The pistol discharged, and he could feel and hear the bullet whiz within inches of his chest. Then, he heard the deafening explosion of the shot.
He saw Marie jump off the side of the wagon, and he did the same as he vaguely heard people screaming in the distance. He ran around the wagon and saw her hastily attempt to light the fuse with steel and flint.
“It is over!” Baldwin removed his pistol from the waistband of his trousers and pointed it at her.
“If you discharge that pistol this direction, then it will cause the bomb to ignite and we will both die, taking everyone else with us,” Marie informed him, keeping her hands near the fuse.
Baldwin nodded as he kept his gun pointed at her heart. “I am well aware of that fact.”
“And you would still do it?”
“I would.”
Marie scoffed. “Then you are the mad one.”
“So be it.”
Marie’s eyes grew frantic as she looked over his shoulder. “They are coming!” she shouted. “You need to let me leave, now!”
“Why would I do something so stupid?”
“I refuse to go willingly,” Marie cried out. “If I am going to die, I might as well take you with me.”
As she moved to strike the flint, a shot rang out over the square, and Marie fell to the ground, dead. A pool of blood began to emerge from under her head, staining the worn cobblestone.
Baldwin turned his attention towards the red brick building where he heard the shot fired and saw Corbyn standing in the third level window with a Baker rifle in his hand. In the next moment, Corbyn disappeared from his view.
The sound of booted steps approaching him caused him to slowly turn around, and he counted five constables.
“Put the pistol on the ground,” one of the men ordered, each one of them pointing their own pistols at Baldwin.
In a calm and collected manner, Baldwin complied without protest. He knew that these men were only doing their job, and he didn’t want to give them any reason to shoot him.
Before they could give another order, a coach pulled up beside them and the door was thrown open. Miss Dowding stepped out, but she became suddenly rooted to the spot when she saw Marie on the ground.
Her pale face looked up at him, and he saw the questions in her eyes. Even though her hair was disheveled, her dress ripped, and she had dried blood along the left side of her face, he had never seen her look more beautiful.
He gave her a reassuring smile, and he thought his heart might burst with joy when she returned it.
At some point, Oliver had come to stand next to him and was speaking to the constables on his behalf. “I could use your help here,” his brother muttered under his breath.
Turning his attention back towards the constables, Baldwin said, “I have a letter that will clear this up.”
A dark-haired constable scoffed. “Not bloody likely,” he declared. “Not unless it is from the Prince Regent himself.”
“If that is the case, this matter should be resolved nicely,” Baldwin replied, nodding his head towards the pocket of his waistcoat. Oliver reached in and pulled out a folded piece of paper, then extended it towards the men.
One of the men snatched it and his eyes grew wide as he read the paper. He looked up at Baldwin in surprise. “This is from the Prince Regent,” he declared. “It says that you are under his protection, and that we take orders from you.”
“That is correct,” Baldwin said, accepting the letter back. “I am going to take this wagon out of Fieldstone Square, and I would appreciate it if you could remove the body.”
“Who is she?” the dark-haired constable asked.
“Her name is Marie,” Baldwin replied, “and that is all you need to know about her.”
“Did you kill her?”
Baldwin shook his head. “I did not. A sharpshooter took the shot from that building,” he revealed, pointing towards the brick building.
The dark-haired constable let out a low, approving whistle. “That was an impressive shot. That building is over a hundred yards away.”
Another constable placed his hand on the wine cask. “What is in the barrel?” he asked curiously.
“A bomb that could blow up this entire square,” Baldwin replied honestly, and was gratified to see the constable remove his hand and step back.
Turning back towards Miss Dowding, he closed the distance between them in a few strides. “I need to do a few things before I can call on you,” he said. “Do you have a ride home?”
Oliver spoke up from behind him. “I can see her home in your new hackney.”
“My hackney?” Baldwin asked, turning to face him.
Oliver smiled ruefully. “When Miss Dowding pulled up at the Blue Boar, she was frantic to see you and informed us of Marie’s plan. So, I bought this hackney from the driver and drove us here.”
“You bought a hackney?”
“You misunderstood me,” Oliver said. “You bought the hackney. The previous owner will be coming by Hawthorne House tomorrow to collect his money.”
Baldwin lifted his brow. “What am I going to do with a hackney?”
“Not my concern,” Oliver teased as he went to step up onto the driver’s box. “Perhaps you can sell it back to him at a reduced price.”
Chuckling, Baldwin turned back to Miss Dowding. “My brother is an idiot,” he muttered.
She smiled, her eyes lighting up. “I am so happy to see you alive,” she said.
“I feel the same way about seeing you.” He took a small step closer to her.
Miss Dowding tilted her head to look up at him. “I feared that we wouldn’t arrive in time, especially since Marie was determined to kill you and everyone else in Fieldstone Square.”
“I had the situation in hand,” he assured her.
A line creased her brow as she asked, “Was that letter truly from the Prince Regent?”
“It was.”
She went up onto her tiptoes and whispered next to his ear, “Do all agents get one of those?”
He stared back at her, not knowing
