outside interference, no matter how well intentioned.”
At that arch reference to her matchmaking efforts, Winifred looked a trifle guilty. “I just want you both to be happy.”
“I know, Winifred, but you must allow us to be responsible for our own happiness…”
Her words trailed off when she became aware that the carriage had begun to slow. Moments later she heard a shout from outside.
“Hold there, I say!”
“What the devil?” Winifred muttered.
Just as puzzled, Roslyn peered out the window. There was enough light from the carriage lamps to make out the mounted horseman by the side of the road. Her heart started thudding in alarm when she realized the rider was masked and armed with a pistol.
“Stand and deliver!” he commanded, waving his weapon at the coachman.
The two ladies looked at each other in shock and dismay as the barouche lurched to a shuddering halt.
“I believe we are being held up,” Roslyn murmured.
“And me wearing all my best jewels,” Winifred said worriedly.
When the highwayman shifted his aim toward the rear of the coach, Roslyn knew he was addressing the footman perched up behind the boot.
“You there, fellow, climb down and open the door!”
The servant must have jumped down from his perch since shortly the door swung open. Through the opening, she could see their assailant more clearly as he sat upon his bay horse. He was ginger-haired and wore a dark coat, but despite his smallish build, the pistol in his hand looked large and deadly.
The footman obviously thought so, too, for after letting down the step, he raised his hands high and sidled away from the door, keeping a wary eye on the weapon.
“Now come out, your ladyship,” the brigand called.
He was ordering them out of the carriage, yet Winifred seemed disinclined to obey. “I will not!” she exclaimed mutinously.
“You will, or I’ll shoot your man here.”
The highwayman’s voice was surprisingly unsteady but determined enough to suggest he would carry out his threat if thwarted.
“We should do as he says, Winifred,” Roslyn said, not wanting to risk the servant’s life.
Gathering her courage, she stepped down first, then assisted Winifred. As she turned to face the highwayman, Roslyn drew her cloak a bit tighter around her silk-clad shoulders. The June night was warm enough, yet she couldn’t help shivering at the danger they faced.
“What do you want, sir?” she asked, trying to keep her own voice calm.
“What do you think I want? Your money and your jewels.”
Her reticule was looped around her wrist, but it was empty except for a bit of pin money. And she had no jewels other than a lovely pearl necklace and earrings given to her by Marcus. Winifred, however, was practically dripping in diamonds.
The highwayman seemed to know it, for he only had eyes for Winifred.
“Hand over your jewels, Lady Freemantle,” he demanded, brandishing his pistol.
He sounded rather nervous, or at least he didn’t seem to be enjoying his villain’s role. Roslyn wondered vaguely if this was his first foray into crime. Regardless, she thought it wiser not to argue.
When she reached up to remove her pearl necklace, though, the thief shook his head. “Not you, Miss. Her ladyship’s is all I want.”
Scowling, Winifred fumbled with the clasp of her diamond necklace, but the fellow again shook his head. “Give me the brooch first.”
“What brooch?”
“The one pinned to your bodice under your shawl.”
Roslyn wondered how the thief knew what Winifred was wearing under her satin shawl and decided he must have seen her earlier this evening. Winifred, however, was evidently unwilling to hand over her prize possession, for her spine went rigid. “I won’t give it to you!”
“Damn and blast it, do as I say!” he demanded.
“You needn’t curse at me, you devil.”
When he aimed his pistol at Winifred’s ample chest, his hand shook, as did his voice, yet the dame seemed finally to realize the danger. “No, please, take all my other jewels. Just leave me this piece.”
Hearing the tremor in her friend’s plea, Roslyn understood. Winifred would dislike surrendering her expensive baubles, but she positively couldn’t bear to part with her brooch, since it held a miniature of her late husband.
Seeing Winifred’s distress, Roslyn stepped forward protectively, hoping to reason with the highwayman to leave the brooch. “Surely you could be content with her diamonds. They are far more costly. The brooch is not particularly valuable. In fact its value is mostly sentimental.”
“No matter, it’s the brooch I want. Now give it to me!” he insisted, just as they heard the rattle and accompanying thud of hooves of an oncoming carriage and team behind them.
The highwayman froze. Another vehicle was bowling down the dark country road, Roslyn realized. When it rumbled to a halt behind the barouche, she recognized Arden’s coach from the ducal crest emblazoned on the door panel.
Cursing, the highwayman clenched his horse’s reins, sending the animal prancing as he debated what to do.
While his attention was thus distracted, Roslyn acted on sheer instinct: She slipped her reticule off her wrist and threw it with all her might at the footpad’s face.
At the same time she lunged toward his horse, hoping to seize his weapon and possibly disarm him.
The unexpected blow made the highwayman flinch violently and jerk his pistol upward, causing it to discharge harmlessly over Roslyn’s head, yet with a report loud enough to frighten not only his mount but the Freemantle team as well.
To her horror then, the highwayman abruptly fumbled in his coat pocket and pulled out another pistol, which he started to point at her.
Roslyn halted in her tracks, just as his attention was captured again by the shout Arden gave behind her. The duke had leapt from his coach and was sprinting toward them, his own pistol drawn.
When the brigand swung his weapon toward the new threat, the duke took aim and got off a deterring shot first.
The thief cried out in pain and slumped forward, clutching his right arm. Awkwardly then, he whirled his horse and galloped away, apparently having lost his combative appetite.
Watching the fleeing bandit disappear into the darkness, Roslyn felt weak with relief-and so apparently did Winifred, for the older lady sagged against the barouche.
Concerned, Roslyn went to her side and took her arm to support her heavy weight. “You weren’t hurt, were you?”
Winifred shook her head while clutching her brooch possessively. When the duke reached her side, she said in a trembling voice, “Thank you, your grace. You saved us. I thought that cutthroat might murder us.”
“He didn’t seem intent on murder,” Roslyn said, trying to calm her friend.
“No?” Arden’s tone held a hard note of skepticism. “Then why did he shoot?”
“Because I threw my reticule at him.”
“Indeed.”
He was eyeing her narrowly, Roslyn saw. “I hoped to wrestle his pistol away from him,” she explained.
“That was foolhardy of you. You could have been killed.”
“I decided it worth the risk. He was so agitated, I didn’t think his aim would be very accurate.”
“Which made him all the more dangerous.”
Roslyn grimaced impatiently. “We shouldn’t be standing here debating, your grace. We should ride after him.”
The duke’s mouth curled sardonically. “And what do you expect to accomplish in the dark?”
“We could at least attempt to find him.”
