He ought to be out, scouring hovels and dens of ill repute. It hadn’t served him well before, and Leonard and Percy hadn’t yet yielded results. But mayhap Francis would, with this month of liberty, become overly confident and make a mistake. Francis did not—wouldnot—simply disappear. The man had taken his time, but he’d made his intentions known with that note on Jasper’s door. Why allow Francis the freedom to do whatever he wished, to make plans for?—
Halting his inner diatribe, Jasper reassured himself that the Home Office would have this well in hand. And, of course, Maria was assigned to help…
The carriage hit another rut in the road, and the shock of it jolted up Jasper’s spine. “Bloody hell,” he murmured. Turning his gaze out the window, he noted the slight tilt and the coal-darkened exteriors of the buildings they passed.
Wait a damned minute. They were going the wrong way.
“Oi!” Jasper rapped on the carriage’s ceiling. “We’re in Cheapside!”
Jasper’s back abruptly slammed against the squabs as the horses started at a run. Alarm hit him full in the chest.
Shouting erupted between the coachman and the footman hanging on the rear, before a loudcrackechoed off the close buildings around them. Jasper’s heart leapt into his throat. Damnation, that was a pistol firing! Had someone shot at them?
They slid in a turn, rattling and bumping on the cobblestones, and Jasper put his hands out to steady himself, his breath nigh caught in his throat. When they straightened, he moved to the rear-facing seat and knelt on the cushion as he slid open the small partition window.
“Stop, man!” Jasper shouted at the coachman.
A wet, grizzled, and entirely unfamiliar face appeared in the small window, a sneer on his rain-slick lips. “Francis wishes you to die well.”
The man shoved a wrinkled bit of parchment through the partition, then, with a maniacal laugh, leapt from the moving carriage and out of Jasper’s sight.
“No!” Jasper pressed his hands to either side of the small window, stupefied by the man’s actions.
His heart drummed against his ribs, his pulse beating a staccato rhythm through frozen limbs. Fear, icy hot, blazed in his gut as he considered his options: perish in a horrible crash, or find a way to stop the carriage.
He spared the parchment nary a glance as he turned toward the door. With a deep groan and trembling fingers, he pressed the door’s latch and pushed. The carriage slid in a wild turn as the terrified horses ran down the crowded streets of Cheapside, and Jasper gripped the door’s edge for his life.
Rain splattered his face, each droplet stinging his windswept skin. Buildings sped past, and the sound of screaming onlookers, huffing horses, thundering hooves, and carriage wheels filled his ears.
With slow, cautious movements, Jasper stepped out onto the outer trim of the carriage. A gust of wind rushed past him, and rainwater splashed his coat. His pulse fluttered, and terror rippled in waves up and down his limbs, dampening his palms.
All at once, his feet felt too large for the narrow ledge, his gloved hands too slick to keep purchase.
“What am I doing?” he breathed, his pants rapid and shallow.
He inched his feet forward.
The horses’ manes flopped wetly as they ran hell-bent through Cheapside, and his heart clenched. A hoarse cry escaped him as the leftmost horse knocked over a table, spilling a vendor’s wares upon the ground. If Jasper could but reach the driver’s seat…
He shuffled himself ever closer, his fingers growing numb through his gloves from the strength of his grip. What a ludicrous circumstance in which he’d found himself. Of all of the games that he’d imagined Francis would attempt to play with him, he’d not thought of this.
“Maria and her bloody plans…”
He reached the edge of the driver’s perch, and with his muscles screaming in discomfort, Jasper pulled himself to the seat and retrieved the flopping reins from the floor. The horses whinnied, their eyes wild as he tugged.
“Sloooow,” Jasper urged, drawing out the word.
The frightened horses flipped their heads in rebellion, the rainwater flicking Jasper in the face. He held firm, the reins fisted in his hands until, at last, they gradually drew to a stop.
Residents of Cheapside shouted their displeasure at his reckless display from their places of shelter.
“Sodding hell,” he gasped between heaving gulps of air.
He’d almost fuckingdied.
And who had been shot?
Glancing back, Jasper caught the wide, terrified gazes of his footmen clutching the handles at the rear of the carriage, their knuckles white. All while chaos surrounded them.
