Chapter Twenty-Six
“Idon’t seewhy Mr. Benson can ride outside and I can’t. He isn’t one of the guards,” Wil grumbled.
Since they traveled at a moderate pace, there were two overnight stops between London and Ashmead, and they were three-fourths of the way to the second.
Wil had been enthralled at first by the outriders, not only Reilly, who’d become their loyal protector, but Corporal Goodfellow, a member of Rob’s troop, one of the men Lucy called the palace guard. Fanny was less comfortable, worried what it meant. There had been discussion of hiring two more, but in the end, four men, including Williams the coachman, had been deemed sufficient. Eli had muttered that he hoped they wouldn’t regret that decision. He’d been tense throughout the trip; he had in fact seemed so since the encounter with Grimsley in the garden.
Wil was considerably less pleased when it became clear he was to ride inside with Fanny, though Goodfellow hinted they might loosen that restriction the next day.
Truth be told, Fanny felt as frantic for a change as Wil did after two days on the road. Neither her brother nor Susan had much by way of stimulating conversation. She tried writing in fits and starts, but it didn’t go well.
If she was honest with herself, she longed for Eli’s company. She couldn’t fault him for attempting to maintain propriety, but she thought his efforts excessive. After all, Susan rode with her, and he’d shared a carriage with Fanny before.
What had changed between them? Her hopeful heart whispered that he wanted her, wanted her in all possible ways, but he hadn’t spoken. She chastised herself for her unruly thoughts, yet she saw it in his eyes.Can a woman ever be certain? Why does he hesitate?
“Tell him you’ll entertain his attentions.”Lucy’s words haunted her, but they implied a forwardness Fanny wasn’t prepared to demonstrate.
She picked up the page on her lap desk, reading through it, searching the next fragment of dialogue she meant to write. Soon enough she let herself get lost in the story. So absorbed was she that she had no warning before the carriage lurched to a stop, horses screamed, and a shot rang out. After she was brought to alertness, the second shot galvanized her thoughts.
“Get down, both of you!” She went to her knees on the floor and tore at the box affixed to the vehicle’s door while Susan and Wil complied.
At least Wil got to the floor; he didn’t stay there. “Reilly is down,” he called from his knees, at the window. “Goodfellow is firing from horseback. I think the bandits are—”
“Bandits?” Fanny cried. “Get down.” She yanked open the box as Rob had demonstrated and pulled out the pistol stored there.
“What else? Bandits. One is on the ground, and one—no, two others—are trying to go around.”
Fanny turned to pull Wil back from the window. The door behind her rattled. She spun back and landed on her fundament just as the door was pulled open. The man who stared at her wore a mask. His brows rose at the sight of the gun she aimed at the center of his chest.
“You’re supposed to come with me, not fool with that barking iron,” the bandit growled.
Fanny eased back the hammer on the pistol as Rob had taught her. The man hesitated for a moment, let lose a string of curses, and reached for her. The recoil when she fired knocked her back into Susan. Blood spurted out of the bandit’s shoulder. She’d hit him off-center and slowed him but not stopped him. When he grabbed one ankle and leaned forward to pull her closer, she reared up her other leg and kicked right where she had shot him. Hard. He howled and went to his knees, hitting his chin on the bottom of the carriage door on the way down.
“Well done, Fanny,” Wil crowed while Susan sobbed.
She scrambled to grab the door, relieved when it pulled shut. The man she’d shot must have fallen clear of it. “Find something to use as a cudgel,” she ordered Wil. She turned the now useless pistol in her hand to use it as a club, burned her fingers on the hot barrel, and dropped it.
She pulled out a handkerchief and wrapped the handle just in time. The door opened again. She raised her improvised weapon to defend herself and almost whacked Eli on the head. She threw the pistol to the floor and herself into his arms, lucky she didn’t topple him.
Panic set in. “We have to get down!” She pulled away; he tugged her back, holding her tenderly. He kissed her hair, and his hands gently caressed her back. “They’re gone, Fanny. We wounded one, and Goodfellow killed another and chased two away. Reilly is down, but—”
Fanny froze at the sight of movement on the ground next to the coach. The man she’d shot attempted to stand, failed, and crawled toward his pistol.
“Gun!” she shouted.
Eli leapt on the man, spurring Fanny into action. She stepped on the bandit’s hand so he’d release the gun and kicked the weapon out of reach.
Eli knelt on the man’s back and had him by the scruff of the neck quickly enough, but the ruffian bucked and fought while Eli tried to get an arm around his throat. Fanny looked around frantically, picked up a rock, and bashed the man on his head, stunning him long enough for Eli to get a good grip, bending one arm behind the brute’s back and tightening the choke hold. The man moaned in agony.
“I shot him,” Fanny said.
Eli’s wide grin delighted her. “Did you really? That explains why this hurts so effectively.” He pulled on the bent arm harder to demonstrate what he meant by “this,” and the would-be bandit fainted. “Well done, my love, well done.”
Danger and mayhem faded away.My love… Did he mean it?
*
Eli wanted Fannysafely in his arms more than anything, but there was no time. He lowered the attacker to the ground, keeping a firm grip on his arm. “Do you have a scarf or rope or anything we can use to tie this animal up?” Eli asked.
