Chapter 15
Marguerite screamed, too. Her head and right shoulder already protruded out the door even as the carriage sped up, the clattering wheels and pounding hooves deafening.
Terror-stricken, she saw the cobblestones below her and the carriage wheels spinning so fast they appeared a blur. With all her strength she held fast to the door frame, her knuckles white as Belinda bent over her to try and hurl her into the street, screeching now.
“Iwill be the Duchess of Summerlin, not you! Somehow you escaped those men sent to kill you and now Russell is dead! Yet Alexander Scott lives andIwill be his bride after your tragic accident—damn you,let go!”
Marguerite screamed in horror as Belinda scratched at her fingers to pry them loose from the door frame—dear God, help her, no!
She felt her one hand slipping and suddenly she lost her grasp, both shoulders out the door now. She felt Belinda wildly prying her other fingers loose one by one—
“No!” Marguerite thrust her knees upward in a desperate attempt to defend herself. She heard a startled intake of breath, Belinda flying over her to tumble screaming into the street.
Then a jarring bump as the back carriage wheel struck something—Belinda’s scream abruptly cut off.
Oh, God, oh, God. Marguerite hung on with both hands gripping one side of the door frame now, while the carriage kept racing down the street.
With all the swaying, she could not pull herself in! She was going to tumble into the street and be crushed to death just like Belinda—
“Damnation, man, stop the coach!”
Walker! In disbelief she spied him galloping hard atop a lathered mount just behind the carriage, while his pistol firing into the air made Marguerite gasp.
And then another shot, exploding even closer. The carriage rolled to such an abrupt stop, the coachman roaring “Whoa!” as the horses whinnied in fright, that she slammed into the front wall and lost her grip entirely.
Yet she didn’t spill out into the street, Walker jumping off his mount next to the open door to catch her by the shoulders.
Wholly stunned, she stared up at him, not sure if she would laugh aloud from near-hysteria or burst into tears. Then he pulled her from the carriage and swept her into his arms, her feet never touching the cobblestones.
He held her fiercely, murmuring her name as he cradled her against him, his heartbeat thundering against her ear. While her heart felt caught in her throat that he’d come charging after the carriage—but how?
“She…she tried to kill me…”
“Shhh, love, I know, I know. She offered to fetch you…and then I realized with Sims on guard he’d never open the door so I came after you myself only moments later.”
“Oh, Walker,Iopened the door.” Marguerite lifted her head to meet his eyes. “I was so worried about you, and Lady Belinda said that you sent her so I went with her—”
“I know, forgive me. I came riding down the street just as you left in the carriage, but it was moving so fast. I saw the door swing open—dear God, the two of you struggling…”
He grew silent, his expression tortured in the moonlight, which made Marguerite reach up to caress his face. Yet he glanced down the street to where Belinda lay dead, people coming out of their houses to gather around her as a shout went up to fetch the authorities. Walker shook his head, sighing heavily.
“I should have guessed when she came to the house tonight that she and Russell…oh God, that she was desperate enough to conspire with him when he told her we’d gone to Gretna Green. Damn me for a fool, I didn’t see it and sent her right to you!”
Now it was Marguerite who shushed him, tunneling her fingers into his hair to draw him closer so she could press her lips to his. He crushed her against him, though his kiss was tender but not for nearly long enough. He lifted his head to stare into her eyes.
“My father, Marguerite. I doubt he’ll live to see the morning. He knows we were wed and he wants to meet you—”
“Oh, Walker, is he angry?”
