Page 11 of Lyon on the Loose

The coach hit another rut, jolting so violently that Lissy clutched at Roland’s lapel. He steadied her, glaring at Sutton. “You’ll find me a most unwilling benefactor. Are you planning to follow me wherever I go, with a pistol pointed at my head? I’m afraid you will find that most inconvenient.”

Sutton merely tilted his head. “Why would I threaten you when there’s an easier way? A gentleman will pay anything to keep his lady friend safe.”

Roland clenched his fists. “If you so much just look at her the wrong way, Sutton, I’ll—”

“What will you do?” Sutton waved the pistol at him. “You’re unarmed except for a badly mended walking stick. If it came to a battle, with your stick and my gun, which of us do you think would be the victor?”

Roland forced himself to keep his voice level. “You forget that I’m light on my feet and have a solid right hook. Both could make your life very unpleasant.”

Sutton narrowed his eyes, then laughed, cold and humorless. “You’re not that stupid. You know I’ll put a hole in you before you can lay a finger on me. So let us be sensible. My associate is going to turn this coach around as soon as he finds a suitable turning place. We will head back to London via a back route—I don’t particularly want to run into that coachman again, or any constables he might have alerted. When we’re back in Town, we’ll arrange everything at my convenience. Understand?”

The carriage lurched again, rocking so wildly that the pistol wavered. Lissy made a retching sound and glanced toward the window. Sutton swore and hammered on the roof again. “Ease up, you idiot!”

“Please, Mr. Sutton, may we have the window open? I feel as if I’m about to be most unwell.”

Lissy was as good an actress as any of the women Roland had seen strutting upon the stage at Piers Darvill’s Old Forum Theater. He gave her waist an appreciative squeeze.

Sutton grunted and waved at the window. “If you’re about to cast up your accounts, I would rather you did it out the window than over my breeches. It costs money to cut a dash in Town, you know.”

Roland knew full well that Sutton only “cut a dash in Town” so he could gull the unsuspecting into thinking he was a gentleman before parting them from their money. The man was a walking falsehood, greedy and unreliable. He could also be dangerously charming, which was how Miss Charlotte Lavoisier had fallen under his spell—and remained there, even when she started to notice Sutton’s faults and recognized that his drinking habits were excessive.

Another lurch had the villain leaping to his feet and swearing at the top of his voice. “You’ll have us over, you fool. You can afford to slow down now—nobody is going anywhere while I’ve got my pistol trained on them.”

As the coach slowed in a series of jerks, Sutton rolled his eyes at his captives. “He’ll get the hang of it, I’m sure,” he said, loud enough to be heard by the driver.

“I’m doing my damn best, Mr. Sutton,” came an exasperated voice, “But I’m very happy to change places, since you clearly have the easier task.”

Roland felt Lissy freeze. She seemed to have forgotten to breathe, so he stroked her shoulder comfortingly, bringing his lips close to her ear.

“Whatever is the matter?”

Not bothering to keep her voice down, she replied, “It can’t be!” She shook her head wildly. “I must be mistaken.”

“About what? Tell me.” Her reaction, the pallor of her face, alarmed him.

“That voice—I think I know it!” Her voice had dropped to a whisper.

“Who? Who is it?”

“It sounds like Oscar. Mr. Treadwell, I mean. But how can it be? What in the world would he be doing here, and why doesn’t he stop the coach and rescue me?”

Sutton gave her a mocking bow before resuming his seat. “Indeed—it is the gallant artist himself. I think he may be disinclined to rescue you unless you follow our instructions to the letter—both you and Mr. Chetwynd.”

“You’ve made Oscar your accomplice?” The disbelief, the betrayal, was clear on Lissy’s face.

A curse on Mr. Oscar Treadwell! What kind of fellow would abandon his future bride, then put her life at risk? Did Treadwell have no idea how dangerous Sutton was? At the earliest opportunity, Roland would teach Treadwell the error of his ways. One never treated a young lady so heinously, especially not one of gentle breeding like Lissy Ashby. But he must deal with Sutton now; Treadwell could keep. Treadwell did not have a pistol. Or did he? He prayed that the man’s shooting skills were no better than his carriage driving.

“We are a couple of fellows who have chosen to help one another,” Sutton informed them. “We have mutual interests, you see. He’s been trailing my mark, and I’ve been trailing his—and now we have you both. Two little pretty birds, helpless in a cage, chirruping pointlessly.”

“Oscar doesn’t know how to drive a coach. Stop him this instant before we’re all killed!”

“It’s not that difficult to control a few horses—he’s calmed them down already.”

Roland glanced out the window as casually as he could. Good—they were passing through pastureland, with the road elevated a little above the level of the fields. His escape plan very much required a soft landing.

Sutton rested his pistol on his knee for a moment and withdrew a battered hip flask before helping himself to a generous swig of liquor. Roland whispered two words in Lissy’s ear. “Brace yourself.”

“You should give some of that to the horses,” he said aloud. “They couldn’t run any more erratically than they already are.”