Page 46 of A Perilous Passion

“Miss Bettany, eh?” He smoothed long fingers over a pair of white kid gloves on his knee, then pulled a repeater watch from his gold-embroidered waistcoat and snapped open the cover. “Where am I to set you down?”

While his attention was on the watch, Charlotte shot Jenny a sharp warning look. Hopefully she was getting the message. “We are just on an errand to see the carrier, Tom Harris,” she said.

“He lives beyond the village, does he not?”

She nodded. “Aye.”

“I’m not much acquainted with Fortuneswell. Have you dwelled here long?”

“All my life,” she lied. The less accurate information she gave to such a cunning and dangerous man, the better.

Hard spatters of rain struck the roof of the coach as the road took them under a stand of trees. A loud thump from above, followed by a dramatic lurch, had her grabbing for the straps in fear the vehicle was about to overturn.

“What the devil?” Culverdale reached down to a compartment at his feet and withdrew a gleaming pistol, which he rested against his lips to exhort her and Jenny to silence. There was another thump from the coachman’s box, followed by a hoarse shout.

The carriage came to a juddering halt, nearly throwing Charlotte into Culverdale’s lap. As she righted herself, she heard a command from outside that froze her blood.

“Stand and deliver!”

Chapter Twenty

These ominous words, dreaded by every traveler, struck a quite different chord with Charlotte.

Oh great, good heavens!

It sounded like Rafe.

It must be Rafe. The mask she’d seen at Dovehouse Farm confirmed he was a highwayman.

The highwayman.

Culverdale pulled down the sash and peered cautiously out the window, his pistol upright against his cheek. The instant she saw his hand tense to point the weapon, she knew she must act at once.

She threw herself at him, catching him unawares, and dragged his arm down.

Alas! Not soon enough. An ear-splitting blast from the gun was followed by the sound of splintering wood as the ball cracked through the side of the carriage.

A bellow of pain assaulted her ears.

No!

Rafe had been hit!

Culverdale, his hat awry and his thin face twisted in fury, turned to wrestle with her. He kicked the door open, struggling to throw her out of the carriage. Just as she was about to lose her balance, he let go abruptly and collapsed across her, the gun clattering to the floor.

She quickly extracted and righted herself. Blood was soaking through Culverdale’s wig, running down his neck and over the ruffled front of his shirt. She looked up, and there was Jenny, a broken wine bottle quivering in her hands.

“God in Heaven, I’ve killed him!” squeaked her maid.

Culverdale groaned.

Not dead, thank God.

When Charlotte got over her shock enough to examine him, she realized what she’d thought blood was actually claret from the bottle.

“Whatever made you do that?” she asked, hugely impressed.

“I saw the bottle in a pocket in the door when we climbed up. When his lordship pulled out a pistol and you tried to stop him shooting the desperate creature outside in cold blood, I knew I must help.”