‘Yes! Come on, Will, be off wiv you!’ Effie’s mother reprimanded bravely. ‘Otherwise, it’ll be the gallows for you an’ no mistake!’
There was a clamour of agreement which left no one in any doubt that the rest of the passengers were feeling just as emboldened, and only fuelled Phoebe’s determination further. Will had proven himself to be an entirely unworthy, sorry excuse for a highwayman, and deserved to bepinked by a girl, as Fred would say.
And then there was the no small consideration that he seemed just as intent on winning as she was.
She steadied her arm and met each of his strikes squarely, but it was clear he had the advantage. Strike by strike, he drove her back into the shadow of a large oak, his copper eyes glinting above the grubby edges of his mask, until finally, one wild swipe removed the entire length of her blade from its hilt altogether. There was a brief awed silence as everyone turned to watch its silvery flight across the grass, and then the whole of her right side was consumed by fire.
Bemused, Phoebe fell back into the long grass and inhaled sharply. The tip of Will’s sword was buried in the shoulder seam of Fred’s shirt, while a scarlet stain was spreading around it. Hazily, she thought of the scolding Martha would give her for ruining one of the good shirts, as Effie shrieked loudly enough for them all. Then everyone turned as a newcomer drew up, and the air filled with the distinctive stride of an incoming hero – sword in hand, dark face scowling.
‘A hero that looks more like the highwayman than the highwayman!’ she muttered, just as Will retrieved his sword, making the flames leap higher still.
‘You … cur!’ she yelled, deriving no small amount of satisfaction from the way the word rolled off her tongue.
Little wonder Fred used it so often.
Instantly, there was a loud clamour of support from the coach party, along with a pitiful plea from Effie toleave the poor gentl’man be, while Will took off across the grass towards his horse.
Phoebe watched his departure with an odd mix of relief and disappointment. She’d been bested by the worst highwayman in Taunton, in front of a home crowd, while her hair had seen fit to become irretrievably embroiled with a tree root.
Cursing, she tugged hard and finally felt her pins give way, leaving her wild tresses to tumble down at exactly the same moment the incoming hero stepped into blurry view.
‘Looking for this?’ he asked, offering Fred’s hat in an oddly familiar way.
She nodded, her senses swimming as his face came closer. Too close for her not to realise that she actuallydidknow him, somehow.
‘It’s … you!’ she accused, as a sudden pressure set her shoulder throbbing with a fresh fire.
‘Indeed,’ he returned, his perfect eyebrows arching quizzically. ‘I believe we had the pleasure back at The Swan, Mr…?’
Phoebe stared, trying to fight the most alarming realisation. She couldn’t really believe it – life couldn’t be so unfair – and yet he possessed the very same icy glint.
‘Alfred,’ she squeaked in a strangled tone, conscious the entire coach party were approaching, and she looked the most unlike Fred she’d looked since leaving Knightswood that morning.
The viscount frowned as he leaned closer and sniffed sharply, making Phoebe cringe despite the pain engulfing her shoulder.
‘Well, then,Mr Alfred, you appear to have sustained an injury to your shoulder, which is bleeding quite profusely, and undoubtedly worsened by your recent over-indulgence in Briggs’sdevil’s brew.’
He paused to raise his thick, supercilious eyebrows.
‘Fortunately, my home is but a short distance from here and once the physician has attended, we can send word to your family.’
Phoebe stared defiantly, despite the scorching pain and mist of faces around the viscount’s head. He might have been issuing curt instructions for a lame horse, and yet she had sense enough to know she had little choice too.
She exhaled in frustration. So much for finding her inner heroine, she’d barely found her way out of Devon. Yet there was something else, too, a strange mix of feelings she barely recognised at all. It was only her first day, and she’d been drunk, thrown out of an inn, fought a real-life highwayman, andnow,rescued by the most dislikable gentleman of her new acquaintance. It couldn’t be further from the heroic tale of adventure she’d imagined – and yet she’d never felt more alive.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured in her most Fred-like tone, before she mustered what was left of her dignity, and passed out.
ChapterFour
Three months and one foiled plan until the wedding
The viscount was as good as his word, and while Phoebe’s shoulder burned as though a barrel of underwhelming highwaymen had used her for pitchfork practice, shewasin a very comfortable bed.
She was also staring at one of the largest murals she’d ever seen. At least, she assumed it was a mural, because not one of the smiling cherubs had actually moved, and if she had passed over to the other side she would have expected far less chintz –unless she’d gone to that other place.
There was a knock at the door.
‘I’ve brought a supper tray?’ a young female voice ventured, before the door creaked open.
