A Marquess for Christmas (2 page)

“Mind
your own bloody business, Frederick.”

“Take
care of yours and I will.”

* * * *

Violet
glanced up at the amber and amethyst sky, knowing that time was not her friend.
Frost covered the nearby trees and the ground was thick with snow. She needed
to get back home before the next storm hit. She’d lingered too long at the
Crofts’ farm.

“Can
you travel more speedily?” she asked the driver.

“My
lady, the ground is slippery. It is not safe to travel any faster.”

She
bit her lip. It was her own fault, not
Hinkley’s
, but
she had no wish to be out in the midst of a storm.

Crossing
her arms, she bundled herself against the cold afternoon air. As she adjusted
her pelisse, the curricle came to a halt and jerked her forward.

When
she looked up, there was a man standing in the road, but his face was shielded
by the shadows of his top hat. His clothes were well-made, but frayed at the
edges, and obviously cut for a different frame.

“My
good lady, if ye wish to pass,
ye’ll
need to pay a
toll.”

This
was no fine highwayman of legend, despite his polite words. She could see now
that a few of his teeth had rotted and his face was scruffy and weathered.

“Let
us pass, sir. You have no cause to accost us and I have no intention of paying
any fee.”

“Not
very smart o’ ye, milady.” He whistled. Another man came out from the trees,
stepped up to the carriage and yanked
Hinkley
by his
greatcoat and tossed him out of the carriage. He held a knife to her driver’s
throat.

Hinkley
was three-and-twenty and pretty strong for his
size. If she could distract the footpads, would he be able to wiggle out of the
man’s grasp?
Hinkley
gave her a hard look and tried
to turn his head as if to say,
no
.
The rusted blade must be dull because she saw no blood when he moved.

She
turned back to the first man, who grinned. “Now, what say ye? We don’t ask for
much. Five guineas should make
yer
passage easy.”

If
Hinkley
wasn’t afraid, then she would not be either.
These were ruffians, not men of honor. Even if she gave them the money, it was
no guarantee that the thieves would let them go. Twenty years ago, her
grandfather had nearly died fending off robbers on a secluded road—and
that was
after
giving them his purse.

She
needed to distract the men, keep them occupied until she could think of
something. “Five guineas! You must be addled in the head if you think I will
part with such a sum.”

It
was ridiculous. That was half a year’s wages for a scullery maid. Who would ask
for that much money? They must be drunk or desperate. If he’d asked her for
five shillings, she might have obliged him. A man merely down on his luck
wouldn’t ask for an exorbitant sum. These men were the worst sort, which only
affirmed her fear that they would not leave at the promise of a few coins.

She
lifted her chin and feigned indifference. “Take two shillings each and be
gone.”

The
brigand pointed a pistol at her. How were they going to get out of this now?
Oh,
dear
. She could take a chance and pay him the five guineas and hope the
promise of the money would be enough to send them off. But what was to stop
these foul men from killing them both and running off with her purse and
carriage?

A
shot rang out and the thief holding the pistol fell over, clutching his chest.
Violet looked up. Down the road, she could see someone on a horse. How he’d
managed the shot, she wasn’t sure for he was several yards away.

The
second footpad leapt onto one of the horses in front, snatching the reins and
driving the carriage forward, but this clumsy maneuver caused him to drop his
knife. Violet was thrown back in her seat or she would have reached for him.
Maybe she could climb forward and hit the thief over the head or shove him from
the horse.
Not bloody likely
.
However, she might be able to distract him long enough to give her rescuer time
to get close.

The
sound of hooves filled her ears as the carriage jostled. They were moving fast.
She glanced down the lane. The gentleman dug into a satchel, presumably looking
for buckshot and gunpowder. Violet needed to keep the assailant occupied until
her rescuer could reload his pistol and come after them.

“You
should stop now and let me go before you are shot just like your friend,” she
said.

“If
he fires that pistol, he’d just as likely shoot ye, milady. So I will keep ye
real close for a while.”

The
thief smelled worse than a wet dog and his long face was covered in blond
stubble. He grabbed her waist with one arm. When he looked down at her chest
and smiled, she shivered. His breath was almost as bad as the stench of his
soiled clothes, and what teeth he had left were brown and yellow. The whiskey
on his breath was not a good sign. “I might be willing to settle for two crowns
and a little sport. If ye behave yourself, neither you nor
yer
man will get hurt.”

She
had no intention of letting that odious piece of filth take advantage of her.
Violet smacked him across the face. What she wouldn’t give for a weapon. She
looked down for something useful. Her reticule did not look promising. There
was nothing in it that could be used as a blunt object. She regretted her
decision not to replace the pistol in the carriage after the hammer had broken.
Highwaymen hadn’t been seen in these parts for the last three years, so she had
not thought it necessary.

But
now she was in danger and all she had to defend herself with was an empty
basket, which she’d brought to the farmer’s cottage to deliver bread and
cheese. Not her weapon of choice, but it
was
handy.

When
he turned and lifted a hand to his face, she clobbered him with the basket. He
still held the reigns with one hand. She didn’t wait for him to recover, but
whacked him again, this time on the side of the face.

He
tore off her bonnet and pulled hard on her chignon.
 
Her arm flailed about, basket in hand, as she tried to get
in another blow. But this time, the handle snapped off and she was left with a
useless piece of twisted wood.

Unless
she could manage to pop him in the eye. Desperate times required unseemly
measures. So she jabbed the handle at his face, but he managed to tilt his head
just in time. The wood grazed his cheek.

He
gave her a hard backhanded slap. Her eyes lost focus.

“What
the devil? How the hell did he get here so fast?”

She
turned briefly and realized the gentleman was now along side of them, his
pistol aimed and ready. But the damned thing was only good for one shot and if
he missed, they were in trouble.

Though
she tried to turn, the thief grabbed hold of the knotted scarf at her throat
and held her in place, keeping her back between him and the other man on the
horse.

She
coughed and flailed her arms, trying to grab hold of anything that would keep
her from falling out of the carriage. Her fingers found the dashboard and she
gripped it as tightly as possible and used her foot to kick at his shin.

“Bitch!”

He
let go of the rains and pulled on her scarf, squeezing her air passage.

“Release
your hold on the lady or I will put a hole in your face.” The velvety voice
spread over her like honey, thick and warm, but with just a touch of a rumble.
It was the kind of voice you wanted to hear whispered low and very close.

She
wondered about the face that went with that voice. Would she live to see it? Or
would these be her last moments?

“This
lady be me insurance.”

“That
is a fancy word for a mutton-headed buffoon. Let us see if it does you any good
when all is said and done.”

Violet
would have laughed if she could have. The sound she made came out as the
mangled chirp of a bird.

The
ruffian quickly turned her about-face, his hand under her throat, and she could
now see her knight close up. Ebony hair fell almost to his shoulders and his
eyes were the color of dried cloves, dark and fierce. She noted the elegant cut
of his jacket and his muscular thighs, which were visible under his open
greatcoat. Definitely a wealthy gentleman from the looks of him.

Her
gaze went from her savior to his gun. It was far too close for her taste, given
the two feet that separated them. Violet did not know much about pistols, but
the shiny silver barrel glistened, even in the dimming light of dusk.

“Shoot
me and the lady will surely die.”

When
she heard the click of the hammer on the pistol, Violet’s heart skipped.
Good God, please let him be a crack shot.

“I
have always been a gambling man. I shall take my chances.”

He
was not serious. Would he shoot the other man and risk killing her? Violet
looked into his eyes. No. If he were going to shoot the thief, he would have
done so. The gentleman bluffed.

Violet
decided to use the standoff to her advantage. She elbowed the assailant and
kicked hard behind her. The man groaned, but before she could push past him,
he’d grabbed a fist full of her hair.
Ouch!

The
carriage had slowed with no one at the reins, so Violet took this opportunity
to get the ruffian on the ground where the gentleman would have better
advantage.

She
gripped his shoulders and thrust her whole body weight on the other side of the
carriage. They flew into the hair then landed with a hard thud. Her ribs hurt
from the impact and her hands and knees stung. Luckily, the thief had cushioned
her fall.

He
lay still for a moment, groaning, and she scrambled out from his grip, nearly
tripping over his leg. He grabbed the corner of her pelisse before she could
get away.

Struggling
to free herself from his grasp, she pulled and pulled, but he managed to yank
hard enough to pull her back down. It knocked the air out of her and before she
could catch her breath, the thief was on top of her.

She
tried to push him off, but he was heavier than she realized. His hands were on
her, fumbling as he groped her, whether to search for coins or for a more
nefarious purpose, she was not sure and did not want to find out.

“Get
off of the lady!”

Violet
managed to slap the footpad as the rider came up to them, his pistol at the
ready. But before he could fire, the thief scrambled and picked up a fallen
branch on the ground and threw it at the horse. The impact landed on its shin,
causing the chestnut stallion to rear up.

When
she heard the hard thump of the rider falling to the ground, Violet screamed.
Her nails dug into her palms and her heart pounded. What if he’d broken his
neck? She rushed to help him, but the thief was fast. He kicked the gentleman
and reached for the pistol. Luckily, her rescuer was able to grab hold of the
thief and pull him down before he could get the gun. The two men rolled on the
ground, punching and jabbing at one another.

Violet
did not know what to do. She had nothing of use to knock out the assailant and
if she left to get help, she might come back to find the gentleman dead.

All
she could think to do was to go after the gentleman’s horse and keep it from
running off. Her own horses were stopped in the middle of the road. She glanced
down the lane to see if she could spot
Hinkley
.
Please come soon. We need all the help we
can get.

With
soft words and a gentle stroke to his mane, Violet was able to coax the horse
over to her carriage and tied him to the vehicle.

She
could hear the sounds of their grunts as the men bludgeoned each other with
fists, elbows, and knees. They rolled and twisted, still scuffling. She saw the
thief’s arm move and realized he’d grabbed hold of something on the ground.
Violet screamed as he jammed a rock against the gentleman’s head. A shot rang
out and she scurried toward them, her feet making slow progress as she ran
through the wet, heavy snow.

There
was blood everywhere. It soaked their shirts and dripped onto the ground until
the white turned to pink. It wasn’t until her hero turned and slumped with a
loud moan that she realized it was the thief who’d been shot. There was a
gaping red and black hole where his chest should have been.

Though
she could feel the bile rising to her throat, Violet fought it off. She turned
her head and covered her mouth. Bending over for a moment and bracing her hands
on her legs, she caught her breath and steeled herself. She’d seen worse when she’d
been in the war with her husband.
God
rest his soul.

“Sir,”
she called as she went over to her savior. “Sir, are you able to move?”

A
long groan was his response.

“I
must get you to my house. Can you lift up?”

“Bloody
hell.”

Violet
ignored that. He groaned and was able to move, but he looked almost as bad as
the dead man on the ground. Blood stained his chest and there was a big gash on
his head. It was hard to tell how badly he was injured because she couldn’t be
sure how much blood was his and how much blood was from his attacker.

Gingerly,
she placed her arm under his and tried to brace him and lift him up. He weighed
as much as a horse, so she stumbled as he started to fall back. She managed to
catch him before he hit the ground.

“I’m
going to need your help if we’re going to get you into the carriage.”

“Just
lurve
mer.” The words were barely intelligible.

He
must be delusional if he thought she would abandon him on the side of the road
after he’d saved her life. “No. I will not leave you here.” She smacked him
lightly on the side of the face. “Soldier, you are not dying on this field
today. Get up and do your duty, by God.” It was something she’d said before and
the old habit came back to her now.