone, as if he was unaccustomed to having his decisions questioned. But hewas a duke, after all.

“Now tell me what happened tonight,” he suggested. “What exactly did our highwayman say and do?”

Roslyn gave a brief account of the attempted robbery, and Winifred chimed in with a detail or two.

“I could scarcely believe it was happening,” the elder lady added at the last. “Ours is a very quiet neighborhood. And this is not the main road to London.”

“I think,” Roslyn said slowly, “that he waited for us to leave Danvers Hall and then followed us.”

Arden’s interest sharpened. “Why do you say so?”

“Because he knew precisely what jewels Lady Freemantle was wearing. He must have seen her earlier today.”

“Or perhaps he was informed by someone who did see her,” Arden observed.

“But itis curious that he only wanted her brooch.”

“Brooch?”

Winifred drew aside her shawl to display the piece. “This was the only item that devil demanded. I can’t imagine why he would want my brooch.”

“Did either of you recognize him?” the duke asked. “Anything familiar about him? Any identifying characteristics?”

“Not that I noticed,” Roslyn said thoughtfully. “Although I realize now that he was surprisingly wellspoken.”

His speech was not of the lower classes, Roslyn was certain. In fact, Winifred’s accent was much rougher than the brigand’s.

“Well,” the duke said, “we can do our best to find him, but I doubt we will have much luck.”

Roslyn had to agree. Finding a small, red-haired, well-spoken footpad who had tried to rob Winifred would likely be impossible. The only detail that might lead to his identification was that he was likely wounded, perhaps in the arm, but they couldn’t even be sure of that.

Falling silent, she settled back against the squabs, wondering how the special evening had suddenly turned so grim.

Drew was regretting the turn of events almost as much as she. This was precisely what he had hoped to avoid—becoming further entangled with Roslyn Loring. He would rather be halfway to London by now. Yet he couldn’t leave the ladies without protection. And he owed it to Marcus to stay and see to matters.

Barely an hour before, he’d promised his friend to keep an eye on the two younger Loring sisters. He and Heath had remained late at the ball in order to say farewell to Marcus and share a brandy to mourn the demise of his bachelorhood, even though Marcus had soundly rejected their condolences and claimed to be wildly content with his love match to Arabella.

Drew found himself swearing at the wretched timing. It was the devil’s own luck that the highwayman had struck so soon after his making that promise.

He had to admit, however, that Roslyn had borne the danger with aplomb. He’d been impressed by her courage and resourcefulness, even if ithad sent his heart to his throat to see her in danger of getting shot. Most females of his acquaintance would have fainted dead at the threat.

Simply because he could admire her mettle, however, did not mean he wished to spend the night with her under the same roof. He didn’t want to be tempted by her, or to be subjected to Lady Freemantle’s annoying attempts at matchmaking. But it looked as if he would have no choice.

When the coach drew up before the Freemantle mansion, her ladyship wouldn’t hear of Roslyn going on to stay with her friend, Miss Blanchard, and insisted she remain at the Park to provide solace and company.

Roslyn’s cheeks colored with chagrin, Drew noted, and she sent him an embarrassed glance, yet she didn’t argue with her friend, merely nodded with a wry sigh of resignation.

Lady Freemantle seemed to have recovered from her weakness as she swept into her entrance hall, where she was greeted by her butler. The elderly servant looked distressed when she quickly explained about their frightening experience, but she assured him that the Duke of Arden would handle matters.