“You are the country, you know?”
The landscape rocked past the window, dusted in silver moonlight and topped with stars. The quiet gave her words weight. Giving Kit a home, helping Gareth’s widow, solving the young man’s murder—these were all small steps. He had the capability and the connections to do more.
But not tonight. He was on holiday, and his wife was warm in his arms.
“How go your redecorating plans?” he whispered in her ear, and enjoyed the shiver that went through her.
“Are you anxious to be rid of me?” Annabel tilted her head, not to escape him, but to give him access to her neck.
He was happy to take advantage. Her skin was soft, but strong muscles flexed against his tongue. “Never. You can leave it pink, frilly, and vacant for all I care.”
“Now that I’ve begun, I should finish.”
“Mm-hmm.” He slid his hand along the curve of her knee and the inside of her thigh. “You definitely should.”
She put a firm hand on his wrist. “No, Jasper. Not now.”
“I owe you something for refilling my gin.” He nipped her earlobe. “I damn near coughed myself to death.”
Now, as then, her giggle unraveled him. He tangled his fingers in her skirts and pulled. She insisted on pushing them back to the floor.
“I’ve finally realized your mother cannot hear us, but I draw the line at male staff in the quiet countryside.”
“Fine.” Not to be completely deterred, he kissed her and groaned in relief when she opened for him eagerly. Her hum of anticipation tickled his tongue. “If you’re certain.”
“I am,” Annabel panted as she tangled her fingers in his hair.
Her collarbone gave him a path to the hollow in her throat and down her sternum. She arched into the caress, putting her breast in his hand. Jasper could swear his world was speeding to match the hammering of her heart.
“Highwaymen!”
Lawrence’s cry pulled Jasper back to reality, but it took a moment to clear his head. All he could see was a lantern, but the longer he stared, the clearer the shapes became. One rider in a dark coat on a black horse—a fast one.
“Blast.”
“There’s one on this side as well,” Annabel said. Her words were rushed, but her voice was steady. “Closing fast.”
He pulled her from the window as he extinguished the lantern. “Get on the floor.”
He lifted the vacant seat and retrieved a pistol. Five delicate fingers beckoned for it. He looked over his shoulder and into her defiant stare. She was nowhere near the floor.
“No, Annabel.”
“I will not cower while you hang out the window shooting at people.”
“It’s not that dramatic.” A shot rang out from behind them, proving him wrong at the worst possible time. The carriage lurched forward at Lawrence’s urging, and Frederick returned fire.
“You have more than one weapon, and I am not helpless.” Her face was pale, but her hand was still out.
“Do you know how to shoot?” He put the gun in her hand and watched her nod a little too fast for comfort. He pushed her into the corner of the bench and lifted her feet so her knees were bent. “Balance your arm on your knees and brace your back against the corner.” He shoved her down. “Keep your head clear of the window.”
He’d groused to no end when Kit had given him this lecture—as though he’d never considered dueling or having to defend himself.
“Both barrels are loaded. If you fire them at the same time, you’ll either scare the hell out of your target or break your elbow. Either way, you’ll ruin your chance for a second shot.” He lifted the pistol and her hand with it. “Pull the rear trigger first. If you need it, pull the front. They will have to be close, darling. Don’t close your eyes, and don’t hesitate.”
Once she nodded, he retrieved the other pistol and practically fell into his seat as the coach hit a rut in the road. He doused the lantern over his head, braced himself against the motion, and waited.
The world narrowed to pounding footsteps and shadows stretching across the floor. Frederick’s rifle came at regular intervals. He was trying, and failing, to spook the robbers before they reached the coach.
“Remember to breathe,” he said to Annabel as much as himself.
The lanterns grew brighter, gold replacing silver moonlight inside the coach. A shadow loomed over his head, while a hulking figure filled the window nearest Annabel.
Jasper aimed and fired, and the blast deafened him. Annabel’s shot set her wide-eyed face into stark relief. Moonlight flooded the coach as the riders fell back. Before he could move, she scrambled across the seat, braced her arm against the door, and fired again. She flew back against the velvet cushions with a yelp as the pistol fell from her hand.
Her target shouted and fell back out of sight.
“Annabel!” Heedless of the windows and whether the highwaymen were still in range, Jasper leapt across to her and pulled her into his arms. Ragged breaths sawed through her, warming his suddenly cold skin.
Jasper ran his hands over her, praying for nothing wet or sticky. “Are you injured?”
She blinked up at him, frowning.
“Hurt, Annabel,” he shouted. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head slowly, then with more force. Her smile was almost feral. “I’m fine. Though I should have listened more closely about how the pistol would kick.”
Jasper handed her his weapon and retrieved the other from the floor. “I’ll reload. Use that if you need it.”
