Angelika Frankenstein Makes Her Match(24)

He was so measured, even in this dangerous race, it drove her mad. It was in the straights that Will’s horse made significant ground. As they were galloping up the wide carriage drive to the manor, he overtook her, and Angelika saw torchlight in the bushes on the library side of the manor.

“Will,” she called, reining her horse in. Everything was forgotten now. “There’s someone at the house.”





Chapter Seven


He slowed and circled, halting beside her, the horses blowing and snorting.

“Is it Mary?”

“She wouldn’t use a fire torch. Looks like the thieves from the village have noticed our absence.” Angelika unbuckled her saddlebag. When she produced her pepperbox pistol, the look Will gave her was a mix of horror and utter admiration of her self-sufficiency.

“What are you going to do?”

“We are looking after the house, as Victor charged us to do. Who knows, maybe my husband has delivered himself to me. I have six shots,” she added, holding up the expensive weapon, engraved with A.F., naturally.

“Shoot once into the air, to scare them. Angelika. Look at me. Promise you will not be rash.”

“I promise. We’ll ride behind the house, keep to the grass to stay quiet.”

The drawing room window was open, with a young man standing beneath it, holding his arms up for a bag that was being passed down.

“Oh, hello!” Angelika called out in a friendly voice, raising her arm. “You’re stealing from me, are you?” She shot into the sky and rode out Percy’s sideways spin. When she was facing the house again, there was only the abandoned bag beneath the window.

A window opened on the upper floor.

Mary’s face peered down at them. “Thank heavens you’re here, Master Will,” she said, completely ignoring the gun-toting Angelika. “There’s still one downstairs. I’m locked in my room. Come on, hurry up, get ’em out. I’ve got to heat your bathwater.” The window closed.

Will forcibly took the firearm from Angelika. “No more shots.”

Angelika found it deeply vexing that Mary had not considered her a savior. Abruptly, she was sick of everybody. “You can go and be the man of the house, like Victor wanted.” She scowled up at Mary’s window. “But please know this. I am not a helpless maiden.”

They dismounted and put up their stirrups. Will handed her his reins. “I could never think that. Stay outside, until I tell you it is safe.”

Angelika unsaddled the horses and turned them out in the orchard as an apology for not rubbing them down. They bolted off, bucking and skittish. She sat down on the low stone wall, with their warm leather bridles hung on her arm.

She did not feel particularly concerned for Will. He had her gun, and the thieves looked to be barely in their teens. Indeed, if she sharpened her senses, she could practically hear the calm negotiations that would be happening inside.

He’ll be explaining to our thief why he’s done wrong, but that he understands why. Angelika pictured the unfortunate villagers of Salisbury. She hated riding through there; everywhere she looked, she saw a crying child, a sad-eyed woman, a man in rags. He’ll tell him that times are hard, and jobs are hard to come by, and the crops did poorly, and scarlet fever has taken even their strong ones. Stomachs are empty in Salisbury. She wiped sweat from her temple. If I know Will, he would think a bag of candlesticks and silver would make a suitable donation. And tonight, as I think about it, I’m inclined to agree.

Angelika found herself having an odd daydream about what a silver candlestick might be able to buy. Warm bread, curls of butter, wedges of cheese? A bag of apples, like those ripening on the trees behind her?

“My goodness. I’m sitting here daydreaming about villagers’ larders and not my own first kiss?” She tapped her knuckles on her temple. “What has happened to me tonight?”

She was preparing to stand, listening for Will’s call, when she heard a stick snap behind her. With a dry mouth, she whispered, “Who’s there?”

Silence was the reply, but she felt their stare on her seated body. She took back her earlier declaration: she was a helpless maiden. Rogues were out in the village, strangers were in her house, and there was someone behind her. Frozen, she could hear the slow press of footsteps approaching, and the trembling jingle of the bridle buckles on her arm.

“I’ll give you what you want,” she said to the night air. “Don’t hurt me.”

When a hand touched the top of her head, she closed her eyes and nearly lost consciousness. It was a slow stroke, from the crown of her head, down her back, to the tips of her hair. When it lifted away, she let out a whimper. “Don’t.”

It happened again. She was being stroked like a horse in a field. Man, or ghost? Impossible to know. The moment the touch lifted away was the worst part. Would the next touch be on her side, sliding around to her breast? Or hands, wrapping around her throat? She flinched when the touch resettled on her crown. Surely this was a joke, before the tearing of clothing began. Nobody in the village had any fondness for her.

“He’ll come,” she said through her clenched jaw, shuddering through the next downward stroke. “He’ll come for me.”

“Angelika,” Will’s voice called at a distance. The touch stopped. When Will walked up to her, he found her still sitting on the stone wall. “It’s all over. The boy in the library was terrified. I gave him a coin, and we had a talk, and he promised not to come back.” He took the bridles from Angelika and laid them aside. “Are you all right?”