Page 10 of Lyon on the Loose

She couldn’t help herself. She clasped Roland’s sleeve. “Are they going to kill us?”

“No, foolish girl. What use would we be to anyone dead? Besides, they’ve already emptied a brace of pistols. Unless there’s more than one of them, the coachman should be able to take care of them. He’s sure to have a blunderbuss.”

The coach rocked, and as she clung to Roland, a man climbed in and threw himself against the squabs opposite them, his unshaven face wreathed in a triumphant grin.

“We meet again, Mr. Roland Chetwynd.”

The fellow brandished his pistol, then pointed it directly at Roland’s head.

Chapter Five

The barrel of Henry Sutton’s pistol glistened ominously. Roland had faced danger before, but never quite so inconveniently close, nor when he had someone else to protect.

To her great credit, Miss Lissy Ashby remained stock-still, giving the pistol the respect it deserved. If only it were possible to tell if the fellow had reloaded it! At this precise moment, Roland could think of nothing to do except play for time. He had, quite wisely he thought, brought his own brace of pistols with him, but he hadn’t truly expected to need them, and they were out of reach. That was a mistake he was never going to make again, if he lived to tell the tale.

“Mr. Sutton.” He kept his voice as level as he could. “We meet again. I trust you’re not planning on doing anything unpleasant in the presence of a lady.”

Sutton leered at Lissy. Roland had to admit that he was a handsome rogue, although he needed a shave—he could almost understand how Miss Charlotte Lavoisier had fallen head over heels in love with the man. It could sometimes take a while for a fellow to show his true colors.

“I know all about Miss Felicity Ashby. A pleasure, miss.”

Lissy stared at the interloper. “You followed me to the inn. I recognize you.”

This was unexpected. How dared that loathsome creature pursue Lissy! What could he hope to gain by it?

A look of surprise flashed across the villain’s face. “You have a keen eye, miss.”

“I suppose it must come from being an artist. I never forget a face.”

Good girl. She appreciated how important it was to engage their enemy, to lull him into a false sense of security so that they could make their move. But what was their move going to be? A way out of their predicament had occurred to him immediately, but it was so dangerous, so frightful, he wasn’t convinced he could go through with it. Well, he could, but how could he expect someone gently bred like Lissy Ashby to attempt it?

“I assume you’re not going to shoot anyone, Sutton. I don’t imagine either of us will be of any use to you dead. I know I won’t like the answer, but why have you been following my friend here?”

“Your friend, eh? More than that, I wouldn’t be surprised. Very cozy you’re looking—I almost feel I should apologize for interrupting your private amusements. I have a friend too, and he’s going to be most disappointed with you, Miss Ashby.”

Roland chose to ignore Sutton’s lewd insinuation. “To spare us spending too much longer in your odious presence, can we get to the point and learn what your demands are? Then you can be on your way, and we can attend to whatever injuries you’ve inflicted on our poor coachman.”

“Your coachman’s fine—he’s just got a little walk ahead of him, is all. My new friend is now driving us, and he’s not going to stop or let you out until we both get what we want.”

Sutton was working in league with somebody else, was he? No surprises there, considering he only hovered at the edges of polite society and most of his friends were dyed-in-the-wool criminals.

Was the whole story of his involvement with Sutton going to be aired in front of Lissy? He rather hoped not—there was too much grist for the rumor mill in the tale. Roland had encountered the fellow whilst on commission from Piers Darvill to find out what had happened to Piers’s son. The boy had been in the care of his mama, Charlotte Lavoisier, who’d subsequently fallen under the influence of Henry Sutton. The little family had regularly received a handsome amount from the wealthy Piers—until Roland and his brother’s sister-in-law, Belinda, had uncovered Sutton’s cruel deception.

“Tell us what you want, and please be sharp about it. We have a long journey ahead of us.”

Despite Roland’s apparent sang froid, it was an enormous relief when Sutton smiled evenly at him and lowered his weapon. At that point, the coach shuddered, distracting Sutton’s attention and giving Roland the opportunity to glance out the window.

While Sutton was involved in shaking his fist and swearing at his companion above, Roland whispered to Lissy, “If the coach continues to jolt, in a few moments, I want you to complain of sickness and ask to open the window.”

She nodded her understanding, and his arms tightened around her. She needed to know how well she was doing—most young ladies would be in a dead faint by now, but she was keeping her wits about her and doing her utmost to stay calm. He was going to get them out of this situation—he couldn’t bear to let her down when she was being so brave.

“I’m listening.”

“I want money, of course. A regular allowance to be sent through the same clerk in Lincoln’s Inn that my much-missed sweetheart Charlotte used when Piers Darvill was helping us out. You remember that, of course.”

Roland’s jaw tightened. “Vividly. You turned blackmail into a family tradition.”

“I’d prefer to consider it an art form,” Sutton corrected. “And you, Chetwynd, are to become my next patron. You owe it to me, you know, after everything I lost when you poked and pried into my private business.”