next to him.
One of the mounted brigands fired his weapon, and the leader’s loose horse bolted away down the road. The approaching rider ducked and fired again, from a second gun, and the Russian slumped dead in the saddle. His mount reared, confused by the suddenly unresponsive weight on its back, and the body slipped sideways. The terrified horse raced for the trees, but the corpse’s foot was still caught in the stirrup; it bounced along, caught by the leg, as it went.
Anya could barely comprehend what she was seeing. She glanced up at the third and final footpad. His scarf had fallen from his face, and she got a good look at his features. With a harsh shout, he kicked his heels to his horse’s sides and thundered off up the hill after his fallen brethren.
Anya turned—and suppressed a scream as her savior’s enormous horse clattered to a stop directly in front of her. It reared, pawing the air, almost threatening to trample her, but the rider kept his seat with consummate skill, and she felt a surge of admiration. As a horsewoman herself, she knew the strength it took to control such a gigantic beast.
She peered up at the rider, her heart pounding, trying to see the man who’d come to her rescue, but he was silhouetted against the grey sky and rain obscured her vision. Then, the dry voice of the dowager came echoing from the interior of the coach.
“Well, Sebastien. That was quite the entrance. Still, better late than never.”
Chapter 10.
Seb’s heart thundered against his ribs as he brought his lathered mount under control.
What the bloody hell had his great-aunt got herself into now?
He’d spurred Eclipse into the fray without a thought. After so many years in the Rifles, it had been second nature to ride toward the enemy when shots had been fired, and he’d dealt with the footpads swiftly and efficiently. He was only sorry he hadn’t been able to reload his Baker quickly enough to finish off the third man.
He glanced up at his aunt’s coachman, who was in the process of tying a handkerchief around his bleeding forearm.
“You were hit, John? How badly are you hurt?”
“Nothing too bad, milor’. Just a few pebbles o’ shot. Good thing them rascals had fowling pieces and not rifles like yersel’. They ain’t half so accurate.” He sent Seb a wide grin of admiration. “That were some fine shootin’, sir, from a movin’ horse.”
Seb sent him an answering smile. “Well, I should hope so. I spent three years in His Majesty’s Rifles. Never thought I’d need the skill in England, though.”
Reassured that the coachman wasn’t seriously injured, he turned his attention downward. Dorothea was peering out of the carriage with a faintly amused expression, but it was the woman standing beside the carriage, the one in the pale blue cloak, who caught Seb’s attention. Recognition, swift and hot, speared through him.
It was her! The woman from the brothel. What in God’s name was she doing sharing a carriage with his great-aunt?
“You!” He wrenched his gaze from her shocked face and glared at Dorothea. “What the hell is going on?”
The dowager sent him a congratulatory smile. “I’m so glad you arrived, Sebastien. That was impeccable timing. It was a shame you had to kill them, however.”
He glanced at the corpse on the roadside. “They were footpads. They would have hung anyway. This way was quicker.”
The dowager’s brows twitched. “True, but we can’t question dead men.”
“Why would you want to?”
“They weren’t merely thieves. They were kidnappers.”
Seb frowned. “Why would anyone want to kidnap you?”
“I’ll have you know, I’m an extremely desirable target,” the dowager said with mock offence. “But it wasn’t me they were after.” She glanced over at the woman in the road. “It was her.”
Seb turned back to the beauty in front of him.
“I don’t think you two have met,” the dowager said. “Anna, this is my great-nephew, Sebastien. He’s the Earl of Mowbray. Bastien, this is Anna Brown. My companion.”
“Anna Brown?” Seb repeated scornfully.
“That’s right,” the girl said stiffly. There was a hint of something in her eyes, a flash of challenge that made his pulse pound in response.
“And Miss Brown is your companion, you say?”
The dowager glared at him. “Yes. Haven’t I just said so? She’s been with me for almost a year. What of it?”
“You’re being gulled.” He narrowed his eyes and subjected the girl to a slow, deliberate inspection from head to toe.
She straightened her spine and sent him a haughty look,