All right, perhaps he wasn’t all that happy these days.
Perhaps loneliness did plague him at times. It wasn’t like he could do anything about it. He didn’t belong with Clancy and his lot, and he certainly didn’t belong in Griff’s world. He felt comfortable enough with Griff, but Griff was married now and he’d be spending his time with Rosalind and eventually their children.
Besides, Griff’s companionship had never assuaged his loneliness. Not even the lightskirts could manage that. The only person who’d driven out his loneliness for a time, who’d crawled inside him enough to really warm him was—
Helena. He felt a kinship with her that bridged the chasm of blood and breeding. Like him, she knew what it was to struggle fiercely for her place in the world. She knew what it was to not truly belong. People looked at her and saw her game leg and her coldly protective manner. People looked at him and saw his da or his past as a smuggler.
Yet they were both so much more than that. For the first time in his life, he felt as if somebody really saw him for what he was.
It shocked him that it should be Helena. Amazing, surprising Helena, who was game enough to brave a taproom for her sister, and bold enough to coax a table full of rough free traders into spilling their secrets. Helena, who’d defended him when he least expected it, warming him with her veiled apology made before all those men.
“There’s something I’ve wondered about since last night,” he said.
She eyed him warily. “What?”
“Why did you come downstairs after me? I thought for sure you’d be asleep almost as soon as I left the room.”
“I did sleep awhile.” She fidgeted with the reins. “Then I woke up and you weren’t there and I was worried.”
“About me?”
“Of course. You were downstairs with a lot of shady characters.”
“So you thought if you came down, you could protect me?”
“Something like that.”
“What did you plan to do—rap all the free traders on the head with your cane?”
A small smile touched her lips. “Don’t be silly. It just seemed that you were taking an awfully long time. I thought perhaps I could help.” Her smile faded. “Besides, how was I to know that you weren’t…well…that you didn’t linger downstairs because…because…”
When she fell silent, he prodded her. “Because what?”
“Because you were enjoying one of your dalliances.”
That was an explanation he could believe. “You were expecting to find me bouncing a taproom maid on my knee?”
She colored. “I-I wasn’t sure.”
“Either you think I have an insatiable appetite, or you’re jealous.”
“Jealous! Don’t be absurd. I don’t care a whit about your…fancy women.”
She said “fancy women” with such vitriol that he knew she cared a great deal, and her jealousy made his blood quicken. “Don’t you?” He let his fingers tangle in the gauzy fichu that hid her lovely swan’s neck from his view. “I would’ve thought otherwise from the number of times you mention them.” He lowered his voice. “But I don’t mind if you’re jealous. I rather like it”
He tugged her fichu away from her gown just enough to bare the silky nape of her slender neck. When he ran his finger along the soft skin, she trembled.
“Daniel,” she said on a breath. “You should not…I should not…”
“What? Want each other? Need each other? Too late for that, lass.” It was too late for him, anyway. No matter how much he told himself she would never let them have a future together, he wanted to believe that they could. He wanted very badly to believe it.
He stroked along her neck, beneath the perimeter of her bonnet, then followed the ribbon around to her chin. A light touch against it had her sucking in a breath and turning to lift her face to his.
That’s when all hell broke loose.
At first he thought he’d distracted her so much that she’d dropped the reins, but when the horse sprang right out of the traces and galloped off furiously down the road, it dawned on him that something far more serious had occurred.
Then the front shafts of the gig dropped and dug deep into the road, halting the gig at once and sending them both sailing forward off the seat.
“Jesus Christ!” Daniel swore as he landed on his arse in the mud, Helena’s book flying out of his hand into the ditch. He sat stunned, his teeth jarred half out of his head, and watched as their horse disappeared around the curve in the road. In a trice, he turned toward Helena, only to find her sitting straight up in a puddle with a look of utter bewilderment on her face.
“What happened?” She stared down at the dirty water soaking into her skirts. “What in heaven’s name happened?”
“Goddamned shoddy old gig—the traces broke,” he grumbled as he pushed himself to a kneeling position. “I’ll strangle that innkeeper the next time I see him. Are
you all right? Does anything feel broken? Are your legs hurt?”
She wiggled, then groaned. “My posterior is bruised, but I think that’s it. What about you?”
“My arse is more than bruised, I tell you, but I don’t think it’s broken. My legs feel fine.” He rose, the mud sucking at his knees as he pulled free of it. He glanced down the road. “And it appears that our fearless mount decided he was better off without us. He’s running for Sedlescombe, damn his hide.”
Leaving them not only without transportation, but in no condition to walk any distance. Every bone in his body ached from the impact with earth. Ignoring his protesting muscles, he bent to pick up Helena, then set her on her feet.
She stood there swaying, her weight mostly balanced on her good leg. Lifting her sodden skirts with dainty hands, she stared down at them morosely, then dropped them with a loud sigh. “Ruined, utterly ruined.”
“At least it wasn’t one of your fancy gowns,” he said, trying to find some humor in the situation. “Aren’t you glad I cautioned you to dress simple?”
She glowered at him. “I would be, if this weren’t all your fault.”
“My fault? How the devil do you figure that?” He looked around for his hat, which had flown off. “
You
were driving. And don’t try to tell me that it was because I distracted you. The traces broke, and that’s neither of our faults.”
“All the same, we could have been riding comfortably in my coach if you hadn’t insisted on taking horses instead.” She wiped her muddy hands on her ruined skirt. “Admit it, Daniel—the only reason you wanted to go by horseback was to make me balk at going with you. If you
hadn’t been trying to scare me off, we would have been in a decent carriage today, and none of this would have happened.”
Leave it to Helena to find a way to blame him for it—though in this case, she was mostly right. He spotted his hat in a clump of flowering gorse and snatched it up to clap it on his head. “You’re too shrewd for your own good, lass,” he said gamely. “I do admit it—I underestimated your determination. But I’ve paid for my mistake time and again, don’t you think?”
She looked at his hat, then burst into laughter. “Yes, I believe so.” She pointed to his head. “Don’t look now, but there’s a rather large spider patrolling your hat brim.”
“Bloody hell,” he grumbled, jerking off his hat and knocking it against his thigh. The spider dropped to the ground with peculiar grace, then ambled away as if lacking a care in the world. If only he and Helena could do the same.
Walking stiffly to where the gig had dug in its heels, Daniel surveyed the damage. It didn’t look good. When he glanced over and saw Helena standing motionless, he retrieved her cane and threw it to her. Then he squatted to examine the broken traces.
He fingered the leather ends, his frown deepening. “As it happens, lass, this particular accident wasn’t even an accident.”
She leaned heavily on her cane as she limped toward him. “What do you mean?”
“Someone cut the traces partway through before we left Tunbridge.”
A low gasp came from her. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” He held up one end. “See how smooth this cut is? It goes halfway, just enough so it would take some time for the strain to make the leather tear all the way.”
She looked closely at it and paled, her hands clutching the silver head of her cane. “B-but why? Who?”
“I have a suspicion who. It’s the why I’m not so sure of.” He straightened. “In any case, we won’t be traveling by gig any longer.” He gazed along the road in the direction the horse had disappeared and sighed. “Looks as if we’ll be walking to the next town, unless some good soul is kind enough to stop and give us a ride.”
As if summoned by his wishful thinking, the clop-clop of horse’s hooves sounded down the road. Daniel glanced back to see a lone rider approaching on horseback. Uneasily, he watched until the face of the rider came into view. Then his gut clenched into a knot. “Well, well, here’s our savior now, come to our rescue in the nick of time. What a coincidence.”
“Hullo!” called the rider, shading his eyes from the sun with one hand. “Had a bit of trouble, have you?”
“Mr. Wallace?” Helena said, then shot Daniel a questioning glance.
He nodded. None other than John Wallace had arranged this little accident. Now all that remained was to find out why.
Then here is a health to the lass,
That the risk of her life she has run;
She tricked the highwayman completely
Out of his horse, money and gun.
“The Highwayman Outwitted,”
from a broadside by Harkness
A
sickening premonition settled in Helena’s belly as she watched Mr. Wallace come abreast of them. He reined in his dappled mare but did not dismount. Instead he sat staring down at them with a superior gaze, his hands resting on the pommel of his saddle. So Daniel suspected him of cutting the traces? Or had she misunderstood?
Mr. Wallace did seem inordinately satisfied by the damage to the gig. “Looks like the traces broke—a pity,
that. But it was half in the grave anyway. I s’pose it was only a matter of time afore it fell in.”
“Or was pushed in,” Daniel said evenly.
Mr. Wallace ignored Daniel’s comment. “I tell you what. I shouldn’t want yer missus to have to walk. I can’t carry you both, but I can carry her, at least. So why don’t I take Mrs. Brennan into the next town and send somebody back for you and the gig while you wait here?”
“Not bloody likely,” Daniel ground out, coming to her side with instant protectiveness.
“I may be ‘crippled,’ Mr. Wallace,” she put in, “but I can walk sufficiently to reach town, I assure you.” It was a blatant falsehood, but the very thought of going anywhere with the villain made her cringe. She slid her hand into the crook of Daniel’s elbow. “Besides, I prefer to stay with my husband. But we would be obliged if
you
would send someone to our aid once you reach town.”
Her hand shook, and Daniel slid his over hers to give it a reassuring squeeze.
“Come now, Mrs. Brennan,” Mr. Wallace said in a placating tone, “you wouldn’t want to be sittin’ out here till evenin’ waitin’ for help, would you? After dark it can be dangerous.”
“She isn’t going anyplace with you,” Daniel said, “so you’d best be on your way. If you truly want to help, you can send someone back for us both. But we’ll manage all right if you don’t.”
Shaking his head, Mr. Wallace reached into his pocket and pulled out a cruel-looking flintlock. “I didn’t want to have to do this, Brennan, but you force me to it. Yer wife is comin’ with me, one way or t’other.”
Helena dug her fingers into Daniel’s arm. Merciful heavens, anyone who’d go so far as to draw a pistol was surely not to be trifled with!
“You might as well put that away,” Daniel warned. “You only have one shot, and you’ll have to kill me with it before I’ll let you take her.”
Mr. Wallace leveled the pistol on Daniel. “Now that’s a tempting thought—”
“No!” Releasing Daniel’s arm, Helena stepped between him and Mr. Wallace. This was partly her fault for blundering in last night where she hadn’t belonged, and she wouldn’t allow Daniel to die for it. Besides, she had a plan. “I’ll go with you as long as you don’t harm Daniel.”
“Get out of the way!” Daniel hissed behind her and grabbed at her arm, but she twisted free to hobble forward a few steps.
When Daniel started after her, Mr. Wallace aimed the pistol at her. “Stand back, Danny Boy, or I’ll give yer wife grief.”
“Damn you, Helena!” Daniel roared, though he halted in his tracks. “Have you gone mad, woman?”
She was beginning to wonder about the possibility herself. She’d never stared down the barrel of a pistol before, and certainly never purposely drawn its aim.
“Let her do as she pleases,” Mr. Wallace said, cocking the pistol. “You don’t want to see yer pretty wife hurt, do you?”
“Why are you doing this?” Daniel demanded of Wallace.
“You’ll know soon enough.” He nodded toward Helena. “Now come here, Mrs. Brennan. But move slow and careful if you don’t want to lose the use of yer other leg.”
Ignoring Daniel’s low growl of rage, she did as he commanded, but all the while her mind was working on her plan. She wasn’t about to simply ride off with Mr. Wallace. She wasn’t insane, for heaven’s sake.
Her fingers tightened on the silver head of her cane. It was weighty, hard. It wasn’t much, but perhaps…
Mr. Wallace shifted the pistol to his left hand so he could reach down to her with his right. Although his aim on her wavered for no more than a second, his gaze was fixed on Daniel.
Which meant it was not on her.
He removed his foot from the stirrup, but never even glanced in her direction. Clearly it was Daniel he worried about. “Give me yer hand and put yer right foot in the stirrup,” he ordered her. “I’ll pull you up behind me.”
She took his hand in her left, shifting her grip lower on her cane. Then with a sudden motion, she brought her cane up and knocked his pistol hand high into the air. The pistol went off, sending a ball whistling over their heads.
After that, everything happened at once. Daniel lunged forward. She grabbed Mr. Wallace’s arm, trying to pull him off the horse. The sound of the men’s swearing filled the air as the mare danced between them like a wild thing. It was all Helena could do to stay clear of its hooves.