knowing the path with long familiarity even if Garrett didn’t. She was willing, and her rider let her have her head and just hung on. Don’t fall, she thought. Just don’t go down, and I’ll buy you and put you out to pasture, girl.
Lightning shattered in chains. Garrett, closing, heard the crack of a rifle, saw the near-side carriage horse fall skidding across the cobblestones on his knees, fouling his team-mate. The coach tottered, wobbled, and spilled sideways with a splintering crunch, falling in the path of another of Roderick’s horsemen, lanterns bursting fire. Garrett shouted, kicked her mare, firing wildly at the largest of the horsemen as she charged into their midst. She dropped the reins, waving the much-beleaguered foxfur wrap like a flag.
Two shots. Horses startled, scattered. She hurled the empty pistol in Roderick’s face as he swung around to face her; she kicked out of the too-short irons, grabbed a double fistful of his French officer’s jacket and dragged him, too, down to the hard stones among the iron hooves of panicked horses.
He fell on top of her. She buried her face in his chest, balling up, using his body to protect her from the blows of his own fists and the dancing hooves. His knee came up solidly into her groin and she cried out but didn’t let go. Screaming horses stamped all around them, and she heard shouting voices and gunfire. The fight wasn’t
over yet.
She felt more than heard a thud like a meat hammer and Roderick’s body went limp, grinding her into the rounded stones. Three more gunshots pounded her ears, before the thunder.
A moment later, and someone was rolling the weight off of her, gently helping her to her feet.
“Inspector Garrett.” A familiar, dry voice, the voice of Richard, Duke of New Amsterdam. “I’m afraid the carriage is a loss, and my groom and footman a greater one. I suppose you will be able to explain this banditry once we reach the house?”
“Not the house. The Earl and his son are behind it all,” she said, and would have fallen if he hadn’t caught her.
***
Early the next day, Garrett stood by the tall, diamond-paned window, holding aside the red velvet drapery. They had returned with soldiers, and although she had not yet rested or bathed, the Earl had been arrested. The sky was brightening slightly, although the rain still fell.
The Duke of New Amsterdam came up behind her and lowered a brandy snifter over her shoulder, his sleeve brushing the pearl-embroidered silk of her ruined gown. “Abby Irene,” he said in her ear, “you’ll catch your death standing in the draft.”
She accepted the glass as she turned to him, favoring the ankle. Dank silk still clung to her abused body. She hadn’t kindled the fire, although it was laid. “Richard.” She let her lips twitch toward what might have been a smile and gulped a third of her brandy. “Thank you.”
“Thank you,” he said.
She studied his careworn face, reached out to brush away the bark-colored hair dried stuck to his forehead. “Duty and all that.” He wasn’t much older than she, but the distance between them could never be spanned for more than a moment. “Of course.”
“Of course.” An easy smile that broke her heart in the same place every time. “I knew that was your motivation.” He looked around the lavish dining room. “They’re never as clever as they think they are.”
“It’s not inherited money, I take it? What was he doing?”
The Duke shrugged. “State secrets.”
“I understand,” Garrett set her glass aside on a sideboard.
“No,” he said. “I meant state secrets. To the French, and the secessionists. Getting you and me out of the way would weaken the Crown in the colonies as well.”
“Ah.” Somehow, they had drifted together. His eyes, green and golden-brown, wouldn’t quite meet hers.
She stepped forward and pulled his head down, gnawing at his lips as if starved. They clung together for a moment.
Then he stepped back. “The mud,” he said. “My clothes.”
She drew him to her again. “Tell your wife I fainted. Tell her you caught me.”
A long, hungry silence followed, and was broken. She looked away, toward the unlit fire and the failing storm. He held her upper arms tightly, one in each hand. “Abby Irene. I was going to end this, this weekend.”
She chuckled, shook her head, took a step back against his resistance, raising her chin to meet his hazel eyes with hers. “I’m going to end this every weekend. I hope you don’t