Noble Scoundrel - Amy Sandas Page 0,17

his mouth. “I don’t know.”

When she looked back across the street, the stranger was gone. She glanced around for a black greatcoat and top hat, but saw no sign of him.

“We could go to Vauxhall Gardens or a theater performance,” Frederick suggested brightly.

Drawn in by her brother’s excitement for their next adventure, Katherine soon forgot about the oddly intense stranger. A short while later, they returned to their waiting carriage to begin the drive home.

Being late afternoon, the streets were crowded with traffic. Katherine settled into the seat and pulled the hat pins free of her bonnet so she could remove the cumbersome head-covering. She’d rarely gone about in a bonnet while in Lincolnshire, and she was having a hard time getting accustomed to the discomfort of sharp pins digging into her scalp and tugging on her hair.

With a sigh, she settled the bonnet in her lap then tossed Frederick a contented grin. “I would say today ended up being rather lovely.”

Her brother’s mouth tilted in a way that was wholly uncharacteristic of him, yet was oddly similar to one of Hale’s amused grins. “You sound like you expected to hate it.”

She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t think I’d hate the day...just London, perhaps.”

“And what are your thoughts on the city now?”

Before Katherine could answer, another vehicle passed precariously close, causing their carriage to sway and shake.

With a smirk of her own, she replied, “I can’t say I love the traffic, but I might—”

Katherine’s words were cut off as their carriage veered sharply before being righted again in a violent, swerving maneuver that sent their packages tumbling to the floor in a chaotic heap. Katherine fared no better as she was thrown against the door. Unfortunately—or not—she’d also managed to crush her bonnet beneath her. If not for their driver’s skill, she suspected their carriage could have ended up on its side.

“Kit, are you all right?” Frederick’s face was tense as he reached out to help her recover her seating.

Before she could assure him, something hit the side of their vehicle hard enough for the wood to crack loudly as the carriage came to a hard stop. Their coachman shouted a strident accusation. And then nothing.

Katherine scooted forward. “Perhaps I should see if all is well.”

She was halted by Frederick’s tightening grip on her hand a bare moment before the door on his side of the cab flew open and a large man dressed in an ill-fitted brown coat and a hat with a wide, shadowing brim climbed in.

“Pardon me,” Katherine blurted in surprise. But the man ignored her, and the carriage started off again before he even got the door shut behind him. Kicking the packages aside, he took a seat across from them. Bleary eyes stared out from beneath the ill-shapen hat as the acrid scent of brine and woodsmoke filled the enclosed space.

“You’ve made an error, sir. This is a private carriage,” Katherine stated as she knocked on the roof of the vehicle to signal their driver to stop.

But the vehicle didn’t stop. In fact, it seemed to pick up speed. And the new passenger didn’t appear the slightest bit concerned by her words.

“What’s going on here?”

The man’s grey eyes slid over her. “Shut yer trap or I’ll shut it for ye. Ye’ll find out what’s what soon enough.”

Going red at his insulting response, Katherine opened her mouth to tell him exactly what she thought of his manner but was stopped by the rather tight squeeze of Frederick’s hand on hers. She glanced at him to see that he was staring intently at something. Following his gaze, she noticed the pistol stuffed into the man’s breeches. Extending her perusal, she also noted the handle of a rather large knife sticking out of the man’s boot.

What on earth was going on?

Though her heart was suddenly racing, she was relieved to see a certain calm focus in her brother’s expression. It was a mien she knew well and it reminded her that they’d be far better served by keeping their wits.

Their vehicle careened around a corner, taking the turn way too fast. All three of them were tossed to the side before being able to right themselves. The jostling shoved the pistol a bit farther into the man’s breeches. He’d have a hard time withdrawing it if he needed to do so quickly. The swift turn also caused the hatpin from her ruined bonnet to jab sharply into her thigh.

She dropped her hand to cover the sharp little tool.