It got his arm instead.
Dust and blood went flying, the curricle stopped dead in its tracks, and Silas Wiltchurch—
Continued on as if nothing had happened, gleefully speeding up to overtake the next carriage in line.
“Bloody villain,” Felicity hissed under her breath as she plowed through the crowd, sprinting toward Giles as fast as she could.
“Check the horses,” he gasped the moment he saw her.
“Yourarm,” she replied in horror, ignoring the carriage. Her lungs seized. The sleeves of his jacket were flayed open. Patches of red spread beneath. She couldn’t breathe.
“My silk racing shirt didn’t tear,” he said. “I’m bruised and bloody, but fine.Check the horses.”
He still meant towin, she realized in awe. Heart racing, she ran to the horses. They were unhurt, but agitated. They calmed at her familiar touch. In a trice, they seemed ready to fly back onto the track and trounce Silas Wiltchurch.
As much as Felicity supported such a plan, safety came first. She hurried to the other side of the curricle, where the two wheels had almost come into contact. Filthy, but no fractures. The carriage was still sturdy and well-seated. Wiltchurch had failed.
“Everything’s fine,” she called up, then frowned at the sight of Giles’s swelling arm. “Are you certain you can drive?”
“Yes,” he said firmly. Then, “Maybe.”
She grabbed the splinter bar and hauled herself up into the curricle beside him.
“What are you doing?” he hissed.
She grabbed the reins from his lap and jerked her head toward the side of the track, where a crowd was forming. “Meet me at the finish line.”
“Be safe.” He clutched his arm to his chest and managed to leap to the ground. “Andwin!”
The crowd echoed his shout.
She could do this. Felicity knew these horses; knew this carriage. She would win or die trying.
“Yah!” she yelled, and nearly fell back against the seat as the horses leaped back onto the track and took off after the others as if they wanted Silas Wiltchurch to choke on their dust just as badly as she did.
Rage spurred them to speeds they’d never reached before.
Felicity had known Wiltchurch was a petty snob and a poor loser, but she’d never expected him to stoop to sabotage at the potential cost of human life. Not in front of all these witnesses. She would not let him get away with it.
Thunder shook the sky. She could barely hear it over the rumble of wheels and the roar of wind in her ears.
She wasn’t driving. She was soaring.
Thiswas who she was. A demon in trousers, here to make him rue the day he’d endangered the life of the man she loved. They were no longer horse and driver, but an unstoppable bullet speeding through the air faster than the eye could see. But it wasn’t enough. They’d lost too many precious seconds.
Dusty rivulets of rain streaked across her face as she reached the first carriage.
She wouldn’t beat Giles’s time from the last race.
He’d turned around before the others had even neared the end of the track, and today it was Felicity who was watching the others turn and speed toward her, then disappear.
But she’d caught up; or close enough. She was now only a few yards behind the next curricle.
She made her turn at the end of the track and tore back toward the finish line.
