She unleashed another floodgate of tears. Oh, dear Lord, he wasn’t any good at this at all. “I’m sorry. I didn’t”
Rachel buried her face in his neck and sighed, her wet lashes brushing against his skin with every blink.
“If anybody’s opinion matters, it is yours, Anthony.”
Pride burst in him. He traced the smoothness of her chin, lifting her face to meet his, slowly, lazily, never breaking eye contact, he leaned forward and in one smooth movement kissed her. Her sweet breath warm against his mouth, the softness and pliability of her lips against his, and then unspoken promises that rocked him in a way he wouldn’t have believed.
Their lips parting, she said, “Why did you do that?”
He was breathing hard and so was she. “I don’t know. It seemed the logical thing to do.”
On all fours, the mutt growled, stuck its head out the window, full blown barking, running back and forth on the opposing seat…wouldn’t stop. “I should muzzle the mutt.”
The carriage pitched. Catapulted into the air, rolled and thumped and bumped. Rachel screamed, slammed into Anthony. The carriage came to a standstill. He rather liked her on his lap except the carriage slanted at a ninety-degree angle. What stopped them? He yanked the curtain back. Rachel moaned. Plus or minus a few inches, a frigid river churned two hundred and eighty yards below.
“Don’t move. The rotted log that supports us will snap under the stress.” He calculated the odds of dying by falling on one of the many sharp protruding branches that dotted the cliff like pikes, as opposed to fracturing their skulls on razor-sharp rocks that jutted out in the river. Not good. No need to inform Rachel of the danger. As likely as not, she had the formula worked out ahead of him.
On the cliff, up above, the dog barked. Must have been thrown from the carriage. The driver shouted and hooves clattered down the road. The driver had taken off with the horses.
No help from that quarter. Clearly another attack. “Are you all right?”
The carriage slipped, caught again. Rachel shrieked, clung to his jacket. “We need to depart this death trap.”
“I’ll stay here and balance the weight. You climb out the top window.”
“I can’t leave you here.”
“Go. I’ll climb after you.”
She hesitated then crawled out the window, grappling roots and ledges, hauling herself up the slope. The log popped. The carriage slid. Taking him down. He thrust with his feet, dove out the window. Hooked his arm on an overhanging branch, swinging wildly.
Rachel scrambled down, dug her feet into a frozen crevice, held out her hand. “Now.”
Newton’s law of motion: A body will stay in motion unless acted upon by an unbalanced force.Anthony swung his full weight, clenched her outstretched hand. The inertia of her yank and the shift of his mass equaled his impact into the rock face. His breath whooshed out. His jaw throbbed. Stopped by Newton’s unbalanced force was like getting hit with a team of horses, yet arguably, a good place to be.
A rumble like thunder followed by a loud crash. He followed her glassy stare to where the carriage rested spiked on rocks in the river. Icy water rushed and flooded the conveyance, the underbelly exposed to view.
“The axle has been sawed.” She started shaking.
Anthony held her close until her trembling stopped. “Other than a few scratches, we are good.”
The dog whined and barked. “At least she is safe,” Rachel smiled.
His Rachel was back. Anthony pushed her up the crag, and in minutes, they hauled over the top of the cliff. The driver and horses had vanished. The dog leapt into Rachel’s arms, licking her face.
“Someone is trying to killyou, Anthony.” She put the dog down and faced him. “I told you that I didn’t like the look of the driver.”
She didn’t mention that she could have been killed, unselfishly concerned for his well-being. Her skirts were soaked with mud, her auburn hair undone from its pins, flowed in riotous waves down her shoulders and back. She couldn’t have been more beautiful.
“We have a long hike, and if you say, I told you so…well, I deserve it one hundred times over.” He held out his arm and she grabbed hold. He led her down the mud-rutted road as if they were entering an evening opera instead of following the track of the Rutland’s stolen horses.
“We need to focus on what happened.” Her tone was firmer now, conjuring memories with that precocious mind of hers. “I need you to think. Have you seen the driver before?”
“I was in a hurry to find you. I didn’t pay attention to him.”
Rachel let out a long slow breath, her expression grave. “He was six feet, brown straw-like hair sticking outside his hat, blue watery eyes and unshaven. Then there was the strange man who approached me in town. He had that voiceI would never forgetand I’m sure it was the same raspy vocal sounds in tenor and octave I’ve heard before. He had a red wool cap, probably concealed a bald head, thin frame, nose like an ape, wart on his upper right cheek, five foot, eight inches tall, red coat. Anyone familiar?”
She had a great memory for detail. He rarely remembered a face. “Could be five percent of England.”
