They dismounted.
“Good choice,” Monsieur Tarrou said. Clambering on the horse, he galloped away, his maniacal laughter mingling with the frantic cheeps of the leechsparrow. Seconds later, two footmen emerged from the shrubbery, laden with suitcases, and sprinted after their master.
“Wait!” Beth called out, to no avail.
“Well, damn,” Devon said, setting his hands on his hips as he frowned after the POU president. “That man really is a louse.”
Beth was too upset to condemn this language. Indeed, such was her unhappiness, she actually took off her hat and fanned herself with it. “This is altogether dreadful!”
“It will be all right,” Devon said distractedly.
“No, it won’t. Monsieur Tarrou does not have the address for the clerk’s brother in Canterbury. He won’t know where to take the horse. What if it ends up in some dreadful situation? Perhaps even a slaughterhouse! And, oh, that poor little bird!”
She was so caught up in worry, she did not notice Devon approaching until he was upon her. Suddenly, without a word, he scooped her up off her feet.
For the first time in her life, Beth squealed. She knew she sounded like an undergraduate but could not help herself. Dropping her hat in surprise, she clutched at Devon, fearing he might let her go. But he cradled her easily in his arms, as if she were featherlight, and began to stride north.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, trying to sound outraged.
“Employing a little chivalry,” he said. “A fine lady should not have to trudge along a dirty road.”
“We cannot travel miles on only one pair of legs!” Beth protested. She smacked his shoulder, and he gave her his most charming, teasing grin. It was too much. Hatless, hungry, and not having slept properly for two days, Beth felt her resistance crumble. Naughtiness rose within her, accompanied by a swarm of fluttery giggles.
Thankfully, just in the nick of time, she saw over Devon’s shoulder a horse-drawn carriage emerge from the hazy southern horizon. It was traveling at speed, sunlight flaring off its polished black surface. Beth’s humor abruptly vanished.
“Traffic,” she said.
Devon stopped, turning to frown at it. “Hm,” he said, setting her on her feet.
Beth brushed wrinkles from her skirt as if she could brush away her improper behavior. Hippolyta would have a fit were she to see her now—and the fact that it would be a fit of laughter did not ease Beth’s mind at all.
“Do you think it’s ornithologists?” she asked, squinting through the sunlight at the carriage.
“I don’t know,” Devon said, his face growing somber. He drew his gun. “But in about five minutes it will be.”
“Oh, another hijacking.” She eyed the gun warily. “You’re not actually going to shoot anyone, are you?”
“Of course not,” he said. “I’m a scientist, not a criminal. Well, not a murderous criminal, anyway.” He glanced at her with a roguish smirk. “Can’t practice ornithology without a little trespassing, a little theft, a little seduction of farmers’ wives.”
Beth decided it wisest to ignore that. “I only ask because Hippolyta is forever shooting people, and it’s costing me a fortune having to send fruit baskets to them in the hospital.”
Devon laughed. Then he strode to the middle of the road, all long, swirling black coat and dusty leather boots, the kind of man comfortable navigating danger zones like jungles, crocodile-infested swamps, and the hallway outside the student canteen at noon. Pivoting on a heel, he extended his arm, pointing the gun at the approaching carriage.
Beth moved to stand beside him. She reached only as high as his chin but consoled herself with being his superior in all particulars except height (and devilry). Straightening her gloves and trying not to notice their grubby state, she reached up to adjust her hat before recollecting she’d left it on the road. Indeed, it lay not too far away—and yet, she did not run to retrieve it. Something uncharacteristically wild inside her thought, Let it fly!
“Let’s hope these people are as amiable as the fishermen,” she said.
Devon looked at her askance, his expression a mix of disbelief and exasperation. Fortunately, before they could begin a debate on the definition of amiable, the carriage arrived. Its driver yelled out, pulling urgently on the reins, and dust flew up from beneath the horses’ hooves as they came to an abrupt halt. The carriage shuddered.
Taking an authoritative step forward, Devon aimed his gun directly at the driver. “Stand and deliver!” he commanded in the same tone he used when telling students there would be no extensions allowed for their essays.
“Hello there!” The driver, a young man with ragged hair and a nose resembling that of the northern goshawk, rose from his seat. “This is a private vehicle, gov’nor. I’m standing, but if you want something delivered, you gotta send it by train.”
Devon blinked at him for a moment. Then he lifted the hand holding the gun and rubbed its thumb knuckle wearily against his forehead. “This morning has been far too long.”
“Hello, young sir!” Beth called out. “Terribly sorry about all this! Just to clarify, we are, unfortunately, hijacking you. I understand it will be distressing, but we’d appreciate any help you can give in making things go smoothly. Thank you so much!”
Both men stared at her. Then Devon set a hand against her back and bent to say quietly, “You evict the passengers. I’ll deal with the driver.”
She did as he asked at once, since compared with the feeling of his touch, and the intimacy of his voice so close to her ear, hijacking suddenly seemed a whole lot less scandalous.
—
Devon watched Beth hurry to the cab, her posture impeccable despite the haste, her hips swaying in a moderate yet alluring fashion…Then he abruptly recalled himself and frowned up at the driver.
“Take us to Canterbury and I’ll—”
“Kill me quick rather than slow?” the boy supplied.
Devon startled. “What? No! I’ll pay you.”
“Cor, that’s even better! Can you give me a black eye, though? Or a cut on my arm, so’s I’ll get a fascinating scar? Nothing attracts the ladies like a fascinating scar, you know.”
Devon just stared in response.
“Fair enough,” the boy said. “But you might want to watch out for your missus.”
“Why?” Devon asked.
