A Week to Be Wicked (Spindle Cove #2)(77)

He put the reloaded pistol in her hand. Then, approaching her from the back, he wrapped his arms around hers and raised the gun, as though teaching her how to shoot.

“After you make your shot,” he murmured in her ear, “you grab the purse from Elspeth. I’ll get Francine. And we’ll run, as hard as we can, down that lane.” He pointed the pistol to the side, indicating the direction. “Don’t stop for anything. Don’t even pause to look back. I’ll catch up to you, promise.”

She leaned back, savoring the comfort of his strength and warmth. “But . . . but what if I miss?”

“You won’t miss.” He pressed a kiss to her earlobe, then stepped back, releasing her arms. “Go on, then. Make me proud.”

Minerva leveled the pistol at the target, giving her eyes time to focus. Her hands trembled. She tried to remember all the tips Susanna and Miss Taylor had given her. Like all the Spindle Cove ladies, she’d learned to shoot—but her marksmanship had never been especially consistent. Mama had made no secret that she found Minerva’s participation in the activity laughable.

A mostly blind girl, armed with a pistol? Mama would say. My dear, the gentlemen already keep their distance. There’s no need to frighten them off with guns.

Minerva took a deep breath and tried to banish the sounds of laughter.

“Francine,” she whispered, “this is for you.”

And just as she began to squeeze the trigger, a voice called out about the crowd’s hushed silence—freezing her finger in place and turning the blood in her veins to ice.

“That’s him, right over there!”

No. It couldn’t be.

“Go get him, boys!” the voice shouted. “There he is! It’s Prince Ampersand of Crustacea!”

Stunned, Minerva lowered the gun and looked to Colin.

“Shoot,” he said, eyes wide and fierce. “Now.”

“Right.”

With a sudden, stone-cold certainty, Minerva raised her arms, took aim, and fired the pistol. Without pausing to see how her shot had landed, she grabbed the money from Elspeth and ran. The children’s wild cheer of triumph told everything she needed to know. What she’d already known, in her bones.

She’d hit dead center. Just as Colin had said.

Grinning to herself, she ducked her head, pumped her arms and legs, and raced down the lane.

Her breath and heartbeat pounded so loud, she could barely hear her own boots slapping the dirt. But soon she became conscious of another set of footfalls behind her. She didn’t dare slow or turn to ascertain whether they belonged to Colin. She just kept running like the Devil was on her heels.

And it occurred to her, as she made that mad dash down the lane—clutching a blazing hot pistol in one hand and a fistful of money in the other—that this surely must mark some turning point in her life. Really, there was no going back from this.

Today, all her mother’s judgments had been proved false. She wasn’t plain, but pretty. She wasn’t distracted and awkward, but confident and a crack shot.

Most of all, Minerva was not hopeless. She had twenty pounds. She had an important scientific discovery.

And she had Colin, the most handsome, charming devil in England, coming fast on her heels. Save for the ransom-minded highwaymen and angry magistrate’s son chasing after them . . .

Life had never been so good.

“This way,” he called, overtaking her as they neared the town’s borders. He had Francine lifted in his arms, leading the way as he turned down an alleyway. They clattered down the narrow, shadowy corridor, then found an arched passage that led through the churchyard wall and out into the countryside.

Carrying Francine between them now, they ran into the sunset. Only when they’d covered two meadows, vaulted a stile, and crested a hill did they pause for breath and dare to look back.

They saw no one.

“How did you get away?” she asked.

“Elspeth and her army. They provided a diversion. But we’re not safe yet.” Panting, he nodded toward a nearby hut. “Over there.”

It wasn’t a dwelling proper. Just a cramped shelter for shepherds to sleep in while their flock grazed these fields. Tonight, it was empty. Likely all the sheep had been penned somewhere so the shepherds could enjoy the fair.

Colin had to stoop to fit through the small doorway. Inside, they found just a small cookstove, a lamp, various crooks and other shepherding implements . . . and a narrow cot.

Still breathing hard from exertion, Minerva found a flint and lit the lamp. “Do you want to know something?” As the yellow light warmed the space, she turned her gaze to Colin. “Today is my birthday.”

He laughed. “Really?”

“No. Not really.” She giggled helplessly. “But if it were, it would have been the best one ever. Colin, you were unbelievable.”

“You were amazing.” He took her by the waist. His chest rose and fell with a resonant sigh. “You are amazing.”

His words of praise gave her gooseflesh. But as he pulled her close, a strange round obstacle squished between them.

His brow wrinkled in confusion.

“Oh,” she said, laughing. Pulling back a bit, she fished the obstacle out of her overskirt pocket and held it up for his view. “I saved you a peach.”

He looked at the peach. Then he looked at her.