A Pledge of Passion (The Rules of Engagement #2)(9)

"Keep yer hands where I can see 'em, guv. Make a move," the brigand bearing the pistol threatened Nicolas, "and I'll blow a hole in your gut the size 'o Bedfordshire."

"Is that where we are?" Nicolas asked mildly, as if inquiring about the weather. "I could have sworn we were still in Hertfordshire. But then again, you aren't really from here, are you? I detect a distinct hint of Newcastle. No, maybe not Newcastle," Nicolas amended. "But you are definitely from the north. I'm certain of it. West Riding perhaps?"

"Shut yer bloody yap!" the mounted man bellowed.

"I certainly commend your audacity," Nicolas continued unabashed. "A man must have bollocks of brass to rob a coach in full light of day when he can be so easily identified."

"What d'ye mean?" said the first thief. "Ye ain't seen our faces."

"I don't have to see your faces," Nicolas said. "Both your accent and his horse are easily identifiable." Nicolas inclined his head to the mounted man's horse. "I can't imagine there are many walleyed piebalds in Bedfordshire."

"Dead men tell no tales," said the first brigand.

"Ah! You quote Dryden? How intriguing. I am robbed by a highwayman of rare breeding." Nicolas arched a brow. Mariah wondered what he was about to taunt them so. Did he not realize the danger he courted? "Do you really intend to add murder to your crimes?" he asked.

"It needn't come to killin' if ye hand over the goods," the highwayman growled.

"Hold 'im there, Jeb," the mounted man commanded his companion in crime. "I'll see what they be carryin' in this fine coach."

Mariah stifled a gasp. Remembering the second pistol in Lady Russell's coach, she stepped backward, only to trip on her gown. Her lungs emptied with a grunt as her backside hit the hard ground.

The mounted ruffian instantly spun around to face her. "What 'ave we 'ere?" His face split into a lecherous leer as he dismounted. "Let's see what the missy's got for ol' Bart . . . or mayhap ol' Bart's got something for the missy."

She gazed up in speechless horror and scrambled backward like a crab as the lecherous highwayman approached. In growing panic, she looked to Nicolas. Both men were watching her. In the few seconds his assailant was distracted, he slid his hand under his coat. Her heart lodged in her throat as he retrieved the hidden pistol.

Both highwaymen froze at the click of a hammer cocking.

"If you think to add ravishment to your litany of crimes," Nicolas said, "think again."

"You've got one shot, guv," the first highwayman said. "Use it on me, and Bart takes his pleasure while you watch. Use it on Bart over there, and I'll kill ye. Now how d'ye s'pose this'll play out?"

"There is a third option you have not considered." Four sets of eyes riveted toward the coach, from whence Lady Russell emerged holding the coachman's blunderbuss. "It is primed and loaded, and I assure you, gentlemen, I most certainly know which end to point. Mariah," she said, "why don't you wait in the coach like a good gel. Needham, pray feel free to disarm our friend Jeb. I believe both of these fellows will need full use of their hands in order to move this infernal tree from our path."

***

"Needham," Lady Russell said with a sniff, "I can't tolerate it a moment longer. Would you please cast them out?"

"Pardon, my lady?"

"Their clothes." She wrinkled her nose. "The stench is unbearable. Pray let us be rid of them. Surely we have enough miles between us now. There is little chance they'll catch up with us."

"Certainly not without their horse. Do you think they'll press charges for horse thievery?" Nicolas asked. "I believe 'tis a hanging offense."

Lady Russell released a gleeful chortle. "What a farce the entire episode turned out to be! They thought to rob us, only to be left by the roadside as God made them. And what pitiful specimens of manhood they proved to be," she added with a wink. "Call it a widow's whim, but I can't help measuring every man by my dear departed Wriothesley's," her lips curved wickedly, "standard."

Nicolas and Mariah simultaneously colored at her scandalous remark.

"Weren't you frightened, my lady?" Mariah asked, eager to change the subject. "Would you truly have shot them?"

"Undoubtedly," Lady Russell replied. "But I prefer not to think of such unpleasantness. Happily, we are all safe and sound, aside from my poor coachman's bruised head." She sighed. "I suppose 'twould be wise to beg the duke to provide us outriders for our return journey."

***

It was late afternoon when Lady Russell's traveling coach turned up the long chestnut-shaded drive leading to Woburn Abbey. Although Mariah resided in a large and ancient manor, it was still a struggle not to gape at the sheer opulence of the grand Palladian mansion surrounded by meticulously manicured grounds and its vast expanse of lushly wooded deer park.

"This entire property was once a Cistercian monastery until confiscated by our good King Henry and awarded to one of the present duke's ancestors for services to the crown," Mr. Needham said. "The original house dates back to the twelfth century, though I don't know how much remains since the present duke has rebuilt it."