Julie Garwood (3 page)

“What has happened here?” he demanded with such force that his stallion began to prance in reaction. He was quick to get the animal under control, using his powerful thighs as leverage. “Quiet, Reliance,” he stated in a harsh growl. Yet he seemed to contradict his firm command by stroking the side of the horse’s neck. The unconscious show of affection was at great odds with the brutal expression on his face.

He wouldn’t break the hold of his gaze, and Caroline found herself wishing that it had been one of the robbers returning after all. She worried that this stranger would quickly see through her bluff.

Where was Benjamin? Caroline thought a little frantically. Surely he had heard the approach. Why, the ground still trembled, didn’t it? Or was it her legs that trembled?

Lord, she had to get hold of herself!

“Tell me what happened here,” the stranger demanded again. The harshness in his voice washed over Caroline but she still didn’t move. Nor did she answer, afraid that her fear would be apparent in her voice, giving him the advantage. She tightened her grip on the pistol and tried to slow her racing heart.

Bradford chanced a quick look around. His favorite carriage, loaned to his friend for a fortnight, stood at the edge of the roadway with several hideous bullet holes in his crest. He caught a movement inside the vehicle and recognized his friend’s mop of blond hair. Bradford all but sighed with relief. His friend was safe.

He knew, instinctively, that the woman standing proudly before him wasn’t responsible for the damage. He saw her tremble slightly and seized the opportunity.

“Drop your weapon!” It wasn’t a request. The Duke of Bradford rarely, if ever, requested anything. He commanded. And under usual circumstances, he always received what he wanted.

Bradford was forced to decide that this didn’t qualify as a usual circumstance when the chit continued to stare up at him, ignoring his order altogether.

Caroline concentrated on trying not to tremble as she studied the man looming above her like an angry cloud. Power surrounded the scowling man like a winter cloak, and Caroline found herself frightened by the intensity of her reaction to him. He was, after all, only a man. She shook her head and fought to clear her thoughts. The stranger looked arrogant and pompous and, from the apparel he wore, was obviously very wealthy. His waistcoat was a rich burgundy color, styled in the identical manner as Mr. Smith’s forest-green jacket. His golden buckskins were just as fashionable, and as tightly fitted from the way his muscles bulged through the material. The Hessians shone with polish and attention, and the cynical-looking man even wore the same type of neckcloth.

Caroline remembered the injured man’s worry that one of his acquaintances would hear of his awkward situation and remembered too her promise to tell no one. The stranger glaring at her definitely looked the type to spread stories, in Caroline’s opinion. Best to send him on his way.

“Madam, do you suffer a hearing impairment? I told you to drop your pistol.” He hadn’t meant to yell but he felt captive, both by her weapon pointed at him and, he admitted to himself, by her eyes, daring him. They were the most unusual color.

“You drop your pistol,” Caroline finally replied. She was pleased that her voice didn’t tremble overmuch and thought that she sounded almost as angry as he did. It was a small victory, but a victory all the same.

Caroline’s back was to the carriage and she therefore didn’t see the injured gentleman wave a greeting to the stranger trying to frighten her to death.

Bradford acknowledged the wave with a curt nod. His eyebrow arched in a silent question to his friend and his gaze suddenly lost its cynical look. It was as if a filled chalkboard had suddenly been erased, and Caroline found herself wishing his intimidating aura of power would also disappear as quickly.

She wasn’t given more time to consider her adversary’s change in disposition. “It appears that we have a standoff,” the man stated in a deep, rich voice. “Should we shoot each other?”

She wasn’t amused. She saw the corners of his hard mouth turn up a bit and felt her spine stiffen in reaction. How dare he assume such a bored and amused attitude when she was so frightened.

“You’ll drop your weapon,” Caroline insisted in a soft voice. “I won’t shoot you.”

Bradford ignored her order and her promise and continued to study her with lazy appreciation as he patted his stallion’s neck. It was obvious that he valued
the animal, and Caroline suddenly realized she possessed a new weapon.

He, of course, would never give in. He would bend to no woman! Bradford had seen his opponent tremble a moment before and knew that it was just a matter of time before she crumbled completely. He reluctantly admired her courage, a quality he had never encountered in a female before, but considered that, brave or not, she was still a woman, and therefore inferior. All females were basically the same; they all …

“I won’t shoot you, but I
will
shoot your horse.”

Her ploy worked. The man almost fell off his stallion. “You wouldn’t dare!” he bellowed in pure outrage.

Caroline’s answer to his denial was to drop her arm so that her empty pistol was aimed directly at the proud beast’s head. “Right between the eyes,” she promised.

“Bradford!” The voice, calling from inside the carriage, put a halt to the duke’s overwhelming desire to leap from his horse and throttle the woman before him.

“Mr. Smith? Do you know this man?” Caroline called out. She never took her gaze off the angry stranger now dismounting and watched with great satisfaction as he replaced his pistol in the waistband of his breeches. A wave of relief overtook her. He hadn’t been too difficult to convince after all. If this Englishman was a typical example of the fashionable
ton
, then Caroline considered that her cousins just might be right. Perhaps they were all pansies.

Bradford turned to Caroline, interrupting her thoughts. “No gentleman would ever threaten—”

He realized, even as he made the rash comment, how totally absurd it was.

“I’ve never claimed to be much of a gentleman,” Caroline returned when she realized he wasn’t going to finish his sentence.

Mr. Smith poked his head out the window and let out a small groan when the quick movement caused him pain. “Her pistol’s empty, man. Don’t get all apoplectic!
Your horse is safe.” There was a snicker of amusement in his voice and Caroline couldn’t help but smile.

Bradford found himself temporarily sidetracked by the woman’s beautiful smile, the mischievous sparkle that radiated in her eyes.

“You were certainly easy to convince,” Caroline noted. She immediately wished that she had kept her thoughts to herself, for the man was now advancing upon her at an alarming pace. And he wasn’t smiling. He obviously suffered from lack of humor, she considered, as she backed up a space.

His scowl removed any possibility of attractiveness. That, and his size. He was much too tall and too broad for her liking. Why, he was almost as huge as Benjamin, who, Caroline was relieved to note, was quietly stalking up on the stranger behind his back.

“Would you have shot my horse if your pistol was loaded?” The stranger had developed a rather severe twitch in his right cheek, and Caroline, lowering her pistol, decided that it was best to answer.

“Of course not. He’s much too beautiful to destroy. You, on the other hand …”

Bradford heard the crunch of gravel behind him and turned. He came eye to eye with Benjamin. The two men regarded each other for long seconds and Caroline realized he wasn’t at all cowed by her friend’s presence. He seemed only curious, a notable difference from Mr. Smith’s reaction.

“Would you hand me the medicine, Benjamin? Don’t worry about that one,” she added with a motion of her head in the arrogant man’s direction. “He appears to be a friend of Mr. Smith’s.”

“Mr. Smith?” Bradford asked, turning a puzzled look at the man smiling at him through the carriage window.

“Today he is Harold Smith,” Caroline went on to explain. “He doesn’t wish me to know his real name, as he is in a rather embarrassing position. I suggested
calling him George, after your king, but he took immediate offense so we settled on Harold.”

Charity chose that moment to come bounding around the corner of the lane, her full pink skirt held well above her shapely ankles as she ran. Caroline welcomed the interruption, as the frowning Bradford was staring at her in a most disconcerting way. Did all the English look so confused all the time?

“Caroline! The groom refuses to come out of the bushes,” Charity rushed out when she could gain her breath. She came to an abrupt stop next to Benjamin and favored him with a quick smile before she looked at Bradford and then past him, to the man staring at her from the carriage window. “Has the danger passed? The groom has promised to return to his post if I will only return and tell him that all is well. He sent me to find out,” she explained. “Caroline, we really should turn right around and return to London. I know I’m the one who insisted on traveling to your father’s country home, but I see the foolishness of my suggestion now. Cousin, you were right! We’ll settle in your father’s townhouse and send a message to him.”

Charity, chattering away, appeared to Bradford to be a walking whirlwind. His attention kept turning from one woman to the other and he found it difficult to believe that the two were actually related. They looked, and acted, nothing alike. Charity was petite, around five feet two inches tall in Bradford’s estimation, with golden curls that couldn’t keep still, and hazel eyes that sparkled with mischief. Caroline was a good three or four inches taller than her cousin, with black hair and thick dark lashes that framed the most stunning clear blue eyes. Both were slender. Charity was pretty; her cousin quite beautiful.

The differences didn’t stop with their appearance. The little blonde appeared to be flighty, and her gaze lacked both concentration and substance. She hadn’t
been able to look him right in the eye, and he decided that she bordered on being timid.

Caroline gave the appearance of total confidence, her gaze direct. She could, and almost did, stare him to his knees. The two cousins were opposites, Bradford acknowledged, charming and intriguing opposites.

“Mr. Smith, this is Charity,” Caroline stated with an affectionate smile directed at her cousin. She deliberately ignored Bradford and justified her slight because the man continued to frown.

Charity hurried over to the window of the carriage, stood on tiptoes, and tried to look inside. “Benjamin told me that you were injured! You poor man! Are you feeling better now?” She smiled and waited for an answer as the injured gentleman frantically tried to cover himself. “I’m Caroline’s cousin but we have been raised as sisters for as long as I can remember and we are very close in age. I am just six months older.” This explanation having been given, Charity turned back to smile at Caroline, displaying twin dimples in the process. “Where is their groom? Do you think he’s also hiding in the bushes? Someone really ought to look around, I do suppose.”

“Yes,” Caroline answered. “That’s a splendid idea. Why don’t you and Benjamin try to find him while I finish tending to Mr. Smith’s leg?”

“Oh, where are my manners? We should all introduce ourselves, although this is a most unusual circumstance, and it is difficult to know just how one is to proceed.”

“No!” The scream issued from inside the carriage with a force that almost rocked the vehicle off its wheels.

“Mr. Smith would prefer to remain a stranger to us,” Caroline explained in a gentle voice. “And you must promise, as I have, to forget this accident.” She pulled her cousin aside and whispered, “The man is terribly
embarrassed. You know how these English are,” she added.

Bradford, standing close enough, heard the explanation and was about to question Caroline’s last remark when Charity said, “He’s embarrassed because he was injured? How very odd. Is it severe?”

“No,” Caroline assured her. “At first I thought it was, but that was because there was so much blood. But it’s in an awkward place,” Caroline finished.

“Oh, my!” Charity drew the statement out with a rush of sympathy. She shot a look at the man inside the carriage and then turned back to Caroline. “Awkward, you say?”

“Yes,” Caroline replied. She knew her cousin wished a full description but, out of deference to Mr. Smith’s feelings, didn’t tell her any more. “The sooner we finish and get on our way, the better.”

“Why?”

“Because he is being most dramatic over his injury,” Caroline returned, letting her cousin see her exasperation. She wasn’t telling Charity the whole truth and admitted that much to herself. She wished to hurry because of Mr. Smith’s overbearing friend. The sooner she got away from him, the better. The man frightened her in an unusual, irritating way and Caroline didn’t care for that feeling at all.

“Is he a dandy?” Charity whispered the question as if it were a dread disease.

Caroline didn’t answer. She motioned to Benjamin and then accepted the satchel of medicine. She climbed back into the carriage and said to Mr. Smith, “Don’t concern yourself over Charity. She isn’t wearing her spectacles and can barely see you.”

Benjamin listened to the explanation and then offered his arm to Charity. When she didn’t immediately take it, he grabbed hold of her arm and slowly led her away. Bradford watched the twosome, trying to figure out who and what was going on.

“You might as well see the mess I’m in,” Mr. Smith called out to his friend. Bradford nodded and walked around to the other side of the carriage.

“There are few men I would trust to keep silent about my predicament, but Bradford is one of them,” he explained to Caroline.

Caroline didn’t comment. She saw that the injury had quit bleeding. “Do you have any spirits with you?” she asked, completely ignoring Bradford when he entered the carriage and sat down across from Mr. Smith.

The carriage was much larger than the hired conveyance Caroline had acquired, but Bradford’s left leg touched her shoulder nonetheless as she knelt before Mr. Smith. It would be inappropriate to suggest that he wait outside until she was finished cleaning and binding the wound, since Mr. Smith had invited him inside, but all the same, she couldn’t help but wish!