Page 44

She stuffed her gloved fist in her mouth, muffling the hysterical giggle gurgling forth.

Chin up, old girl.Gypsy blood. Sterner stuff and all that.

Rot and rubbish. She was utterly terrified.

Suddenly, the door wrenched open with such force, it cracked against the coach’s side.

Hitching in a great gulp of air, Vangie jumped backward, hitting the squab with a solid clunk and banging her head on the carriage wall. The air whooshed from her lungs with the impact. Clutching the seat with one hand, she managed to right herself while keeping her other hand hidden beneath her skirts. Her head throbbed where it had connected with the carriage.

A surprisingly well-dressed man, a red handkerchief tied over the lower portion of his face, lurked in the opening. He waved the pistol he held menacingly. “Where’s the gent?”

Vangie searched beyond him. Nominal daylight remained. Where was Ian? She shifted her attention to the highwayman and inched backward on the seat. Lifting her chin in the arrogant manner of the aristocratic dames in London, she answered icily. “You, sir, are mistaken. As you can plainly see,” she angled her head haughtily, “I am alone.”

He chuckled, a malevolent, alarming rumble that sent a frisson of fear creeping across her skin. His cold eyes narrowed. “Ye be a clacky wench. Mighty pleasin’ to me eyes too.”

Scots.

As Vangie edged a hand farther under her skirt, she swallowed against the alarm clawing at her chest

“Och, tanight willna be a total loss.” A lewd gleam entered his eyes. He licked his thin lips and his black eyes dipped to her bosom. “I bet ye’d be a wild lassie to bed.”

Her focus locked on his leering face, she stealthy crept her fingers closer to her dagger. His gun trained on her, the robber advanced, intent on stepping into the carriage.

Where is Ian? Why hadn’t he stopped this lecher? Oh God, was he hurt or—?

A deafening blast shook the coach, and the thief lurched to an abrupt halt. Eyes widened in astonished disbelief, he toppled face-first onto the coach floor. Dead. His lower body dangled awkwardly in the opening, a bloodied hole in his back.

Behind him, clothing dirty and torn and lip bleeding, Ian brandished a smoking pistol.

Vangie slapped a hand across her slack mouth, smothering her terrified screech. Dear God. Gaze riveted on the dead man, she gulped against a wave of nausea then gulped again. Dead. He’s really dead. She’d never seen anyone killed before. Injured, yes—gruesomely at times in the Romani encampment—but not dead.

As silently and as lethal as the panther Vangie likened him to, Ian had disposed of his prey. “You’ll never know, you hell’s spawn,” Ian snarled, rage sparking in his baleful glare. He looked like the very devil himself.

A chill washing over her, she swallowed again.

Blood thundering in his head, Ian searched his wife’s face. “Vangie, are you—?”

She yanked a dagger from the folds of her shabby skirt. She had the strangest expression on her face—a curious blend of resolution and dread—and her lips trembled.

Like a loadstone, his heart dropped to his boots. He’d die by his wife’s hand this day, and she could blame his demise on the highwaymen. How she must hate him.

Her mouth moved, but no sound emerged. The subtle shifting of her gaze past his left shoulder alerted him.

Fiend seize it!

Twice now he’d been caught unawares, because his thoughts had been consumed with her. He ducked and spun around simultaneously, just in time to catch a glint of steel from the corner of his eye. Jerking his head to the side, he seized the thief’s wrist. Ian slowed the plunging blade, but couldn’t stop the descent entirely. The knife’s finely-honed tip scraped the length of his neck, leaving a stinging trail. Caught unawares, even with both hands gripping his opponent’s wrist, he was at a disadvantage.

His adversary suddenly stiffened, issuing a guttural grunt.

Ian’s focus flew to fixate on Vangie’s ashen, horror-stricken face. She appeared as if she were going to swoon or be sick or both. Her stunned indigo gaze never wavered from the man he been grappling with.

Straightening to his full height, Ian released the robber and retreated a pace

The man swayed from side to side. His eyes glassed over, rolling back in his head. He slowly tipped backward, bouncing against the edge of the carriage opening before landing on the soggy ground with a loud, heavy thud.

Ian gaped, his jaw hanging slack. He flashed hot then cold then hot again, scarcely believing his eyes.

Impaled to the hilt, Vangie’s jeweled dagger protruded from the robber’s back.