promptly began to worry the beadwork off the flared brim.
Time melted around them, slowing and lengthening until Viv heard every whorl of wind, saw every restless shuffle of men’s boots, heard every thump of oncoming hooves against packed ground.
Fierce cries broke her trance. Shots exploded. A dozen raiders vaulted over the bluff, down toward the wagons. Smoke from gunfire and the quick kick of dust smoothed distinct bodies into a gauzy mass of movement, shadow, and muted color.
From out of the cacophony came a low, loud command. “Hold steady! Wait for Wilkes’s signal!”
Miles?
Viv peered through the disorder and found him kneeling behind a wagon wheel, sighting with a leveled rifle. Adam,Mr. Kato, and even the blond tradesman occupied various points of cover. Each was armed. Their deadly expressions matched those of the hired guards.
“Ready?” came a distant command. “Fire!”
The raiders’ gunfire had been sporadic, but the barrage from the coaches’ defense came as a unified blast. Masculine screams answered, as did the squealing pain of downed horses.
“Ready again! Fire!”
Another barrage followed. Chloe shrieked, clamped her arms around her ears and doubled over, sobbing. But Viv could hardly comfort her maid, not when she watched her husband fire and reload. Hunting trips with his noble kinsmen had provided him with certain skills, but this was calm, collected violence done to protect innocent people. With her palm flat against her breastbone, she pressed to keep her frantic heart from bursting.
“Fire!”
At first Viv thought the shout was yet another command, one to bolster that unified defense. But cries strengthened. Then came the stench of smoke—not cigars or gunpowder, but burning cloth and leather.
The coach is on fire.
She choked on words that wouldn’t come. Even swallowing wouldn’t help, her throat feeling blistered and tight. She gave up on speech. With a fierce tug, she yanked Chloe upright and shoved the mauled hat out of her lap. The copper handle wouldn’t budge. Viv rattled the door and even conjured a few long-buried French curses.
Haverstock pushed Chloe out of the way to get to Viv. “Let me.”
But he hadn’t touched the hot copper before the lock finally gave way and swung outward. Miles stood ready to receive her.
“And here I thought these accommodations were first class.” He hauled her down with one arm firmly encircling her waist. Whip held with his other hand, he’d slung a rifle over his shoulder. “Miserable is what they are. I fully intend to lodge a complaint.”
They turned as one—as a raider charged their position. The world at the edge of Viv’s vision grayed, but she clearly saw the attacking man’s virulent expression. Teeth bared. Eyes narrowed. Pistol raised.
She was going to die.
Miles snapped his arm to the side. The whip snaked through the air with a crack as loud as the nearby gunshots. Again and again he flicked the coiled leather. The attacker’s horse reared back on its hind legs, throwing off the man’s aim. A bullet shot from his pistol but flew high overhead.
Before Viv could protest, Miles pulled her to where a group of women and children huddled behind a boulder. “No, wait! Chloe!”
A frown knotted his brow, then he nodded. “Promise you’ll stay here.”
“I promise.”
Of course he would grin. Even at a time like that, as if she’d consented to sharing the next waltz. But this Miles was a feral cousin to the man she’d married. He gave herwaist one last squeeze before rejoining the fight at a full run.
Viv remained by that boulder but kept him in sight—as if watching him would keep him safe. Another onslaught of raiders barred his way back to the carriage. With whip and pistol and hoarse shouts, he blended seamlessly with the trained guards. The head of security directed his men, while Miles organized the ragtag band of volunteers. He knelt beside Adam, shoulder to shoulder, and aimed a rifle. They
Time melted around them, slowing and lengthening until Viv heard every whorl of wind, saw every restless shuffle of men’s boots, heard every thump of oncoming hooves against packed ground.
Fierce cries broke her trance. Shots exploded. A dozen raiders vaulted over the bluff, down toward the wagons. Smoke from gunfire and the quick kick of dust smoothed distinct bodies into a gauzy mass of movement, shadow, and muted color.
From out of the cacophony came a low, loud command. “Hold steady! Wait for Wilkes’s signal!”
Miles?
Viv peered through the disorder and found him kneeling behind a wagon wheel, sighting with a leveled rifle. Adam,Mr. Kato, and even the blond tradesman occupied various points of cover. Each was armed. Their deadly expressions matched those of the hired guards.
“Ready?” came a distant command. “Fire!”
The raiders’ gunfire had been sporadic, but the barrage from the coaches’ defense came as a unified blast. Masculine screams answered, as did the squealing pain of downed horses.
“Ready again! Fire!”
Another barrage followed. Chloe shrieked, clamped her arms around her ears and doubled over, sobbing. But Viv could hardly comfort her maid, not when she watched her husband fire and reload. Hunting trips with his noble kinsmen had provided him with certain skills, but this was calm, collected violence done to protect innocent people. With her palm flat against her breastbone, she pressed to keep her frantic heart from bursting.
“Fire!”
At first Viv thought the shout was yet another command, one to bolster that unified defense. But cries strengthened. Then came the stench of smoke—not cigars or gunpowder, but burning cloth and leather.
The coach is on fire.
She choked on words that wouldn’t come. Even swallowing wouldn’t help, her throat feeling blistered and tight. She gave up on speech. With a fierce tug, she yanked Chloe upright and shoved the mauled hat out of her lap. The copper handle wouldn’t budge. Viv rattled the door and even conjured a few long-buried French curses.
Haverstock pushed Chloe out of the way to get to Viv. “Let me.”
But he hadn’t touched the hot copper before the lock finally gave way and swung outward. Miles stood ready to receive her.
“And here I thought these accommodations were first class.” He hauled her down with one arm firmly encircling her waist. Whip held with his other hand, he’d slung a rifle over his shoulder. “Miserable is what they are. I fully intend to lodge a complaint.”
They turned as one—as a raider charged their position. The world at the edge of Viv’s vision grayed, but she clearly saw the attacking man’s virulent expression. Teeth bared. Eyes narrowed. Pistol raised.
She was going to die.
Miles snapped his arm to the side. The whip snaked through the air with a crack as loud as the nearby gunshots. Again and again he flicked the coiled leather. The attacker’s horse reared back on its hind legs, throwing off the man’s aim. A bullet shot from his pistol but flew high overhead.
Before Viv could protest, Miles pulled her to where a group of women and children huddled behind a boulder. “No, wait! Chloe!”
A frown knotted his brow, then he nodded. “Promise you’ll stay here.”
“I promise.”
Of course he would grin. Even at a time like that, as if she’d consented to sharing the next waltz. But this Miles was a feral cousin to the man she’d married. He gave herwaist one last squeeze before rejoining the fight at a full run.
Viv remained by that boulder but kept him in sight—as if watching him would keep him safe. Another onslaught of raiders barred his way back to the carriage. With whip and pistol and hoarse shouts, he blended seamlessly with the trained guards. The head of security directed his men, while Miles organized the ragtag band of volunteers. He knelt beside Adam, shoulder to shoulder, and aimed a rifle. They
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