Anne's Perfect Husband

Despite that worry, Ian felt a swell of confidence as his fingers closed around the shape of the pistol. He hurriedly unwrapped it from the oilskin in which it was kept, the weight of it reassuringly the same as the one he had carried on the Peninsula. And he had always been accounted a good shot.

There had still been no shout of greeting, although the horses were now very close. And no talking at all, Ian realized. He eased nearer the door, turning his body to face it and laying the pistol in his lap, his right hand resting over it, although the darkness would certainly conceal that it was there.

With his left hand, he reached out and found Anne’s arm. Without speaking, he applied pressure, trying to signal her to move over behind him on the seat he occupied. If he could position her there, with his body between whoever was outside and hers, he could offer her even more protection than the pistol alone would afford. After all, he would have only one shot.

His every sense was trained on what was going on beyond that closed door. With the fall of night, Ian had pulled the shades down over the windows, hoping to keep out some of the pervasive chill. That was a move he now regretted.

There was a soft jingle of harness, quickly muted, probably by a gloved hand. Ian pulled Anne’s arm again, more urgently this time, and finally she understood, slipping silently onto his seat and pressing close behind him. He took a breath in relief.

As he did, the door he was facing was jerked open and a torch was thrust into the carriage. It came so close to his face that Ian felt a searing heat, and the sudden flare of light blinded him. He recoiled automatically, to escape both its brightness and the flame, which seemed directed at his head.

He felt Anne’s intake of breath against his spine, and he steeled himself, expecting her scream to follow. Apparently she was, as she had claimed, made of sterner stuff. George Darlington might have been a coward, but his daughter was not.

“What have we ’ere?” the voice behind the torch asked. “Lookee, mate. It seems we’ve got ourselves a couple of passengers in this ’ere deserted coach.”

As the man talked, Ian’s eyes gradually adjusted to the light and his face came into focus. The sight was not reassuring. Despite his years with His Majesty’s army, never noted for attracting the cream of the underclass to fill its ranks, Ian doubted he had ever seen a more villainous visage.

It was obvious by the man’s comment that there were at least two of them. Ian’s gaze flicked to the darkness beyond the blaze of the torch. He could barely make out another figure behind the one who was doing the talking. He could tell little about the second rider, however, and he quickly brought his attention back to the nearer of the two.

“And one of them’s a woman,” the torch holder said.

There had been a subtle shift in tone with the last word. The possibility of violence had been there since the door had been flung open without warning. Now the threat seemed more purposeful and more clearly directed. And Ian’s blood ran cold, lifting the hair on the back of his neck.

None of that fear was allowed to show in his features. They were as imperturbable as he had always determined they would be when facing battle. Then he had made sure of his control in order to give his men confidence that he knew what he was doing. Now he tried to use that same control as a form of intimidation.

“We are awaiting our outriders,” he said calmly. “They should be arriving at any moment.”

“Outriders?” the torch holder questioned, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder. “We didn’t pass no out-riders.”

“Perhaps you came upon the coach from the opposite direction,” Ian suggested logically.

The snow-laden wind whipped in through the open door. The flame of the torch reacted to its rush by leaning inward, as if reaching toward the occupants of the carriage. The acrid smoke from the pitch-soaked rag, which had been wrapped around a broken branch, tainted the air around them.

“Mayhap we can fix whatever’s gone wrong with your vehicle,” the torch holder said. “Why don’t the two of you step out, and we’ll take a look.”

Ian debated the suggestion, but he could see no advantage to them in being outside. As it stood now, these two would have to go through him—and the pistol—to get to Anne. He could be rid of at least one of them by using the gun. He’d have to take his chances that he could knock the second one out with his fists, but thankfully control wasn’t the only thing Ian had learned in his years with the army.

Of course, there might be more than the two he could see. Which could present a problem to his schemes, he thought, fighting the urge to grin at his presumption of planning any kind of extended defense, given his very limited resources.

However, they couldn’t both rush him through the narrow opening the door presented. The pistol would take care of the first, and his fists the second, he reiterated mentally, preparing himself for that sequence of events.

He only regretted that while he had had the chance he hadn’t thought to instruct Anne to get out through the opposite door as soon as they made their move. Maybe she would be wise enough, or frightened enough, to do that anyway.

“Thank you for your kind offer,” he said aloud, those decisions having been reached in a matter of seconds, “but I’m afraid it is quite beyond repair. I’ve sent for another coach.”

“From the inn?”

The man in back spoke for the first time, drawing Ian’s attention to him again. There had been some nuance of amusement in that question, and Ian hesitated, wondering what these two knew about the inn. Obviously, if they even knew its location, they knew more than he did.

“From a friend’s house,” Ian lied. “He lives only a short distance away.”

“And what be your friend’s name?” Torchbearer probed.

“I can’t see how that could possibly be of any concern to you,” Ian said, injecting into his tone the freezing censure he had heard often in the voice of his father, the late earl.

“Don’t want her ladyship to get cold, now do we?” The man’s eyes slid past Ian to examine the girl he sheltered behind him.

“Then I suggest you close the door and be on your way,” Ian said. “Our friends will be arriving at any time.”

“Nobody on the road,” the man denied. “Maybe you ain’t telling the truth about what’s going on. Maybe you be carrying this young lady off from the loving bosom of her family. Maybe a little rescuing is in order ’ere. And I’m just the man to be doing it,” the nearer of the two boasted.

He started forward and Ian raised the pistol, both gloved hands wrapped around it, holding it steady, his finger on the trigger. He pointed the weapon directly at the man’s midsection, and the sight of it stopped his motion. Ian was thankful to see that the barrel didn’t waver, despite the cold.

“We don’t need you here,” Ian said. “I suggest the two of you remount and go about your business.”

“No call for the popper,” the man said, taking a step backward, away from the muzzle of the pistol. Some of Ian’s tension eased at his retreat. “We was just trying to help.”

“We don’t need your help. Be on your way. Both of you.”

The man’s eyes locked on his, holding there for perhaps half a minute. He was obviously trying to gauge Ian’s strength of purpose. Or his courage.

Ian resisted the urge to let his finger tighten around the trigger. Unfamiliar with the mechanism, he had no way of judging at what point it would discharge. Actually, he acknowledged, he had no way of knowing it would discharge at all. He blocked that possibility from his mind and concentrated instead on convincing the villain before him of his willingness to shoot.

“They had a fire at the inn,” the man said unexpectedly. “Could be a long time ’afore your servants get back.”

“I told you they have gone to borrow a coach from a friend.”

There was a sound from the other one, a noise suspiciously like the snort of amusement that had come from the groom when Anne had slammed the door. And suddenly, with that sound, everything fell into place.

These two, typical of those who frequented the public rooms of the scattered country inns, had probably overheard John or the groom asking about a carriage for hire. Obviously that request had been denied due to the unsettling effects of the fire or perhaps even because it had been the livery stable itself which had burned.

In any case, these scavengers must have heard enough to figure out the location of the stranded travelers on whose behalf his servants were inquiring. Or they had heard enough to know in what direction to search for the disabled coach. Then they had hurried here on horseback, beating the rescue party.

It was quite possible that they loitered at the posting inns, hoping for just such a situation. Ian wondered how many other travelers had fallen prey to their schemes.

“We’ll be on our way then,” the man with the torch said. “Since you won’t be needing our services.”

His eyes again shifted to Anne. He smiled at her, revealing the blackened hole of a missing front tooth, before he stepped back, lowering the torch. He began walking toward the horses and his companion, the wavering light he carried revealing both as Ian watched from the still-opened door of the carriage.

Just before he reached his mount, the leader threw the torch into the side of the roadbed. The flaming arc it made through the night drew Ian’s eyes. Unconsciously they followed its flight and landing. The fire sputtered and sizzled a moment in the snow before it went out, plunging the area into darkness.

Ian’s gaze refocused quickly on the place where the two men had been standing just before the scene had faded into the surrounding black. As he waited for his vision to adjust, he strained to keep track, by sound alone, of what they were doing.

There was almost no noise, however. At least none he could follow. Gradually his eyes had adjusted to the lack of light, other than what little moonlight found its way through the obscuring clouds. The horses were still there, exactly as they had been before the torch had been extinguished, but the two men had vanished as if they had never existed.

Ian turned on the seat, throwing his left arm in front of Anne and pulling her toward him. He shoved her behind his left shoulder. As he did, the two movements simultaneous, he brought the pistol around, pointing it at the rear door of the carriage.

He wasn’t disappointed. The door burst open and something came hurtling through it from the outer darkness. Ian delayed for half a second, unsure whether this was something the two had thrown into the carriage to make him fire. He was well aware that he had only one shot. And then, judging the bulk of the object to be man-sized, he knew he couldn’t take the chance that it was not one of the scavengers.