A Perfect Hero (3 page)

Her meaning was not lost on Julianna, whose smile froze. Until that moment, she’d actually found herself wishing for a little adventure . . . She chewed the inside of her cheek and reconsid
ered. For all the notoriety surrounding the Mag
pie, the papers in London had said nothing of his ravaging women.

Wringing her hands, Mrs. Chadwick glanced anxiously out the window. “Oh, but I do hope the driver hurries. I want to be home before dark. I
won’t feel safe until we’re settled before the fire with a nice cuppa.”

Charles Chadwick lifted his gaze heavenward. “For the love of God, missus, will you stop your whinin’! If the Magpie should waylay us, by God, I swear I shall put you on his horse myself and bid you good riddance!”

Mrs. Nelson gasped. “Well, I never!” Her mother glared daggers at her son-in-law.

Julianna directed her eyes to her lap, biting back a laugh. The four of them lapsed into silence.

They passed through several more villages but no more passengers joined them. It was late in the afternoon when the coach began to slow. Leticia Chadwick had scooted to the edge of the seat even before they came to a halt before a small tavern. “At last,” she nearly sang out, then turned to Julianna. “May your journey be a safe one.”

Julianna smiled her good-bye, welcoming the rush of clean air that swept in when the door opened. It was cool and fresh, with no stench of coal and smoke. It was good to be away from London, she decided. The decision to go to Bath had been an impetuous one, but she would so en
joy the chance to rest and catch her breath from the hectic pace of the Season, which was in full swing.

The trio disembarked. Julianna had wondered about their state of marital bliss—they were
clearly not in the first blush of youth. She looked on when Charles Chadwick took his wife’s arm protectively as they crossed the street. Leticia glanced up at him, a wisp of a smile on her lips. An odd ache filled Julianna’s throat, an ache for what might have been...

Deliberately, she looked away.

No other passengers boarded. The coach did not linger. The driver shouted, and they were off. The wheels cracked and rumbled as they began to gain speed.

It wasn’t long before the walls of darkness be
gan to close in. She found herself peering out the window, anxiously searching the side of the road, trying to see behind every tree and bush until she began to grow dizzy. Oh, but this was silly, she chided herself, to be spooked by the Chadwicks’ talk of highwaymen!

She forced herself to relax. Eventually, the roll and lurch of the coach lulled her into drowsiness. As she swayed with the rhythm of the coach, her eyes drifted shut.

The next thing, she felt herself tumbling to the floor. Jarred into wakefulness, she opened her eyes, rubbing her shoulder where she’d landed. What the deuce ...? Panic enveloped her; it was pitch-black inside the coach.

And outside as well.

She was just about to heave herself back onto the cushions when the sound of male voices
punctuated the air outside. The coachman... and someone else.

“Put it down, I s-say!” the coachman stuttered. “There’s nothing of value aboard, I swear! Mercy,” the man blubbered. “I beg of you, have mercy!”

Even as a decidedly prickly unease slid down her spine, the door was wrenched open. She found herself staring at the gleaming barrels of twin pistols. In terror she lifted her gaze to the man who possessed them.

His eyes were all that was visible of his fea
tures. Even in the dark, there was no mistaking their color. They glimmered like clear, golden fire, pale and unearthly.

The devil’s eyes.

“Nothing of value aboard, eh?”

A gust of chill night air funneled in. Yet it was like nothing compared to the chill she felt in hearing that voice . . . So softly querulous, like steel tearing through tightly stretched silk, she decided dazedly.

She had always despised silly, weak, helpless females. Yet when his gaze raked over her—
through
her, bold and ever so irreverent!—she felt stripped to the bone.

Goose bumps rose on her flesh. She couldn’t move. She most certainly couldn’t speak. She could not even swallow past the knot lodged deep in her throat. Fear numbed her mind. Her mouth
was dry with a sickly dread such as she had never experienced. All she could think was that if Mrs. Chadwick were there, she might take great de
light in knowing she’d been right to be so fearful. For somehow Julianna knew with a mind-chilling certainty that it was he...

The Magpie.

Two

ane Quincy Granville did not count on the coachman’s reaction—nor his rashness. There was a crack of the whip, a frenzied shout. The horses bolted. Instinctively, Dane leaped back, very nearly knocked to the ground. The ve
hicle jolted forward, speeding toward a bend in the road.

The stupid fool! Christ, the coachman would never make the turn. The bend was too sharp. He was going too fast—

The night exploded. There was an excruciating crash, the sound of wood splintering and crack-ing...the high-pitched scream of the horses.

Then nothing.

Galvanized into action, Dane sprang for Perci
val. He raced ahead. Leaping from the stallion’s back, he hurtled himself down the steep embank
ment where the coach had disappeared. Scram
bling over the brush, he spied it. It was overturned, resting against the trunk of an an
cient tree.

One wheel was still spinning as he reached it.

The horses were already gone. So was the driver. Their necks were broken, the driver’s twisted at an odd angle from his body. Dane felt for a pulse, but he had seen enough of death to know it was too late.

Miraculously, the door to the main compart
ment had remained on its hinges. In fury and fear, Dane tore it off and lunged into the compartment.

The girl was still inside, coiled in a heap on the roof. His heart in his throat, he reached for her, easing her into his arms and outside.

His heart pounding, he knelt in the damp earth and stared down at her. “Wake up!” he com
manded. As if because he willed it, it would be so ...He gritted his teeth, seeking to instill his very will—his very life—inside her.

Her head fell limply over his arm.

“Dammit, girl, wake up!”

He was sick in the pit of his belly, in his very soul. If only the driver hadn’t been so blasted skittish. So hasty! He wouldn’t have harmed them, either of them. On a field near Brussels,
he’d seen enough death and dying to last a life
time. God knew it had changed him. Shaped him for all eternity. And for now, all he wanted was—

She moaned.

An odd little laugh broke from his chest, the sound almost brittle. After all his careful plan
ning that
this
should occur...But he couldn’t ascertain her injuries. Not here. Not in the dark. He must leave. Now. He couldn’t afford to linger, else all might be for naught.

The girl did not wake as he rifled through the boot, retrieving a bulging sack and a valise. Sec
onds later, he whistled for Percival. Cradling the girl carefully against his chest, he lifted the reins and rode into the night.

As suddenly as he had appeared, the Magpie vanished into the shadows.

She was still unconscious a short time later, when he shouldered his way into a small hunting cot
tage. His stride as surefooted in the dark as in the light of day, he strode to the bed on the far wall and eased her down.

He made quick work of replenishing the fire, then returned to her. His manner briskly imper
sonal, his long-fingered hands slid over her, checking for broken bones.

She’d sustained a few cuts and bruises. The worst of the damage appeared to be a nasty crack on the back of her skull. It was swollen, the skin
broken. When his fingers moved over it, she flinched. Rising, Dane fetched a basin of warm water and several strips of linen. Returning to the bedside, he cleaned the wound, his gaze roving over her as he worked.

Half a dozen thoughts washed through him. Quickly he revised his opinion. She was young, yet hardly in the first blush of youth. Her build was slight, her shoulders narrow; why, she’d hardly weighed much more than a child, he re
called absently. But delicately made though her body was, she was no girl, he decided with a black smile. She wore a traveling gown of striped watered silk buttoned up to her chin. Expensive fabric and expensive taste, he suspected. Both her clothing and fine-boned features declared her well breeched, a woman of wealth and privilege, a lady of quality. Impatiently, he loosened the buttons. How the devil could women even breathe in such clothing?

His gaze returned to her face. The point of her chin, delicate though it was, warned of a nature most purposeful. Nor had nature failed her, he decided. He suspected her eyes—had they been open—would be incredible. He could see each separate lash, thick and black and full, resting on the elegant sweep of her cheeks. Vaguely he won
dered what color they were . . . Blue, he decided, for her skin was fairest ivory. There was a pixie quality about the narrow span of her face, the
slant of her brows. Her bonnet was gone; her hair had come hopelessly undone, a wealth of rich, chestnut strands that tumbled over the narrow set of her shoulders.

His eyes narrowed, a silent speculation. What the devil was a woman like this doing traveling alone, without maid or companion to accompany her? Even as the question simmered through his mind, his regard settled on her hand.

She wore no ring, either wedding or betrothal.

So. No husband. No fiancé either.

Dane was well aware that had he been able to glimpse his expression, it would have been im
passive. His insides were not, however. A ripen
ing awareness slipped over him, a subtle tightening of his insides, yet his mind remained curiously detached. While her body was hardly lush, her mouth most certainly was...She was not at all the kind of woman to whom he was usually attracted. When he touched a woman, he wanted to
know
she was a woman. He liked warm, mature curves and lush womanhood fill
ing his palms. This one—whoever she was!—was too small, too slight. Indeed, he thought, uncon
sciously measuring the slim length of her neck, she was nearly given to scrawniness. So why this strange, unsettling sensation curling low in his belly?

It came as a shock to realize he gripped her hand between his own—he hadn’t even realized
he’d taken it! He dropped it as though he’d been burned, yet in the very next instant, he found himself tucking a blanket up over her shoulders.

Nor was it just his own behavior he found most perplexing.

A lean, furry body had leaped with effortless ease upon the bed. His brows shot high when the feline ignored him outright, stretched his long body against the chit’s side, and proceeded to purr for all he was worth. Dane stared in amazement.

“Maximilian, you little traitor! This is most unlike you. I would remind you this chit is a stranger, and you take exception to strangers most vehemently. Indeed, I thought you disliked everyone but me most vehemently.”

Huge, slanted yellow-green eyes blinked owlishly at him.