Page 3 of Buon Natale, My Wicked Rogue
Would the pain ever fade?
Back in Boston, in the Berry Family mansion with Papa gone, she could not escape the emptiness and grief that confronted her in every corner of every room. And the dreadfulsense of being useless, of having no one and no place to belong. She’d run away and come here to England, thinking of finding new connections, a new life. But she’d found only this sense of an indeterminate state of being a temporary visitor.
An unwanted visitor at that.
“Let’s hurry to the masquerade,” Susan said.
Susan’s voice broke her out of her melancholy thoughts.
Her friend marched down the hill. She allowed Susan to lead her away from the villagers’ festivities and alongside the road to the drive to the estate house. Brilliant moonlight illuminated the white stone walls in the distance, making them glow in lavender hues. The brisk exercise warmed away her foreboding despite the growing chill of the early evening and her now growling stomach.
She enjoyed walking and gave herself over to the rhythmic nature of the lengthy walk. Daydreams overtook her thoughts, happy musings about what might happen that night at the ball. Anything could happen.
She might find a lover. The thought heated her blood even more than the walk. If she were honest, that was what she wanted.
Her skin tingled with expectancy.
A loud clatter made her turn. A solid black carriage was barreling towards them with the wheels squeaking loudly. Did the vehicle’s walls look worn in the moonlight, just a shade from being described as broken down? She thought the carriage appeared at least a decade old. It seemed out of place. Those wealthy enough to own one here usually took care of theirs, and those who couldn’t afford it drove carts. Coldness swept through her again.
The vehicle sped, sending dust plumes from the road. Those plumes glowed silvery in the moonlit air.
Sweat broke out all over her body. She gasped and reached back for Susan’s arm and gripped it. “Come on,” she barely choked the words past her rapidly increasing breath. She was already running, pulling Susan along.
The sharp screech of the carriage coming to a stop caused fresh energy to surge into her legs, and she ran faster. She jerked her head to glance over her shoulder. Three dark figures were running towards them.“Oh mio Dio. Oh mio dio...”
With a painful stitch piercing her side, she forced herself to run faster. Susan pulled free of her grip. Tingles of fear shot through her, and she glanced back again to see another carriage on the road behind the first one. A finely apportioned carriage with brass coach lights. She whirled to face the newcomers and stopped, speechless, gulping for breath, then waved her hands wildly to beckon for help.
The driver of the fine carriage pulled the reins and shouted at the horses. They stilled, snorting as their powerful breaths made smoke in the chilly air. He gripped the reins, struggling to balance his tall figure against the jolt of the halting carriage. His other hand reached into his coat and lifted his arm.
Boom!
The thunderous sound pierced her ears and pounded through her whole body. She froze and cried out.
Chapter Two
The loud sound still resonated in Angela’s ears.
No firecrackers this time.
Smoke trailed into the air from the pistol that the driver held straight up. He had fired a warning shot into the air. With her heart still feeling as though it were lodged in her throat, beating wildly, she watched as the would-be assailants approaching her stopped. They shouted curses that at any other time would have burned her ears, and they fled off the pavement and disappeared into the shadowy hedges along the road.
“You had better go!” The driver chuckled, the sound deep and menacing. He jumped down from the carriage, his boots making crunching sounds as he straightened the waistcoat of his livery. He walked to the edge of the road and stared into the darkness.
The sudden clatter of hooves and wheels on the ground made her jump to the side of the road, opposite from where the ruffians had fled. From the direction of the estate, the approaching carriage rolled by.
“Oh my,” said Susan, having caught up and coming to her side. Was that a muffled giggle? No, Susan had sobbed. Yes, a sob of shock just as had been wrung from Angela.
The carriage door opened, and a turban-headed woman leaned out. Gems glittered in the coach lights upon her turban,and its bright green feathers blew in the breeze. “Young ladies, come quickly!”
The woman shouted the words in a definite, aristocratic, authoritative tone as she beckoned with a gloved hand. Angela didn’t need any further urging. She picked up her skirts and ran for the grand carriage.
When she reached the open door, she was again gulping for breath.
“Come inside quickly now.” The woman commanded.
Angela took the hand offered, noting the surprisingly firm grip that helped her to scramble inside. She hurled herself onto the empty seat opposite her savior.
“Come now, young lady, hurry. We do not know if any other ruffians may be lurking,” the lady called to Susan.
