the weight of snow and then Alice felt a sharp pain in her arm like a burning brand raked across her skin. The carriage horses shied, throwing her off balance, and in the same instant Miles grabbed her with lightning reflexes and lifted her clean out of her seat, jumping down into the snow with her in his arms.
They hit the ground and rolled over, and all the air was knocked from Alice’s body and she lay still, winded, with Miles’s arms still wrapped close about her. Her body was sheltered beneath his and her face pressed against his coat. She could feel the hardness of his hands as he held her brutally tight. Every muscle in his body was tensed and waiting.
Alice threw back her head and drew in a deep, steadying breath.
“What on earth-”
“Keep still!”
Miles’s face, so close to hers, was dark and set. His eyes were blazing. Still half crouching, he drew her into the shelter of the carriage. The horses were spooked, stamping and blowing, but fortunately they seemed disinclined to panic.
“Don’t move!”
Miles let go of her briefly to peer around the side of the carriage and immediately there was another crack and a chip of paint flew off Mr. Haven’s beautiful livery. The bullet passed so close that Alice felt the air move with it. This time the horses whinnied and shied and the carriage creaked forward a few agonizing feet, exposing Alice to the gunman’s line of sight. Another bullet followed swiftly, digging up the snow with a white puff, even as Miles caught her arm in a vicious grip and dragged her back behind cover, drawing her close once again to the shelter of his body.
“Damnation,” he muttered. “We are sitting ducks here.”
“Why is someone shooting at us?” Alice demanded. Her voice sounded high and thin. She was shaking uncontrollably. Everything had happened so fast that it seemed utterly unreal. Only the calmness of Miles’s reactions, the absolute steadiness she sensed in him, kept her from utter panic.
His arms were about her, immeasurably comforting. Extraordinarily, under the circumstances, she felt safe.
“I don’t think we have time to discuss that properly now,” Miles said, a thread of amusement in his tone. He pressed his lips to her hair and she felt the conflict in him-the need to take action versus the desperate desire to offer her protection. She remembered then his army training; his first instinct must surely be to give chase to the enemy and yet he had held back to defend her.
“I do not want to leave you, Alice,” Miles said, “but I need to try and work my way around to where he is shooting from or we have no chance of stopping him-”
“Go,” Alice said. Her voice came out as a thread of sound. She was trembling now with shock and cold and reaction, the snow clinging to her clothes, her bonnet squashed beyond recognition. She could see a smear of blood on the snow where her arm had rested. Her gloves were stained with it, too, and she put up her hand to her sleeve and felt the ragged edges of material around the bullet hole.
“You’re injured.” Miles’s voice sharpened and there was a note in it she had never heard before. “Alice-”
“It’s nothing,” Alice said, teeth chattering. “It barely grazed me. Go! Better to stop him than sit here like a couple of prizes in the shooting gallery. But for pity’s sake, take care-”
Their eyes met. Miles looked torn. They both knew that if the carriage horses were panicked and took flight before he had disarmed the marksman, Alice would be defenseless. Her fingers clung to his for a long moment and then she deliberately freed herself.
“Go,” she said for a third time.
“Vickery!” The shout came from behind them and they both spun around. Nat Waterhouse was galloping up on a bay stallion. He leaped down and grabbed the carriage horses, soothing the panicked animals until they quietened.
“I heard a shot,” he said tersely, over his shoulder. “What the hell is going on, Miles?”
“Someone has been using us for target practice,” Miles said, getting to his feet. “Thank God you’re here. At least that will have scared him off. I must get Miss Lister back to Spring House and call for the doctor before we can try to discover who has been shooting at us.”
“I am perfectly fine,” Alice said, scrambling to her feet and shaking the snow off her skirts with hands that still trembled a little. “I can walk back. You two must go and do…whatever it is you have to do. If you leave it too long he will have got away and no one will remember seeing anything.”
“I’m not leaving you,” Miles said. “What if someone tries to shoot at you again? You would be totally unprotected.”
“They won’t,” Alice said. Suddenly she felt exhausted and all she wanted was to be at home, to take refuge deep in her feather bed and sleep until she felt better. “I doubt I was the target,” she added. “Why would anyone shoot at me? I do not have a family curse hanging over my head.”
Miles and Nat exchanged a look.
“Miss Lister has a point,” Nat said. “Perhaps you were the intended victim, Miles.”
Miles shook his head. “He was not aiming at me,” he said. “Miss Lister-” there was unflinching determination in his tone “-I’m not leaving you to travel back alone. The idea is absurd.” His tone brooked no refusal.
“I’ll check out the tree cover to the south and see from where he was shooting,” Nat said. “I’ll send word to Dexter, too. Join us at the Granby once you have seen Miss Lister safely attended to.” He nodded to Alice, a smile in his eyes. “Your servant, Miss Lister. You are most indomitable, you know. Nine women out of ten would be having the vapors by now.” He raised a hand in salute, jumped up into the saddle and turned his horse to the south.
Miles scooped Alice up in his arms without another word and placed her in the carriage, arranging the rug about her as carefully as though she were made of spun glass. She watched him as, grim-faced and silent, he steered the chilled and skittish horses back into the town. Her arm had stopped bleeding now but it throbbed painfully in a way that set her teeth on edge. Miles insisted on carrying her into the house even though she told him quite firmly that she could walk. In the hallway, though, a diversion was created when Mrs. Lister heard the news and promptly fell into a swoon.
“A shame she did not see this in her tea leaves,” Alice said sotto voce to Miles. “She would have been better prepared.”
She saw him smile a little but the deep lines around his eyes did not ease and he seemed uncharacteristically stern. Whilst Marigold ran for the smelling salts and everyone fussed around Mrs. Lister, he drew Alice gently aside.
“You are sure you do not require a doctor, Miss Lister?” he asked.
“Good gracious, no!” Alice said, determined to remain strong. “Hot water and some clean linen to bind the cut and a glass of brandy will suffice.”
“You seem to be made of stern stuff,” Miles observed.
“It comes from being in service,” Alice said briskly. “I can deal with most emergencies.” She lowered her voice. “You do not think it could have been an accident, Lord Vickery? Someone out shooting at rabbits, perhaps?” She stopped as Miles shook his head. “No, I see you do not.”
“They would have to have been a lamentably bad shot,” Miles said. “We were several feet off the ground in that curricle and who ever saw a rabbit in midair?”
Alice sighed. “Then someone was attempting to kill either you or me, but that makes no sense at all. Who would do such a thing-and why?”
“I will come back and talk to you about it later,” Miles said. “I must rejoin Waterhouse and see what he has been able to discover.” He looked at her. “You are very valiant, Miss Lister, but you look exhausted, you know. You should rest.”
Alice
She put a hand on Miles’s arm. “Thank you for saving my life,” she said. “If you had not pulled me from the carriage so quickly-” Another convulsive shiver shook her. She looked at his face. He was watching her with a dark and unreadable expression, and suddenly the reaction and misery hit her at the same time. Of course Miles would want to save her life. She was worth a great deal of money to him. There could be no reason why he would protect
