Page 15 of A Lady Most Wayward
‘Unhand me, sir.’ Olivia stepped back and slammed into the other lord. The steward had circled around to cover her left side. She was hemmed in between three men with the forest behind her.
Stupid! I should have been more aware.
‘What we’ve in mind won’t take much time, love.’ The lord behind her had a high, nasal voice, as though someone were pinching his nose. His giggle turned Olivia’s blood cold.
How long had she been gone? A few minutes at most. Surely Philippa would come in search of her if she wasn’t back to the coach in time. But how long might it take for these men to hurt her? Minutes at most.
The man behind her gripped Olivia’s arms, holding her still as he pressed his pelvis to her bottom. The ridge grinding against her left no question as to his intentions. They could easily drag her into the woods and do whatever they pleased.
Olivia opened her mouth to scream, but before any sound escaped, the man in front of her issued his own cry. His hand flew to his temple before he collapsed in a heap. Blood seeped from between his fingers, but he didn’t move.
‘Bloody hell!’ the steward to her left squawked.
Philippa stood behind the fallen man. She took up Olivia’s entire range of vision. Spinning in a swirl of lavender cotton, she flicked her fan open and swept it through the air. For a mad moment, Olivia thought Philippa was attempting to attack the steward with nothing more than a buffeted breeze. But when the edge of the fan sliced across the man’s neck, blood bloomed in a thin line. It wasn’t deep enough to be fatal, but the steward’s eyes bugged from his head as he pressed both hands against his throat and fell on his arse.
Philippa held a pistol in her left hand. Faster than a hawk descending upon its prey, she stepped forward, her arm extended, the gun a flash of silver in Olivia’s periphery. The man holding Olivia grew impossibly still. Swivelling her head to the side, Olivia could see the indentation of Philippa’s pistol against the man’s forehead. The sound of the gun being cocked stalled her heart. If Philippa pulled the trigger, both she and the man holding her would be caught in its blast.
Dear God. I am going to die next to this privy.
‘Let her go, or I shall blow your head clean off.’ Philippa’s voice was calm and clear. Strangely, it quieted the rush of blood pounding in Olivia’s ears.
The man instantly released Olivia, pushing her away. ‘Here now, madame. There’s been a misunderstanding. We were just helping the young lady return safely to her carriage.’
Olivia stumbled back, her breath ragged as she pulled air into her lungs.
‘Truly? Is that so? Were they just helping you?’ Philippa flicked her gaze to Olivia long enough for her to see the rage burning there before the duchess refocused on her prey.
‘Hardly.’ Olivia was amazed at how calm she felt. It must be shock.
‘I thought not,’ Philippa replied.
The duchess flipped the pistol and caught it in mid-air. She held it by the muzzle like a cudgel and cracked the ebony handle hard against the man’s temple. The sickening sound of metal hitting flesh created a strange reaction in Olivia. Satisfaction.
The man crumpled to the ground in a heap at Philippa’s feet. She looked down at him as though he were no more than a pile of excrement in her path. Exhaling, she tucked the pistol into her pocket and turned to survey Olivia.
‘I can’t even let you go to the privy alone without disaster striking.’ Turning from the various bodies strewn about the yard, Philippa heaved a sigh. ‘You are trouble, make no mistake about it.’
‘You aren’t seriously going to try and blame this on me,’ Olivia spluttered. Outrage quickly overshadowed her shock and fear. ‘What were you thinking, putting the gun to his head like that? If you’d pulled the trigger, we both would be lying on the ground in a pool of blood. What then?’ It was so much easier to be angry with Philippa than terrified of what might have happened.
‘Then I could have our delightful driver turn his mule cart of a carriage around and take me back to Belgrave Square. But alas. I saved you instead. I’m already regretting it.’
Pompous prig!
Olivia strode forward on legs strengthened by rage. She didn’t stop until she was almost nose to nose with the indomitable duchess. ‘You are a horrible woman.’Not my best insult.‘I don’t like you.’True, but hardly scathing.‘And that dress looks dreadful on you.’Better.
Philippa leaned closer. Olivia couldn’t stop her eyes from focusing on the beautiful woman’s mouth. It should be a sin to stain lips so dark, highlighting the delicate cupid’s bow, emphasising her plump bottom lip, making Olivia want to nibble on her like a berry. The nerve of this woman.
‘Then by all means’ – Philippa lifted her hand and brushed it over Olivia’s cheek, along her jaw, down the centre of her throat to rest just below the hollow of her neck – ‘stop looking at me.’ She shoved Olivia hard enough for her to nearly land on her arse. Only swift feet and a determination not to let the despicable woman win enabled Olivia to remain standing. Philippa strode past her and down the path toward the carriage without a backwards glance. ‘Best hurry along before another disaster finds you.’
‘Ihateher.’ Olivia cursed, taking a moment to catch her breath and wait for the tingling echo of Philippa’s fingers on her skin to dissipate.
* * *
A painful truth was becoming impossible to ignore. Philippa had grown soft. As they pulled into their final stop for the night – a large coaching inn that started as a stone cottage but had been haphazardly added onto with various spurts of material and architectural inspiration to accommodate its many guests – Philippa dreaded what they would find within.
A lumpy mattress full of bed mites. No whiskey. Watered-down wine. Boiled mutton. Stale bread. Delightful.
She hated to admit it, but she missed Stokes. The man might live to vex her, but at least he knew how she liked her meals. He would have already ridden ahead, ensured her room was clean, brought a case of her favourite Scottish whiskey, and apprised the innkeeper of her importance, ensuring some modicum of service.
