Page 59 of The Lord who Captured Her Innocent Heart
Never be able to tell her, fully, that he loved her.
That was, if he even made it out alive.
“There’s some bills there in the bottom!” another bandit shouted, curving himself over the bag.
Slowly, Peter crept back towards the horse, undoing the area where he was connected to the carriage. The horse lightly tapped his back hoof against the gunk beneath him but didn’t alert the bandits. They were far too busy scuffling with the items in Peter’s bag.
“He does seem to have rather expensive clothing,” the carriage hand piped up, drawing his eyebrows high.
“Ridiculous. You hear what he’s doing?” another bandit scoffed. “He’s trying to convince you he didn’t bring you some dud. Absolutely atrocious.”
“What’s it to me who he is?” the carriage boy cried, drawing his hands over his throat. He blinked enormous child eyes towards the bandits. “You’s told me to find ya a rich lad, and here he is! Richer than me, more like.”
“That isn’t so difficult to do,” another bandit coughed.
“Heck, I’m richer than you. And I ain’t got two pennies to rub together,” someone coughed.
Peter slipped closer to the horse. He couldn’t find his breath. The bandits had begun to bicker with more volatility. Their eyes reflected orange, simmering with anger. He draped his hand over the reins of the horse, which was fully freed now, ambling outside of the carriage. All he had to do was leap back, draw his leg over the horse, and whip across the night.
He would be free.
“Well, we might as well search his body, too,” Marvin said, beginning to slice together the various bills he discovered in the back portion of the bag. “If this is all he’s got, he might have another few things folded up in his drawers. You know how rich folk be like.”
Peter couldn’t wait a moment more. He tore back towards the horse, hearing him whinny. He pulled himself over the side of the horse, throwing his foot over.
“HEY! WHAT THE!” one of the bandits cried.
But Peter didn’t halt for a moment. He dropped his ankles on either side of the horse’s belly, shoved his torso forward, and sped away from the carriage. The horse bucked his head back and forward with aggressive, wild energy. Peter gripped the reins with fingers that looked strangely blue in the moonlight. Increasingly, in the distance, the bandits hollered for him, leaping for their own horses, scrambling. But Peter knew he had too much distance on them, at this point. As long as he didn’t stop, he would never be caught.
Peter rode fast through the night. For long stretches at a time, he felt himself stop breathing. The horse’s hooves fell and then leapt forward, creating a kind of rhythm. Every few minutes, Peter held an image of Ella behind his eyes. He imagined her in bed, her eyes tracing the ceiling above her. Did she think about him at night? Did she feel the ache of his absence?
The terror of very nearly falling to a group of bandits chilled him. But with the first light of morning, he spotted London in the distance — its smoke stacks burning billowing black clouds into the sky. He directed the horse towards his own estate, knowing that he needed to get a first message off to his father as soon as he could. His father would be looking for foul play. And if the hotel got wind of the lost carriage — along with the lost hotel stable boy — Peter was done for.
Peter stomped into his home, his boots still latched to his feet. His hair raced wildly past his ears, ruffled and dirty and sweaty and strange. His blood pumped past his ears. He felt he was looking at everything for the very first time: the painting of his grandfather in the corner; the rug his father had purchased in France, stretched across the foyer. Although the event with the bandits had lasted only a few minutes, he hadn’t realised how in-tune with his own death he’d become. It was as though he’d crossed over to another side: a side of life far more conscious of all the gifts he’d been given.
“Who is that?”
His mother’s voice rang out from the back sitting room. Suddenly, Peter felt awash with a powerful nostalgia. He raced towards the room in which she sat, her face ghostly white. He pounded across the floorboards towards her, drawing a kiss across her cheek.
“Mother, you can’t possibly know what I went through to get here.”
His mother arched her left brow high. She tossed her stitching to the side, her eyes searching his. “What on earth has gotten into you.”
“It’s not me, Mother. It’s the world,” Peter said. “I knew I had to rid myself of Brighton as soon as I could. But you know what’s happened? A wretched thing. But a thing that will push me in the proper direction for the rest of my life if you must know.”
“What on earth are you speaking of?” his mother demanded. She sat higher in her chair, adjusting her posture.
“Mother, there isn’t time to explain,” Peter said. “I must go to the Chesterton estate immediately.”
His mother furrowed her brow. She baulked, incredulous. “But you know that Tatiana is off in Brighton with Frederick. There’s absolutely nothing you …”
“It’s not about Tatiana,” Peter affirmed. “It’s never been about Tatiana, Mother.”
“Where is your father?” his mother returned. “What is happening? You can’t possibly have me believe that…”
But Peter sprung back from the sitting room. He raced towards his bedroom, feeling electric, anxious, after the wild ride across the night. After nearly an hour, he’d glanced back for a moment, half-expecting the many bandits to be cantering up behind him. But the night had echoed back little more than his own ragged breath.
He’d been home free.
