Ten Things I Hate About the Duke - Loretta Chase Page 0,4

day, Cassandra deemed this escort more than sufficient.

Though inside her head turmoil reigned, the world about her was quiet. The only other living creature she saw was a stray cow, sole occupant of the cattle pound that stood in the heath opposite the Green Man Inn, not many yards ahead. Given the hour, the weather, and the number of other vehicles about her (none), she assumed she’d reach Mrs. Nisbett’s place in short order.

But.

As she neared the Green Man, two men tumbled through the door.

From behind her came Keeffe’s voice: “Miss, you’ll want to—”

“Yes, I do see.”

She saw the combatants scramble to their feet and go on with the fight they’d begun indoors.

Other men surged out of the inn behind them, shouting—encouragement and bets, no doubt. She saw a brawl in the making, about to spill into the road.

While the way was narrow, she had it to herself at present, and could easily move farther to the left, closer to the heath. She expected to slip by the imminent melee easily.

But in the same instant she turned her horses, another man staggered out of the inn, aimed a pistol at the cloudy sky, and fired.

The explosion reverberated through the rustic scene like the start of battle. Gosney screamed, squawking birds rocketed up from the trees, and the horses took off at full speed. Having begun turning toward the heath, they ran straight into it.

Gosney clung to her seat while Cassandra kept to the job at hand: Quiet the animals, stay in control, as Keeffe had taught her. She could do this.

She hadn’t time.

The reins broke, a wheel struck the edge of the cattle pound, and the vehicle went over.

Ashmont ran, on unsteady legs, but he ran. A host of men, equally unsteady, went with him.

When he reached the scene, he saw three bodies on the ground.

Two women, near the carriage. A man, farther away.

Though he needed to cover only a short distance from the steps of the Green Man to the cattle pound, an eternity passed while he approached, sick and dizzy, looking from one motionless body to another. Then he saw movement from the heap of blue clothing. The woman sat up. Shook her head. Looked about her. Her hat had fallen to one side of her head, revealing dark red hair coming loose from its pins.

He was moving to her even as he took this in, but the ground was rough, he could barely focus, and his legs didn’t want to work.

The other woman lifted her head then. Still alive. Good.

He crouched by the one who was nearer, the redhead. His mouth was dry. His tongue was stuck. With some effort he managed to croak out, “You all right?”

She looked straight at him, her eyes stony grey.

“You,” she said. She jerked the hat this way and that and pulled it off, tearing a ribbon. She hit him with it, hard. It was only rice straw but she took him unawares. His reflexes sluggish, his balance swimming in brandy, he went over.

She scrambled to her feet and picked up the whip lying nearby. “You,” she said, looking down at him.

Ashmont decided to stay where he was.

She walked over him, her skirts brushing his trousers.

“Yes, you, of course,” she said. “It only wanted this.”

Him.

The knowledge had been there, certainly, somewhere in the commotion of Cassandra’s mind: a flash of recognition in the same instant the horses bolted.

But he didn’t matter.

Her servants mattered. The horses mattered.

Keeffe.

He’d taught her to ride and drive. He’d been with her from the time she was a troublesome girl of fourteen and he a crippled ex-jockey of six and twenty. For nearly twelve years she’d relied on his wisdom, and not only about horses.

She would have to attend to the cattle later. The first glance told her they weren’t obviously injured. Further examination would have to wait. “See to the horses,” she called, and several men hurried to the animals.

Gosney was clambering to her feet. Scratched and bruised, and—oh, bleeding a little. She walked a few steps and took hold of one of the cattle pound’s rails. She was damaged, yes, but alive and more or less in one piece.

The cow, in no wise discomposed by recent events, moved to that side of the pen to regard her with the usual mild bovine interest.

Cassandra walked swiftly on. She knew where Keeffe was. She could see him, too still, near the foot of a tree.

On the outside, she was fully composed. No matter what happened, the person