The Marquess Who Loved Me - By Sara Ramsey Page 0,36
A bullet went straight through the man’s heart before he was shot in the head. The leader would likely hang anyway, but I care less about him and more about who he’s working for.”
“My driver killed the highwayman? I didn’t think he was such a good shot.”
“No doubt he would like to claim responsibility, since he seemed useless as a protector,” Nick said, acid lacing through his voice. “But the honors go to your maid.”
Ellie gasped. “Lucia killed him? How is she feeling?”
“She’s no less calm than you are. She owned up to it like she shoots highwaymen every day, then calmly walked off toward Folkestone without looking back. I’d rather take either of you into battle than the driver, if it comes to that.”
His tone sounded like he was joking, but she saw the intensity still lurking in his eyes. “Is this a battle, then?” she asked. “You seem to believe they were trying to kill you, but hardly anyone knows you’ve returned.”
He nodded. “I’ve been seen in London, but the bulk of people who know I’ve returned are at Folkestone.”
It took no time at all to guess his meaning. She scowled. “You think someone at Folkestone sent those men to murder you.”
He held up a placating hand. “I’ve no proof of that. But they must have been waiting for the Folkestone carriage. It’s possible someone in London sent them, but anyone following me in London would have seen that you had taken my coach. It’s more likely that someone knew I’d left this morning and seized the opportunity to waylay me.”
“And I thought I had no competition in my desire to murder you.”
Nick grinned. “I’m sure you were first, if that makes you feel better.”
She laughed, but the sound turned into a sigh. “I do hope you’re wrong. Both that someone wants to do you violence and that the danger lies on the estate.”
Nick glanced out the window, then turned back to Ellie. His frown returned. “We are nearing Folkestone. Do you want to tell everyone what happened? Or can we take a more measured approach?”
She looked down at her skirts. The blood had turned rusty, but it was still visible even in lamplight. “I look a fright. And I’m sure I bruised my head on the carriage.”
“It’s not visible through your hair. I checked the swelling while you were unconscious. I’ve already instructed the driver to take us around to the stables. We can avoid the guests, at least. But only if you’re comfortable with this.”
She could have still been unconscious if he hadn’t forced her awake — and then he could have decided for her. “Why do you care what I think?” she asked. “It’s your life at stake, if this threat is to be believed.”
“It’s my life, but I would spare you any further trauma.” He took her hands in his. She realized her gloves were missing, and the feel of his skin on hers warmed more than her fingers. “And it’s my estate, but you know the people there. If you think they must know, I’ll follow your lead.”
She tightened her fingers around his. “What happened to the Nick who forced me to become his mistress?”
His grin was mirthless, almost sad. “You will undoubtedly see him again. But this afternoon…”
He trailed off.
“I’m fine, Nick,” she said gently.
“You’re one woman in a thousand. But even though you can handle yourself doesn’t mean I enjoy seeing the aftermath and knowing I deserve the blame.”
“You don’t deserve the blame,” she said. When he started to protest, she overrode him. “You don’t, unless everything you’ve just said is a lie. The blame lies with the attackers — not you, not me, not whatever victim they sought. We still don’t know for sure that you are the one in danger. It could have been Marcus they were after, or one of the guests. Or even a different man altogether — perhaps they are only interested in stealing cravat pins and cuff links.”
Nick laughed, squeezing her hands. “That’s preposterous. But thank you.”
She resisted the temptation of that laugh. At least she could still pry one from him, even if she no longer knew what to do with it when she’d won it. Instead, she slipped her hands out of his grasp. “We can keep the highwayman a secret if you prefer. Lucia and the driver — or drivers, since I suppose your driver knows of this as well — won’t say a word if I ask them not to.”