“It is the only one you’re going to get.” She directed her gaze to the road, which was muddy and slick from the drizzle. “Do not waste your time on me, Hawker.”
“Seeing that it’s my time, I’ll do what I want with it.”
He sounded grumpy again. Good. He was more manageable that way.
Movement up ahead caught her eye. An oncoming carriage. She caught flashes of it through the grey haze and was glad for the distraction.
“That driver is going rather fast, isn’t he?” she asked.
“Bleeding Bedlamite ’as no business going that speed in this weather.” Hawker pulled on the reins, guiding the horses to stop at the side of the road. “There’s only room for one carriage to pass, and the bounder’s going to run us both off the road at the rate ’e’s going.”
The vehicle continued to barrel toward them. Hawker waved his arms, gesturing to the other driver to slow down. Through the veil of mist, Pearl got her first clear glimpse of the carriage: unmarked, the windows smeared with mud. Two men were on the driver’s perch, the brims of their hats pulled low and heavy scarves covering their faces. One was driving, the other holding a glinting object aloft—
“Get down,”Hawker roared.
He threw himself over her even as she reached for the weapon in the pocket of her cloak. As her fingers closed around her pistol, a blast tore through the tranquil countryside. The carriage rocked, teetering on the edge of its wheels as the other vehicle thundered past. Pearl shoved Hawker aside and twisted to take aim at the fleeing villains. She got off a shot and heard a cry of pain. She emptied the second chamber as the attackers continued to race away.
Who are those bastards?Her thoughts whirled.Are they after our package? But Lady Fayne would have warned us about potential attackers. Perhaps they are highwaymen who thought they’d found an easy mark. Should we go after them?
Frowning, Pearl turned to consult with Hawker—and her heart lodged in her throat. He was slumped against the seat, his left hand clamped over his opposite arm. Blood gushed over his gloved fingers. A woman known for her fearlessness in combat, Pearl was not one to give in to panic. Yet in this moment, staring at Hawker’s ashen face, she was seized by a foreign terror. A sudden recognition of her own self-deception: of how much he meant to her…and how much she had to lose.
“Are you all right?” Her voice trembled.
“Never thought I’d say this,” he said thickly. “But maybe you should drive.”
Then he lost consciousness.
Five
“Ido not believe I’ve seen a grown man swoon before,” Pearl commented.
“For the last bloody time, I didn’t swoon.” Hawker glowered at her. “I nodded off due to blood loss. A completely different thing.”
In truth, his recollection of the events following the attack were murky. He knew Pearl had taken charge, binding his wound and driving them to this inn tucked away from the main road. She’d secured a suite...the last one, according to the jolly innkeeper named Benson. His wife, a bespectacled lady, had beamed at Hawker and Pearl, saying that the “honeymoon suite” would be perfect for them. Building on Mrs. Benson’s assumptions, Pearl had concocted a story in which she and Hawker were newlyweds who’d eloped and were being pursued by kin who disapproved of the match. She’d attributed Hawker’s injury to an altercation with a horse (as if there was a horse he couldn’t handle).
The Bensons listened raptly to Pearl’s romantic tale, which to Hawker’s mind borrowed rather heavily fromRomeo and Juliet. The innkeeper and his wife vowed to alert them if anyone came looking, although the worsening storm made new arrivals unlikely. Not a man to take chances, Hawker had barricaded the door to the suite with a table and shuttered the windows.
Hawker was glad for the downpouring sleet, which would hide their tracks. Now that darkness had fallen, he doubted that his enemies would stumble upon the place. For he was certain those men had been sent to murder him, thus ensuring that his inheritance would go to the next in line: his slimy, conniving toad of a cousin, Claude.
Hawker cursed himself for underestimating Claude. For not taking better precautions. He didn’t know if it was the passage of time or pure denial that had made him forget how bloodthirsty his kin could be. He’d thought that he would have time to decide what he wanted to do about his legacy. That even Claude would not make a grab for power so soon and so flagrantly.
Because of your oversight, you great bloody bastard, you put Pearl’s life in jeopardy.
He hated himself for it. Hated that, even after all these years, his family was a threat to everything—and everyone—he cared about.
“For heaven’s sake, there’s no need for that scowl. This is a mere scratch. I’ve patched up mishaps in the kitchen worse than this.”
Pearl’s admonishment returned Hawker to the present. The honeymoon suite was clean and cozy, a fire blazing merrily in the hearth. He sat shirtless upon the room’s only bed while she stood beside him, stitching up his arm as deftly as she would a torn sheet.
“I am not scowling.”
“Well, that expression of yours is not going to win you any friends.”
Her words lacked heat. In fact, there was an odd quality to her voice...an underlying quiver of emotion he didn’t understand. She tended to him with a light and gentle touch. Since her head remained bent over her task, he couldn’t discern her expression.
“Do you feel any chills?” she asked.
Touched by her concern, he said gruffly, “The brandy ’elped.”
