Page 47 of A Perilous Passion

“Well, thank you. But we can’t leave him like this. Let’s sit him up. Then work out what to do.”

Just as they succeeded in getting the insensible peer back onto the seat, the carriage doorway darkened and a masked face appeared.

Jenny’s robust shriek brought Charlotte’s headache back with a vengeance.

The highwayman took in the scene inside. With a groan, he pressed a hand to his forehead. “Miss Charlotte Allston. I might have known our paths would cross again in such dramatic fashion.”

Rafe—for it was indeed he—reversed back down the steps and clung awkwardly to the door as she and Jenny tumbled out of the carriage. As soon as they’d gained the ground, the vehicle lurched forward a few yards.

Charlotte looked up in alarm. The coachman, presumably struck down by Rafe when he jumped from his tree onto the carriage roof, was slumped forward over the reins. The horses stamped and rolled their eyes, threatening at any moment to hurtle off, dragging the coach and its two unconscious occupants with them.

Rafe limped across to grasp the leader’s harness, and she ran to help him. “Are you hurt?”

“Damned ball caught me in the thigh. I’ll need patching up, but not until I’ve searched Culverdale’s pockets for documents. Can you calm this animal while I do so?”

She nodded and took hold of the leathers. There was another groan from the carriage, and a frightened gasp from Jenny.

“He’s waking up,” she cried. “What shall I do? He’ll be so angry with us!”

Charlotte looked to Rafe for help. He staggered, and collapsed back against the wheel of the coach. He was in no condition to do anything. It was down to her now, and she had to think fast before he was further weakened by loss of blood.

“You’re right. We should go,” she said. Releasing the horse’s head, she caught Rafe about the waist and tried to take his weight. “And quickly, before this gentleman faints.”

“I’ve never fainted in my life,” Rafe rasped. “Stop interfering, Miss Allston. I must make a captive of the villain, and turn him over to the authorities.”

“And bleed to death in the process? What if he comes to? You’ll be no match for him in your present state. Come now, while you’re still able.”

Rafe emitted a deep groan, and she felt him relax against her shoulder.

Jenny looked alarmed.

“Don’t worry. I know this man. It’s quite safe,” she said. “Quick, help me before he falls!”

They soon had his weight balanced between them. She scanned the ground quickly to make sure nothing incriminating had been left behind in the scuffle, then glanced at the sky. It was still raining—thankfully not as hard, but it was unlikely to clear anytime soon—which would wash away any blood trail.

Taking a deep breath, she thanked her lucky stars she had a strong stomach and wasn’t the kind of person likely to faint in the jaws of danger. She thanked them, too, for Jenny’s loyalty and presence of mind.

And she fervently prayed that Culverdale would never know who it was who had knocked him senseless.

Recovering a little, Rafe slid his arm away from Jenny and rummaged at his belt, producing a dagger. “Here,” he told the maid. “Cut the ribbons, close to the body of the lead horse. Right through, so Culverdale can’t follow us. Then cut a two-foot length of leather strap and bring it to me.”

“We must get away from here!” Charlotte exclaimed as Jenny came running back to them with the strap. “We can’t afford to linger.”

“Much as it infuriates me to leave the blackguard behind,” he ground out, “I believe you’re right.” Replacing his dagger in its sheath, he said, “Quickly. We must get out of sight. Head straight for the stand of trees on that little hillock.”

Jenny thrust her shoulder beneath his armpit, and Charlotte took his weight on the other side. Between them, they pushed through the soaked undergrowth and forged a path to the place Rafe had indicated. When they were a good quarter of an hour away from Culverdale and his driver, he pointed to a shadowy opening in the dense undergrowth beneath an ancient spreading yew. “Hitch up your skirts and crawl in.”

Jenny squeezed through first, and Charlotte insisted Rafe follow. When his muddy boots had disappeared inside the concealing canopy, she cast a quick look over her shoulder, listening for pursuers.

There were no sounds but the wind soughing in the branches and the steady patter and drip of the rain. The woods were getting darker by the minute, which could only be to their advantage, though how they would make their way home cutting across country if there was no moon, she’d no idea. From their hiding place it was impossible to see the coach, but there were no noises of hue and cry or moving lanterns, so there was still hope they would escape undetected.

She hitched up her skirts, knelt on the sodden ground, and wriggled through the gap into a dark, rank-smelling cave of greenery. She could only imagine what kind of creatures called it home.

There was just enough space for the three of them, and any movement invariably resulted in banging one’s head on a branch or being scratched by a limb. After her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw Rafe tying the leather strap tightly around the top of his thigh.

“I need something for a bandage,” he whispered. “Do you have a handkerchief in your reticule?”

“Too small,” she responded. “We’ll use my stockings.”