Pippa pulled away, removing herself from his lap, making him instantly miss her. Taking out his handkerchief, he cleaned first his wife before he removed the French letter, wrapping it in the handkerchief. Placing it in his satchel, he made a mental note to retrieve it later.
Straightening his clothing, he pulled his wife closer, needing her near. Burying his nose in her hair, he pressed a chaste kiss to her nape.
“Stop it. Newt is very upset with me for ignoring him for days and leaving him with Agnes.” The cat let out a loud meow fromthe other side of the carriage, somehow knowing that Pippa was speaking about him.
St. Clara had grown to tolerate Pippa’s grumpy companion who glared, hissed, and meowed at him repeatedly. It was clear to St. Clara that Newton was not a friend of his, and the feeling was reciprocated.
Pippa removed herself from his side, smoothing out her green traveling dress that bought out the green in her hazel eyes. He couldn’t help but search them for hints of the girl who had been his closest and dearest friend.
He thought he had seen a glimmer of her while in the throes of passion, when they playfully teased each other, or just talked as they once did.
“Hello, have I been neglecting you, darling?” Pippa asked Newton as she picked him up, her fingers stroking through his gray fur.
Admitting defeat, St. Clara retrieved his father’s folders from the carriage floor. He had tried to meticulously dissect every piece of paper, to search for an explanation of why his father had paid Pippa’s uncle such a conspicuous amount. There was also the fact that he had Pippa investigated. The two incidents had to be related.
Pulling out a stack of papers he had yet to search, he looked out the window at the familiar landscape. St. Clara remembered hunting with both his parents in the lush green forest surrounding his ancestral homes.
An image of his mother teaching him how to hold a gun invaded his mind. She was from Scotland where they believed in teaching women how to shoot and be independent. If he ever had daughters, he would want them independent and strong like their mother, like his mother once was before she had fallen from grace.
“Is anything the matter?” His wife touched his forearm, causing the cat to turn yellow eyes on St. Clara for interrupting the attention he was receiving.
St. Clara shook his head, trying to combat the memories of his mother with the person his father had always insisted she was.
“A cold, heartless whore.”
Taking a deep breath, he looked over at his wife. Her hair had come loose of its intricate style due to him seducing her. The passing sun set her entire person aglow in its light, giving her the appearance of an angel.
“How could anything be the matter when I have such a beautiful wife?” St. Clara placed a soft peck to her nose. His heart felt like it would burst from the yet unidentified emotion that had laid dormant for years.
“I don’t recall you being so charming,” she teased before continuing her stroking of the feline.
“Oh, Kitten, I’ve always been charming.” He winked at her, enjoying the sight of her cheeks reddening and her breath increasing.
The old parchments felt rough in his hands as he flipped through them, his heart threatening to leap out of his chest. There was something he was missing, but he hadn’t the faintest idea what it was. Grunting, St. Clara ran his hand down his face, feeling the slight growth on his chin. He would rather be with his wife than figure out the sins of his father.
Straightening out the small pile of papers that was in his hand, he froze at a receipt made out for another obscene amount, this time to one of their former maids?—
The sound of hooves pierced through the silent carriage, shouting suddenly ringing out from either side.
“Stop the carriage!”
“Stop or I’ll shoot!”
The carriage jerked forward, the speed of their own horses increasing. The jerky movements tossed St. Clara and Pippa around. He gripped her waist, trying to prevent her from her hurting herself.
“Randall! What the bloody hell is going on?” St. Clara shouted, knowing that Randall could hear him from inside.
“Highwaymen!” Randall’s frantic voice replied.
Panic rose through St. Clara. Pippa’s face had turned white with fear, so he reached for her trembling body and secured her to his chest. The carriage continued to bounce them around like sheep being herded. Newton screeched in Pippa’s tight grip while the contents of the carriage fell to the floor. Gripping the handrail,St. Clara held on for dear life, trying to ensure that they were not injured in the process.
The sound of hooves and shouts faded, so St. Clara released a breath, praying they were out of harm’s way. They had nothing of real value on their persons, but that would not stop ruthless criminals.
The horses continued to move at an alarming speed; he feared they would topple over and crash. A chorus of loud cannon-like booms rang out into the chaotic silence.
Without thinking, St. Clara flung his wife down to the carriage floor—she let out a yelp of surprise. His large body was unable to fit down there with hers, but he hovered over her protectively, willing to die if necessary. It wasn’t his own life he feared for; she was his only thought as the carriage tilted and swerved.
Several more shots rang out before Randall cried out in pain, the carriage wrenching to the side violently. Looking out the window, St. Clara tried to ascertain what was happening. Two masked men kept pace with the carriage. One punched his hand through the glass window, causing Pippa to scream from the floor.
