Page 24 of A Lady Most Wayward
Olivia wasn’t sure whether to burst into tears or start screaming.
She opted for the latter. ‘What kind of mess we’re in? Are you mad? You just killed two men!’
The duchess merely raised an eyebrow at Olivia. She’d seen the same look when Philippa had been served puffed cheese tartlets that didn’t meet her standard at a ball. ‘Would you rather I let them kill us?’
Damnation. She has a point.
Because while Olivia abhorred violence, she certainly didn’t want to sit quietly while these men robbed, raped, and then murdered them. In the asylum, she had seen fights break out between the patients. Some of the orderlies liked to get rough when ‘barmy bitches’ wouldn’t follow orders or kicked up a fuss about the treatments being administered. Olivia learned quickly the best way to avoid a smack across the face or fist in the gut was to comply. But that was its own form of torture. To submit when everything in her wanted to fight.
Philippa would never have let them steal her will. She would have found a way to crush them.
It was both inspiring and demoralising to know Philippa would have achieved what Olivia could only dream of accomplishing. Leaning closer, the infuriating woman reached out, and for a wild moment, Olivia thought she might try to kiss her.
Hardly the time! But…
Instead, she brushed her thumb over Olivia’s cheek and looked at the crimson smear. ‘You’ve cut yourself.’
Olivia reached up, pressing her palm against her skin and registering the sting. She was vain enough to wonder if it might scar. Anger reared, which was far preferable to the terrifying panic making her shake. ‘Thanks to your work with the window.’ She narrowed her eyes at the duchess and wrestled with her skirts. They had tangled around her legs, making it almost impossible to gain her feet in the small space between the two bench seats.
Philippa reached out to help her, but Olivia slapped her hand away.
‘I don’t need your help. You’ve done quite enough!’ she hissed. Giving up on a dignified exit from the carriage, she crawled to the door but stalled at the body crumpled on the ground. Thankfully, the man landed on his face, so his features were hidden.
‘He’s just asleep,’ Olivia whispered to herself.
‘Dead asleep.’
Philippa’s dry response had Olivia stiffening her spine.
Lifting her chin and refusing to grace Philippa with a response, she awkwardly jumped out of the carriage, landing next to his body. Philippa followed behind her.
‘You are a terrible travelling companion.’ Olivia turned to face Philippa, but her gaze caught on the driver. Unfortunately, he wasnotlying belly down. His face still stretched in lines of shock. His eyes stared sightlessly into the sky. His chest was a mess of flesh, ripped cloth, and blood.
Olivia bent forward and threw up the contents of her stomach onto her sensible leather boots.
* * *
‘Blast.’ Philippa’s heart squeezed painfully. Not in fear, but something else. Something almost like regret. She hadn’t meant to be so harsh with Olivia, but they hardly had time for anything else.
Striding over to her, she ignored the woman’s attempt to wave her away with a flapping hand. Philippa gathered Olivia’s wild curls that had escaped the coil she so carefully pinned before they left their rented room that morning as she retched once more.
One thing was blatantly clear. Olivia might have aligned herself with the Devil’s Sons, but she was no hardened criminal. Philippa feared she might shatter as easily as the glass she knocked from the carriage window.
‘Shh. It’s going to be all right.’ Philippa attempted to soften her voice, but the words came out closer to a terse command than a comforting murmur. She wasn’t good at soothing. It was much easier to bully. Or scold. Or destroy.
Olivia straightened and spun to face her, forcing Philippa to release her glorious curls. ‘How can you possibly say that? We’re in the middle of nowhere. The coachman is dead.’ She gestured to the poor man lying next to the wheel. ‘Those two other men are dead.’ She flung her hand at the highwayman by the carriage, then looked wildly around, not seeing the other victim of Philippa’s keen aim. ‘Where the bloody hell is the second one?’
Philippa looked down the road where they had travelled. ‘His horse spooked when I shot him. Took off that way. He must have got caught in the stirrups.’ She didn’t elaborate. Olivia needn’t picture the man being dragged along the roadside. ‘The other horse no doubt followed him.’ Which was a shame. The two beasts pulling the carriage looked to be decent horseflesh, but with no saddles, it would take some skill to ride them.
Pulling a flask from her pocket, she handed it to Olivia. ‘Drink.’
Olivia eyed the flask, then squinted at Philippa’s skirt. ‘Truly. What else have you got in there? A magic carpet, mayhap? Some biscuits for afternoon tea? A lady’s maid to manage your hair?’
She had to give Olivia credit. Despite everything they’d endured, despite her obvious horror at seeing three men killed in the space of as many minutes, and despite their dire situation, she certainly maintained a level of pluck that was admirable.
‘Never you mind what’s in my pockets. Drink this. It will help.’
Olivia unscrewed the flask and took a tentative sniff. She crinkled her nose. ‘It certainly isn’t sherry or French wine.’
