Julie Garwood (2 page)

“Caroline, whatever are you doing?” The muffled demand came from the floor.

“Gunshots,” Caroline answered.

Benjamin, seated across from his mistress, readied his own weapon and cautiously peered out his open window.

“Foul play ahead!” yelled the coachman with a thick Irish brogue. “Best wait it out here,” he advised as he hastily climbed down from his perch and raced past Ben’s view.

“Do you see anything?” Caroline asked.

“Only the groom hiding in the bushes,” the black man replied with obvious disgust in his voice.

“I can’t see anything,” Charity remarked in a disgruntled voice. “Caroline, please remove your feet. I’m going to have shoe prints all over the back of my dress.” She struggled to sit up and finally made it to her knees. Her bonnet was around her neck, tangled in an abundance of blonde curls and pink and yellow ribbons. Wire-rim spectacles were perched at an odd angle on her petite nose, and she squinted with concentration while she tried to right her appearance.

“Honestly, Caroline, I do wish you wouldn’t be so vigorous in your need to protect me,” she stated in a rush. “Oh, Lord, I’ve lost one of my glasses,” she added with a moan. “It’s probably down my gown somewhere. Do you think they’re robbers, waylaying some poor traveler?”

Caroline concentrated on the last of Charity’s remarks. “From the number of shots and our coachman’s reaction, I would assume so,” she replied. Her voice was soft and calm, an instinctive reaction to Charity’s nervous prattle. “Benjamin? Please see to the horses. If they’re calm enough, then we’ll ride ahead and offer assistance.”

Benjamin nodded his agreement and opened the door. His imposing bulk rocked the vehicle as soon as he moved, and he had to angle his broad shoulders to clear the wooden doorway. Instead of hurrying to the front of the carriage where the stable horses were harnessed, he turned to the back, where Caroline’s two Arabians were tethered. The animals had come all the way from Boston with the threesome and were presents for Caroline’s father, the Earl of Braxton.

The stallion was fretful and the mare no less so, but Benjamin, crooning to both in the musical African dialect only Caroline fully understood, quickly settled the animals. He then untied them and led them to the side of the carriage.

“Wait here, Charity,” Caroline commanded. “And keep your head down.”

“Do be careful,” Charity replied as she climbed back up onto the seat. She immediately poked her head out the window, completely ignoring Caroline’s order of caution, and watched as Benjamin lifted Caroline onto the back of the stallion. “Benjamin, take care too,” Charity called as the huge man settled himself on the nervous mare’s back.

Caroline led the way through the trees, her intent to come upon the robbers from behind, with the element of surprise on her side. The number of shots indicated four, possibly five attackers, and she had no wish to ride into the middle of a band of cutthroats with such uneven odds.

Branches tore at her blue bonnet and she quickly removed it and threw it to the ground. Thick black hair, the color of midnight, pulled away from the inefficient pins and settled in curly disarray around her slender shoulders.

Angry voices halted them, and Caroline and Benjamin, well hidden behind the thickness of the dense forest, had a somewhat unobstructed view. The sight on the roadway sent a chill of apprehension down Caroline’s spine.

Four burly men, all on horseback, surrounded one side of a beautiful black carriage. All but one wore masks. They faced a gentleman of obvious wealth who was slowly dismounting from the carriage. Caroline saw bright red blood flowing unchecked from between the man’s legs and almost gasped aloud with outrage and pity.

The injured gentleman had blond hair and a handsome face that was chalk-white now and etched in pain. Caroline watched as he leaned against the carriage and faced his attackers. She noted the arrogance and disdain in his gaze as he studied his captors, and then saw his eyes suddenly widen. Arrogance vanished, replaced by stark terror. Caroline was quick to see the reason for the swift change in the man’s attitude. The attacker
without the mask, obviously the leader of the group from the way the others were looking at him, was slowly lifting his pistol. The bandit, no doubt, was about to commit cold-blooded murder.

“He’s seen me face,” the man said to his cohorts. “There’s no help for it. He has to die.”

Two of the robbers immediately nodded their approval, but the third hesitated. Caroline didn’t waste time to see his decision. She carefully took aim and pulled the trigger. Her shot was true and accurate, a reflection of the years of living with four older male cousins who insisted on teaching her self-defense. The leader’s hand received her shot, his howl of pain her reward.

Benjamin grunted his approval as he handed her his weapon and accepted her empty one. Caroline fired again, injuring the man to the left of the leader.

And then it was over. The bandits, yelling obscenities and warnings, took off at a thunderous pace down the road.

Caroline waited until the sounds of horses faded and then nudged her mount forward. When she reached the gentleman, she quickly slid to the ground. “I don’t think they’ll return,” she said in a soft voice. She still held the gun in her hand but quickly lowered the barrel when the gentleman backed up a space.

The man slowly came out of his daze. Incredulous blue eyes, a shade darker than Caroline’s own, stared at her with dawning comprehension. “It was you who shot them? You shot …”

The poor man couldn’t seem to finish his thought. The event had obviously been too much for him.

“Yes, I shot them. Benjamin,” she added, motioning to the giant standing behind her, “helped.”

The gentleman tore his gaze from Caroline and glanced over her head to look at her friend. His reaction to the black man worried Caroline. Why, he looked ready to faint. He appeared befuddled but
Caroline decided that fright and the pain from his injury were the causes for his slow wit. “If I hadn’t used my weapons, you’d now be dead.”

After delivering what she considered a most logical statement of fact, Caroline turned back to Benjamin. She handed him the reins to her stallion. “Return to the carriage and tell Charity what has happened. She’s probably worried herself sick by now.”

Benjamin nodded and started off. “Bring the gunpowder just in case,” Caroline called after him, “and Charity’s medicine satchel.”

She turned back to the stranger then and asked, “Can you make it back inside your carriage? You’ll be more comfortable while I see to your injury.”

The man nodded and slowly made his way up the steps and into the carriage. He almost toppled back out, but Caroline was right behind him and steadied him with her hands.

When he was settled on the plush burgundy-colored seat cushion, Caroline knelt down on the floorboards between his outstretched legs. She found herself suddenly embarrassed, as the injury was in such an awkward place, and felt her cheeks warm in reaction to the intimate position she was in. She hesitated over exactly how to proceed, until a fresh spurt of blood oozed down the fawn-colored buckskin breeches.

“It is most awkward, this,” the man whispered. There was more pain than embarrassment in his voice and Caroline reacted with pure sympathy.

The wound was right at the junction of his legs, on the left inner thigh. “You’re very fortunate,” Caroline whispered. “The shot has gone straight through. If I can just tear the material a little, perhaps—”

“You’ll ruin them!” The man seemed outraged over Caroline’s suggestion and she leaned back to look up at him.

“My boots! Will you look at my boots!”

He appeared, in Caroline’s estimation, to be bordering
on hysteria. “It will be all right,” she insisted in a quiet voice. “May I please tear your breeches just a bit?”

The gentleman took a deep breath, rolled his eyes heavenward, and gave a curt nod. “If you must,” he stated with resignation.

Caroline nodded and quickly pulled a small dagger from its hiding place above her ankle.

The gentleman watched her and found his first smile. “Do you always travel so well prepared, madam?”

“Where we have just traveled from, it’s a fact that one must take every precaution,” Caroline explained.

It was extremely difficult to edge the tip of her blade beneath the tight breeches. The material seemed to be truly molded to the man’s skin, and Caroline had the vague thought that it must be terribly uncomfortable for the man to sit at all. She worked diligently until she was finally able to tear the material at the junction of the man’s legs and then split the fabric wide, until all of the pink flesh was exposed.

The gentleman, catching the unusual accent of the beautiful woman kneeling before him, recognized the colonial pitch in her husky voice. “Ah, you’re from the Colonies! A barbaric place I’m told.” He gasped when Caroline began to probe around the edges of the injury and then continued, “No wonder you carry an arsenal with you.”

Caroline looked up at the stranger, surprise registering in her voice when she replied, “It
is
true, I am from the Colonies, but that isn’t why I carry weapons, sir. No, no,” she added with a vigorous shake of her head. “I’ve just come from London.”

“London?” The stranger assumed his confused look once again.

“Indeed. We’ve heard stories of the mischief that takes place there. Why, the tales of countless murders and robberies have reached even Boston. It’s a den of decadence and corruption, is it not? My cousin and I
promised that we would take every care. A good thing, too, considering this treachery on the very day of our arrival.”

“Ha! I’ve heard the same stories about the Colonies,” the gentleman responded with a snort. “London is far more civilized, my dear misguided woman!” The gentleman’s tone sounded very condescending in Caroline’s opinion. Oddly enough, she wasn’t put off by it.

“You defend your home, and I suppose that is honorable of you,” Caroline replied with a sigh. She returned her attention to his leg before he could think of a suitable reply and added, “Would you please remove your neckcloth?”

“I beg your pardon?” the stranger replied. He was biting on his lower lip between each carefully enunciated word, and Caroline assumed that the pain had intensified.

“I need something to stop the flow of blood,” Caroline explained.

“If anyone hears of this, I will be humiliated beyond … to be shot in such a delicate place, to have a lady see my condition, and then, to use
my
cravat … My God, it is all too much, too much!”

“Don’t concern yourself over your cravat,” Caroline soothed in a voice she used when comforting small children. “I’ll use a portion of my petticoat.”

The gentleman still held a rather crazed look in his eyes and continued to protect his precious neckcloth from her grasp. Caroline forced herself to maintain a sympathetic expression. “And I promise that I’ll not tell anyone about this most unfortunate incident. Why, I don’t even know your name! There, see how simple it all is? For now I shall call you … Mr. George, after your king. Is that acceptable?”

The wild look in the man’s eyes intensified and Caroline gathered that it wasn’t acceptable at all. She puzzled over it a moment and then decided that she
understood this new irritation. “Of course, since your king is indisposed, perhaps another name will better suit. Is Smith all right? How about Harold Smith?”

The man nodded and let out a long sigh.

“Good,” Caroline stated. She patted his kneecap and quickly climbed out of the carriage, then bent and began to tear a strip from the bottom of her petticoat.

The sound of horse and rider making a fast approach startled Caroline. She froze, realizing that the pounding noise was coming from the north, the opposite direction from Benjamin and their hired carriage. Was one of the bandits returning? “Hand me my pistol, Mr. Smith,” she demanded as she quickly replaced the dagger in its hiding place and threw the strip of petticoat through the open window.

“But it’s empty,” the man protested in a loud voice filled with panic.

Caroline felt the same panic try to grab hold of her. She fought the urge to pick up her skirts and run for help. She couldn’t give in to such a cowardly thought, however, for it would mean leaving the injured gentleman alone, without protection. “The pistol may be empty, but only you and I need know that,” Caroline insisted with false bravery. She accepted the weapon through the window, took a deep, calming breath, and said a silent prayer that Benjamin had also heard the approach of this new threat. Lord, but she wished her hands would quit shaking!

From around the curve, horse and rider finally came into view. Caroline focused on the animal, a gigantic black beast at least three hands taller than her own Arabians. She had the wild thought that she was about to be trampled to death and felt the earth tremble beneath her. She held her pistol steady, though she did back up a space, and dangerous though it was, she had to close her eyes against the dirt flying up into her face when the rider forced his mount to stop.

Caroline brushed one hand against her eyes and then
opened them. She looked past the magnificent beast and saw a gleaming pistol pointed directly at her. Both the snorting animal and the pistol proved too intimidating and Caroline quickly turned her attention to the rider.

That was a mistake. The huge man staring down at her was far more intimidating looking than either the horse or the weapon. The tawny brown hair falling against his forehead didn’t soften the man’s hard, chiseled features. His jaw was rigid and clearly defined, as was his nose, and his eyes, a golden brown that didn’t give the least hint of gentleness or understanding, now tried to pierce through her, undermine her good intentions. His scowl was hot enough to burn.

She wouldn’t allow it, she told herself. She stared back at the arrogant man, trying not to blink as she held his gaze.

Jered Marcus Benton, the fourth Duke of Bradford, couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He calmed his stallion while he stared at the lovely vision before him, the blue-eyed beauty who held a pistol aimed right at his heart. The entire situation was difficult to take in.