Page 132 of For a Scot's Heart Only
“A few handfuls and then we go.”
“Yes, yes.”
Thomas scooped up coins and poured them into the expanding folio. “With this much money, you can buy a large herd of Cheviots.”
“This isn’t for me. It’s for you. To save West and Sons Shipping.”
Thomas jerked to his feet. “I don’t care about the money. We need to get out of here.”
She struggled to get up, the weight of the bag unruly. So much gold spilled across the floor. They couldn’t take all the coins, but they’d taken a large bite of the countess’s ill-gotten gains.
Thomas reached for the bag. “Let me take that.”
Light flickered in the hallway outside the study door. Footsteps were pounding, coming closer.
“Shite!” Thomas grabbed her arm. “To the window.”
She rushed forward while he upended a liquor cabinet to block the door. Glass shards flew everywhere while shouts assaulted them from the hallway.
Thomas ran to her side and yanked down the curtain. “Out with you.”
“No. You must go first. Then, I’ll drop this down and follow.”
She fisted the leather strap, a reminder.
Thomas’s eyes glittered angrily. “Leave it.”
“No. We need this for Margaret,” she argued to the noise of someone ramming the study door.
Thomas’s glare could melt ice, but he swung his leg over the window ledge. “Tie the rope to a chair and use it to climb down.”
Mary was frantic, grabbing the rope off the floor.She wound it around a sturdy leather chair, her hands jittery. More voices shouted beyond the door. Loud ramming and the sound of cracking wood filled the room. She tied a fast knot, shaking.
Bright light sliced over her. The door’s gap was growing. Mr. Wortley pressed his face to the opening, his malevolent stare finding her.
Fear flooded her limbs. She tossed the rope out the window and held her breath. Thomas had already leapt off the window ledge and flung himself at the tree.
Mr. Wortley’s voice rose above the din. “Grab a weapon and go to the other side of the house.”
Her heart climbed into her throat. She was trapped, and the folio hung like dead weight on her chest.
“Go! Go now!” she yelled to Thomas. At least he could go free.
Wood splintered. A panel on the study door was buckling from a booted foot kicking it.
In all the noise, her ears picked out Thomas’s voice. “I’m not leaving without you.”
He was on the ground and reaching for her in the dark. Her frightened body seemed to know what was right. The folio hanging like an anchor, she swung a leg out the window and held onto the rope. Wortley was half through the door, his pistol aimed at Mary’s heart. She was at the window, scrambling to get her other leg out, when sparks flared.
A shot rang out. Then another.
She fell backward, the rope ripping her palms. Thomas caught her, though they stumbled painfully hard, a smattering of coins rolling free.
He yanked her to her feet. “Come on!”
The horse was ready. Thomas put one foot inthe stirrup and hauled himself into the saddle. She was aware he reached down. They were graceless, her hugging the folio, and him dragging her up behind him.
The horse drove forward as though the devil was on its tail. Thomas rode boldly into Grosvenor Square. The black steed’s legs pumped the ground and ran headlong at three men running out of Denton House. They fell like pins, flames flaring off their pistols when they took their shots.
