“Hold there. Your passenger is being carried against her will.”
“My passenger is his lordship the Earl of Sawthorne…” the driver began.
“I saw the lady you stuffed into that coach. I am the Duke of Valebridge. My word on these lands is law. Step down or I will see you transported to Australia for kidnapping,” Marcus grated.
“What is going on?” came a man’s voice with a German accent.
The door to the coach opened as the driver stepped down. Two men came around the rear of the coach as Marcus made his way forward.
“Selina!” Marcus called.
“Arthur!” she replied, her voice suddenly muffled.
“Now then mate. Let’s not have any trouble,” said one of the footmen.
He had dark hair and a sallow face. The one behind him was younger but with equally broad shoulders.
“Barrow, deal with this ruffian. This highwayman!” the man that Marcus assumed was the Earl of Sawthorne ordered.
“With pleasure, Your Lordship,” Barrow replied, beginning to roll up his sleeves.
Marcus smiled tightly and spurred his mount forward. The animal rushed into the tight space between the coach and the hedge at the side of the road. Barrow’s face looked surprised for a moment and he tried to duck under it to reach for Marcus. With skill, Marcus turned the horse, catching Barrow a hefty clout from the animal’s shoulder and sending him reeling back into his companion. Level with the coach, he saw Selina being pushed aside by a man with a red face and a cane. She tried to free herself from his grasp, squirming past him, hands reaching towards Marcus. Voss seized her by the hair and yanked backward, hurling her to the floor of the coach and putting himself between her and Marcus.
He opened his mouth to speak, raising the cane. Marcus stepped from the saddle to the coach, took hold of the cane, and used it to haul Voss forward, twisting aside and hurling him from the coach and into the hedge. Then he snapped the cane across his knee and tossed the pieces after their owner. The footmen were regaining their feet, but Marcus’ steed glared at them, baring its teeth and snapping if one of them got too close. Voss was spluttering and shouting, twigs and branches caught in his hair, his coat, and his shirt. The more he thrashed, the more stuck he seemed to become. Marcus reached for Selina, kneeling on the floor of the coach. She came to him, tears in her eyes.
“Are you hurt? Thank god I decided to come back when I did. I just couldn’t bear to be away from you any longer,” Marcus said in a rush.
“I am well. They did not hurt me,” Selina said.
Marcus tentatively touched her face, stroking his fingers against her cheek. The coach and the three men he had just battled with faded from his awareness. There were only those brilliant sapphire eyes and sun-bright golden hair. He wondered how he had ever faced the world without her. His heart raced and not from the chase. This close to her, his body thrummed with the tension of desire, of contained repressed passion. Suddenly, he wanted to marry her there and then. If his authority allowed it he would have ridden straight to Folkington church and ordered a priest to perform the ceremony. In such a short time, this woman had bewitched him utterly.
CHAPTER22
Selina felt as though she were dreaming. The sight of Arthur galloping in pursuit of her was snatched away just as her hopes were surging. Then, while her father chuckled at the futility of the pursuit, the coach had come to an abrupt halt. Selina was almost thrown from her seat. Her father did lose his seat, ending up on his knees on the floor of the coach. Then Selina heard Arthur’s voice. It was clear and righteous, demanding surrender. There was no doubt in her mind that he would save her. She knew that her father had three men at his call while Arthur was likely to be alone. It didn’t matter. There was the sound of a struggle, a horse charging at Barrow and Michaelson, dropping them like dominoes. Her father being ripped from the coach and hurled into the spiky embrace of a hedge. Then Arthur was there and she was in his arms.
He may have spoken to her. She may have replied. Neither things registered in her conscious mind. There was only his presence and the strong comfort of his embrace. Their faces were inches apart, his strong hands stroking her face. Selina’s emotions were running rampant. She felt that she was having to fight back tears. Tears of distress or joy, she didn’t know. But she didn’t want to cry in front of him, she wanted to be strong. To show him how strong she could be, how strong his future Duchess was.
I will be worthy of you Arthur. I will prove to you that I am worthy to be your wife.
Behind Arthur, Selina could see her father struggling to extricate himself from a thorn bush. Arthur’s horse was stamping and chomping fiercely at anyone who tried to come near to it.
“I’m sorry I left you. I should never have done it,” Arthur breathed, cupping her face with both hands now.
“I should have stayed where I was safe. Not gallivanting about the countryside,” Selina murmured.
Arthur kissed her, stealing the next words that she was going to speak. It was not the first time that he had kissed her, not by a long chalk. But this was different. Arthur had always been a tender lover, gentle, even hesitant. As a girl, that had been all she needed. Arthur had made her feel safe because he was embarking on the same adventure as she was. Both were new to love and its expression. Those days of their youth had been blissful, warm, and tender. Now, he was hard and firm. His lips pressed insistently to hers, his hands holding her. One hand touched her neck, making her shiver in a way that he had never done before. Deft fingertips traced a pattern down the soft, vulnerable flesh and Selina found herself moaning into his questing lips.
He broke away, glancing back over his shoulder where her father had turned puce.
“Come on, let’s get you home,” Arthur said, getting to his feet.
“Home?” Selina said, a chill running down her back.
“Valebridge,” Arthur said with a smile, holding out his hand to her.
She smiled as she took it and he hauled her to her feet. He looked her up and down appreciatively.
“I would not have thought that male clothing on a woman would be quite so alluring,” he whispered.
