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  They made their way past Hyde Park in silence. Ethan worked to keep himself upright. He felt weakened, exhausted. He blinked furiously and stiffened his spine.

  “Mr. Locke,” Audrey’s voice rang out clear and startling after the length of quiet, “or should I call you Mr. Jagger?”

  “I prefer Locke.” He actually preferred Lockwood, but he wasn’t quite there yet. His half-brother, Lord Jason Lockwood, might finally be willing to claim him as blood, but would he share his name?

  “Is Jagger your real surname?” she asked softly. “Your mother’s name?” She knew what everyone knew—that he was a bastard, Lockwood’s bastard brother.

  He didn’t want her to know that name, and not because of his illegitimacy. If she knew even a fraction of the things Jagger had done ... she’d never look at him with kindness again. “Yes, but as I said, I prefer Locke.”

  She was quiet a moment. The dark night enveloped them as they drew away from the park. “I have a lot of questions.” She turned her head to look at him. “Beginning with why you came to my window tonight.”

  Best to stay with the truth, or at least a partial version of it. “To tend my wound. You were the closest person I knew.” And my money was stashed in your tree.

  “And how did you sustain the wound?” She looked across him, her gaze fixed on the bloodied tear in his coat. “Did a knife do that?”

  “You know your weapons,” he said wryly. “I have questions for you as well.” Deflection was an old and welcome tool. “How does a proper young lady like you know how to fire a pistol? And why do you keep two of them in your bedroom?”

  She withdrew her hand from his arm and thrust it into the pocket of her coat. Then she snapped her gaze forward. “I grew up in the country with two much older brothers and too many male cousins.”

  He noted she only answered one of his queries, and only barely. Just as he didn’t wish to be pressed, he would allow her the same courtesy.

  Silence descended once more, for a good ten minutes. Finally, she breached the void. “Are you in some sort of trouble?”

  A fair conclusion for anyone with average intelligence, and he knew Audrey Cheswick well enough to know she possessed quite a bit more than that. “Perhaps.” Time for more deflection. He reached his arm around her and pulled her against his side to pool their warmth. “We’ll be there soon.” Ethan would stop at the first inn he felt was far enough away from town.

  “It’s just ...” Her voice was laced with something cold and brittle, a sadness tinged with disbelief. “I’ve never shot anyone before. I hope he’ll be all right.”

  Ethan swallowed a laugh. She wouldn’t find any humor in the situation, while he couldn’t help but be amused by her concern for a criminal. “You shot him near the shoulder. He might have trouble with his arm for a while, but if he takes care of it, he’ll be fine.” Back on the street enforcing Gin Jimmy’s will within the week, probably.

  “You think so?” Her frame relaxed against his. “I’m pleased to hear it. I would hate to think I killed a man.”

  “You do realize he knocked your grandfather unconscious? And was going to kidnap you to God-knows-what fate.” Ethan knew what fate, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to outline it for her.

  She stiffened. “You’re right. I refuse to feel badly for him. Maybe he won’t be able to use his arm well again. That would serve him right.”

  Ethan smiled into the darkness. “What a little cutthroat you are.”

  Just then, a man on horseback moved into the road, forcing Ethan to slow. The lights from the cabriolet illuminated the cocked pistol in his hand and the nasty leer on his face. “Stand and deliver, mate.”

  Ethan clenched the reins. Fucking highwaymen. Ethan considered running the man down, but the cabriolet wasn’t a particularly heavy vehicle. The sound of a pistol cocking to his right made the final decision. A second brigand had ridden up beside them and was close enough that his shot wouldn’t miss.

  Audrey inhaled sharply and grabbed Ethan’s elbow with both hands as if she were holding on for her life. His mind scrambled to think of how to defend her. He had the knife he’d taken from the criminal at Audrey’s tucked into his boot, but he missed his familiar blade and wished he hadn’t had to leave it behind in the alley. He shook his head to refocus, a problem he’d never encountered before tonight. But then he’d never had to protect a young lady before.

  He also had the truncheon, which was tucked beneath his coat beside him on the seat.

  “Follow what I do,” he whispered urgently toward Audrey. He held up his left hand, which dislodged her grip, as well as her hat as his fingers grazed the brim. “We don’t have anything for you.” Not true, but there was no way he’d relinquish his bag of money, which sat on the floor of the cabriolet between their feet.

  “We’ll jes’ see ’bout that,” the highwayman to his right said.

  The other one steered his horse toward them and came around to Audrey’s side. Her hat had fallen to her lap, revealing her hair and face and leaving no doubt as to her sex. Ethan didn’t like the way the man leered at her.

  Ethan’s pulse thrummed hard and fast in his veins. He wished she had a pistol to fire. The highwaymen wouldn’t stand a chance.

  The highwayman next to Ethan spoke again. “Pull the flap back. Slow or my friend,” he nodded toward the other highwayman, “will jes’ as soon kill yer bird.”

  Ethan’s blood started to boil. He steeled himself and hoped Audrey could handle what he had to do.

  He eased the cover back, exposing their legs by degrees. Audrey’s tension and fear seeped into him like cold and damp on a harsh winter night. As he pushed the flap down toward their ankles, he slipped the knife from his boot and thrust it up beneath the cuff of his coat. The steel was icy against his wrist, the hilt a welcome weight against his palm.

  “Wot’s ’at?” the man near Audrey asked. “Looks like a bag. Toss it ’ere then.”

  “I don’t have the strength,” Ethan said, infusing his tone with pain and weakness. He held up his right arm so the highwayman on his side could see the bloodied tear in his coat. “I’m hurt. You’ll have to come get it.”

  “She can toss it.”

  “Faint!” Ethan muttered, barely moving his lips.

  A beat passed and then she let out a shriek before collapsing against him, her eyelids dropping.

  “Fer Christ’s sake. Jes’ get it, Tim!” the brigand on Ethan’s side called.

  The highwayman slid from his horse and stepped onto the side of the cab. “We should take the gig. Never seen one this fancy.” He leaned down to pick up the bag, and Ethan made his move.

  He reared up and slashed at the man’s neck with the knife. Blood spurted across Audrey’s pantaloons and the man slumped upon her feet. Her eyes flew open and she screamed.

  Ethan shoved her down, her head coming within inches of the bleeding highwayman at her feet, just as his partner’s pistol discharged behind Ethan. The bullet grazed his right shoulder. With a cry, he turned and launched himself from the cab. His body connected with the highwayman, knocking him from the horse. They landed in a heap on the opposite side of the animal, near the ditch beside the road. The beast whinnied and skipped away.

  Ethan gripped the knife and rolled onto his knees. The brigand was also trying to come up from his back, but Ethan was a bit faster. He lurched over the highwayman and aimed the knife for his jugular, but the man brought up his hand, earning a nasty gash across his forearm.

  Another scream from the cabriolet drew Ethan’s attention, allowing the highwayman to roll away. Dammit, if he wasn’t distracted, the thief would be dead by now.

  Ethan reared up and reached for the man, but he was already on his feet. He took off running. As Ethan made to go after him, he glanced back at the cab to check on Audrey and saw a slight figure—a boy who was maybe working with the highwaymen or maybe not—jumping down with Ethan’s bag in his hands. The boy spared Ethan the slightest of glances and took off runni
ng. With his money.

  Cursing, Ethan ran after him, but with his twice-wounded arm and the bruises he’d just sustained from attacking the highwayman, he was too slow. The boy was already disappearing into the dark night. Uttering another, much louder, curse Ethan stalked back toward the cab. Christ, Audrey! She’d screamed a second time. Had the boy hurt her? Why had Ethan been more concerned with the money than with her?

  Shame washed through him as he found the strength to run back to the cabriolet.

  She stumbled onto the road as he arrived, his breath coming hard and fast. Her eyes were huge in the lamplight, her face nearly white. “He’s ... he’s ... he’s dead.” She clapped her hand over her mouth and rushed to the side of the road.

  She bent over, but Ethan couldn’t be certain if she was sick. Torn between going to her and disposing of the body in the cabriolet, he decided he’d better do the latter before attempting the former.

  He moved slowly to the other side of the cab, stopping briefly to reassure the horse, who’d been astonishingly calm throughout the encounter. Ethan’s experience with the animals wasn’t extensive, but he knew a horse attached to a vehicle of this caliber would be a well-trained beast. Thank God for that.

  The highwayman was sprawled on the floor, his feet dangling over the edge of the cab. He was on his side, a pool of blood beneath his head. His eyes gazed sightlessly at the night sky. Ethan felt no remorse. In his life, the tenet of “kill or be killed” was more than an idea; it was reality.

  He pulled the lifeless body out of the cab. His muscles screamed in agony at the exertion required to wrestle the large man to the ground. Then Ethan dragged the highwayman to the side of the road and pushed him over into the ditch.

  When he turned around, Audrey was standing near the coach. “Why did you kill him?”

  “He would’ve killed us.”

  “Would he have? Maybe if you’d given him the bag, they would’ve gone about their way and left us alone.”

  Ethan shook his head. “No, they wouldn’t have. At best, they would’ve taken the money and you. I saw the way they both looked at you.” With lust and violence gleaming in their eyes.

  She brought her hands to her mouth and clenched her eyes shut.

  Though agony poured through him, Ethan forced himself toward her. “Miss Cheswick. Audrey.” He had no experience in soothing a distraught young woman. “He was a very bad man. A criminal.” Like Ethan. He took her hands away from her face. “Look at me.”

  She opened her eyes slowly, revealing wariness in their depths. She averted her gaze from him and spoke softly, but firmly, “I want to go home.”

  He couldn’t take her home. And if she went home, she’d be a sitting target for Gin Jimmy. He opted for deflection again. “Just stand here and look at the stars. Do you see Aquila, the eagle?”

  She tilted her head back. After a long moment, she exhaled. “Yes.”

  “Good. Tell me what else you see.”

  He hurried back to the ditch where he pulled the highwayman’s coat from his body. He glanced back at Audrey and saw that she was watching him. He pointed to the sky. “What else?”

  She snapped her head back up. “I see Cygnus, the swan, and Delphinus, the dolphin.”

  “Excellent. Cygnus is one of my favorites.” He rushed back to the cabriolet with the coat, one sleeve of which was already rather bloody. He used the rest to wipe up as much of the blood on the floor of the cab as he could.

  She was quiet as he moved past her to dispose of the ruined coat, which he tossed atop the corpse. When he turned back toward her and the cab, he was suddenly and thoroughly spent. His vision blurred. His knees shook. He barely kept a grip on consciousness.

  He must’ve swayed, because the next thing he focused on was her coming toward him.

  “Are you all right?” she asked. She clasped his good arm and only just stopped from grabbing the bad one.

  No, but he didn’t say that. Nausea swirled in his gut. Tossing up his own accounts didn’t seem like such a bad notion all of a sudden.

  “We need to get off the road.” She pulled him toward the cab and helped him climb up.

  “I’m supposed to be helping you,” he muttered.

  “It’s a bit late to act the gentleman, isn’t it?”

  Nothing she said could’ve stung more. He’d tried very hard to be a gentleman. It was all he bloody wanted. But it was impossible when trouble was intent on finding him. If tonight’s plan had been successful, he’d be at Lockwood House toasting the arrest of one of London’s worst criminals and he’d be free of his old life.

  Instead, he was fleeing London with two holes in his arm and was subjecting a perfectly lovely young woman to atrocities she should never experience. Yes, it was altogether too late to be a gentleman.

  He landed in the seat with a loud exhalation.

  She climbed up and sat beside him, casting a look of distaste toward the floor. She didn’t, however, break down, once more affirming his estimation of her intrepid spirit. “How’s your arm? Should I drive?”

  Ethan cradled his injured arm and winced. “Do you know how?”

  “I used to drive our gig in the country. It had two horses, so this has to be simpler, doesn’t it?” She picked up the reins.

  Ethan wanted to argue, but he was too overcome with pain and exhaustion. He just wanted to close his eyes.

  The last thing he heard was another shriek.

  ***

  Audrey barely kept Mr. Locke from toppling from the cabriolet. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him toward her, trying to be careful of his arm, but in the end, she feared she’d caused him more pain.

  But now he was slumped toward her. She peered at his face in the lamplight. Dark circles, accentuated by the pallor of his skin, had formed beneath his eyes. Eyes that were closed.

  “Mr. Locke?” She shook him gently. “Mr. Locke?”

  He was utterly unresponsive.

  She let him go, careful to angle him against her, and leaned back against the seat. Panic seared through her. Where was she to go? She couldn’t stay here. One of the highwaymen had run off. He might decide to return with reinforcements.

  Get a hold of yourself, Audrey. You are not a simpering featherwit.

  She turned sideways and shook him again, this time more firmly. “Mr. Locke. Wake. Up.” In the absence of smelling salts, she did the only other thing she could think of: She slapped his cheek.

  His eyes shot open. “Ow.”

  “Sorry, but I had to wake you.” She smoothed her hand against his stubbled cheek. The dark growth of his beard was visible. She ought to find his appearance shocking; instead she was oddly intrigued by the scratch of the hair beneath her fingers.

  “No, my arm.” He groaned again and cradled his wounded arm with his good one.

  “You may return to your unconscious state as soon as you tell me your plan. Where am I to drive?”

  His head rolled back against the seat and he closed his eyes. His pale throat was elongated above the twisted knot of his cravat. He looked a gentleman, despite his unshaven state, but he’d done things tonight she doubted most gentlemen could—or would—do. “An inn,” he said weakly. He tried to sit up, but barely moved. His breath came in sharp gusts, like he’d run a great distance.

  He pierced her with his intense gray stare, eyes she’d looked into before as she’d taught him to waltz. She’d wondered why he hadn’t learned before, but had been too shy to ask. It would join the list of questions she’d formed tonight.

  “Be careful. Not all of the inns are ...” His head lolled back against the seat and his eyes shuttered once more.

  “Not all of the inns are what?” She willed him to open his eyes again, to answer her, but he didn’t stir. His chest rose and fell with his breath, rapidly at first, and then slowing to a sleeping rhythm.

  She repositioned herself on the seat and picked up the reins again. It took a few tries, but she managed to get the horse moving. The road was dark a
s pitch and rather uneven. She was glad Mr. Locke was unconscious because the constant bump and jostle would’ve caused him no small amount of pain.

  Her mind traveled over the course of the night. She’d started it with scandalous behavior—a quick glance down at her gentleman’s costume affirmed that—and she was ending it in much the same manner. If anyone knew that she was alone with Mr. Ethan Locke, she’d be completely ruined.

  As if it mattered. What sort of marriage prospects did she have? None. Her parents would be horrified; she’d scandalized them before, but that would be the extent of things. Oh, she supposed she wouldn’t go to any more balls or parties, but what was the point of them anyway? She propped up the wall and visited with her small circle of friends, things she could do anywhere, anytime.

  Should she turn back to London? No, she wanted to find shelter as soon as possible, and there was nothing behind her for a few miles. However, returning home meant she could preserve her reputation. Her stomach roiled, not with the same gut-wrenching sickness the dead highwayman had provoked, but with a gripping tension that accompanied thoughts of the life that awaited her in London. The life she’d tried so hard to appreciate and succeed at, and she’d failed miserably on both counts.

  Yet when she thought of the last hour, her body thrummed with exhilaration—dead highwayman notwithstanding. She flinched. What sort of person did that make her? She’d shot a man, committed larceny, and witnessed a murder. No, surely it wasn’t murder since Mr. Locke had been defending her.

  And what sort of person was Mr. Locke? He’d fought off the intruders at her house, orchestrated the theft of the cabriolet, and saved her from the highwayman. She couldn’t fault him for any of those things, only the manner in which he’d done them. And yet, she was invigorated by him.

  The cabriolet moved forward. Away from London. Away from the life she didn’t really want. A sense of rightness settled over her. Whatever happened now, things would be different. She relaxed into the seat and smiled softly. The one thing she would do upon arriving at the inn would be to draft a short note to Grandfather, assuring him of her well-being. She didn’t want him to worry, but neither did she want to give details about where she was or why.