The man drew closer, forcing Charlie back another few steps, for he had not yet recovered. Both men held their fists at the ready.
Movement from my peripheral caught my attention. Another man had crept up behind Charlie’s back, buthisfists were not raised. Instead, he crouched low and reached inside his boot. A long, sharp knife glistened in the sunlight.
Charlie seemed to sense him, and he sidestepped to round with both men. I knew the instant he saw the knife, for he hesitated.
He could not fight them both.
I made my decision in an instant, the same way a person chooses to breathe. I started to run—to throw myself between them; to do something,anything—but someone pulled me back. I kicked wildly and threw out my arms.
“No, Miss Newbury,” my driver said, tightening his grip as I thrashed. His face was bloodied and bruised, his wide eyes shocked and terrified. “You’ll be killed.”
My head jerked back to Charlie.
The first man swung at his head, and Charlie leaned back.
Then the knifeman took his opportunity, stabbing his blade into Charlie’s side.
“No!” I screamed.
Charlie grimaced and a guttural sound escaped him. Instead of falling, he wavered for a moment, then threw his fist into the knifeman’s jaw.
The driver’s hold slacked, his expression one of pure shock.
“Help him,” I cried in a broken sob.
His eyes looked wildly between the two men still circling Charlie and then back to mine. He bolted forward.
Charlie yelled out in anguish as the knifeman struck again, burying the blade into his stomach.
I felt the sound in my heart, clawing up my throat, taking my knees out from under me. My entire world, my hopes, my dreams, my very insides were being ripped out of me, like an antelope under a lion, and I could do nothing. I could not save the man I loved.
Then a bullet fired, and I shrunk into myself, falling back against the carriage window.
I smelled smoke, and suddenly four men on horseback were upon us, shouting and waving their pistols. In their midst was a man I recognized.
He sat tall in his saddle, his long arm raised above his head with a smoking pistol in his hand. Blond hair rustled under a black top hat, and a gray tailcoat flew behind him in the wind. His ice-blue eyes were set on mine, a fierce expression on his face.
The Duke of Marlow.
ChapterTwenty-Three
How had he found us? How had he known?
Our foes scattered like rats, jumping onto their horses, and taking flight into the tree line.
“Go after them!” Marlow called, and two of his men darted off like lightning. As the duke steadied his horse and dismounted, our driver ran to meet him.
My eyes flew back to Charlie, whose chest heaved as he stood alone in the distance. His shoulders slumped, and I could see him falling.
Without thought, I bolted toward him, knowing I wouldn’t make it in time. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me.
I fell to my knees beside him. My whole body shook with tremors as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing.
Charlie’s eyes were closed, his lips parted and pale.
There was blood everywhere. This was all my fault. Had I not insisted we run away, we’d have been safely at home. He would be safe.
“Charlie, what have they done?” I cried, swallowing down the painful throb in my throat. “Charlie, look at me.” His hands were covered in red, but I took them anyway. Blood soaked through his clothes.
