Page 27 of A Courtesan Countess Worth the Scandal
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The prized manuscript of sordid secrets sat upon Nora’s lap, ensconced in a leather satchel that she had found in the bottom of a box in her study. A box of her father’s old belongings, which her mother had either not had the heart to throw out, or Nora had stowed away before her mother could get rid of them.
Turning her gaze out of the carriage window, she marveled at the haunting landscape of the English countryside. She had been traveling for many hours now, and London lay far behind her as evening drew in at a stealthy pace. With it, a dense fog that not even the setting sun could pierce. Instead, it tinged the rolling waves of that fog with bronze, giving the appearance of a world on fire.
Nora huddled into thick, woolen blankets, feeling grateful not to be walking in such bitter weather. She could simply appreciate the ghostly beauty from the comfort of her carriage, letting the driver and the footman lead her to her eventual destination. The footman was more of a friend of the Black family, who had needed the money, but she was grateful to have at least two good, honest men watching over her.
“I wonder if it’ll snow,” she whispered, thinking of Lily. The young girl adored the snow, for though she could feel the sun and the wind on her face, there was nothing like the tangible sensation of touching the weather without risking a soaking from rain.
Pulling down the window and letting an icy gust whistle in, she poked out her head. “Donovan?” she called up to the driver’s box.
The footman twisted around in his seat. “Aye, Nora?”
“Do you think we’ll have to travel through the night, or should we stop somewhere before it gets too dark?” she asked. There was something clandestine and exciting about journeying at night through the countryside, but she was aware of the dangers.
The footman, Donovan Croft, who used to be one of Mrs. Roberts’ orphans until a few years ago, leaned over to the driver. A moment later, he twisted back around. “Bowland says he’ll keep driving until the horses start to tire, then we should find an inn to stay at for the night. Probably a few hours more, if that suits you, Nora?”
“All’s well by me,” she confirmed. “But you’ll keep a lookout for any highwaymen and such on the road, won’t you?”
Donovan chuckled. “I’ll not let any harm come to you, Nora. You’re safe with me.”
After spending his childhood in poverty at the orphanage, he’d grown up to be a fine young man. The kind that gave Nora a glimpse of hope that there were men out there who would defend any woman’s honor, no matter who she was or where she came from.
Satisfied that she was in safe hands, she pulled the window back up and settled onto the squabs, drifting off to sleep with the steady rock of the carriage trundling along the country roads and her body cocooned in soft, warm blankets.
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Nora stirred to find the carriage swathed in darkness, the lantern so dim it barely illuminated anything. An uneasy feeling made her sit bolt upright, her arms wrapping tight around the satchel and the manuscript within as the blankets sloughed away from her body.
It took her a moment to realize that the carriage had come to a complete halt, which must have been what had woke her. The horses snickered at the front of the carriage, but other than that, there was nothing but a dense, brooding silence, as if the world itself were holding its breath.
What’s going on?
She did not dare to call out for Donovan, in case he was not there. Or if it might bring someone else to the carriage door.
Trembling, she slipped the strap of the satchel over her head and shuffled closer to the door. A red-velvet drape concealed half of the window, obscuring her view of whatever lay beyond, while the darkness of night hid the rest.
I’m sure it’s nothing. The horses must be tired, or something has happened to a wheel, or—
She forced herself to take a steadying breath and reached for the velvet drape. With one firm tug, she yanked it back and a scream erupted from her throat. A hooded face, with a cloth across the bottom half, stared back at her, dark eyes reflecting the fiery glow of a flickering torch.
The next thing she knew, the carriage door was being wrenched open. She lunged to catch hold of the handle, pulling back on it with all her might to try and keep it closed. It was the only thing standing between her and whatever this hooded wretch intended to do.
“Lads, come and get this door open!” the man shouted.
“We’ve got problems of our own!” a different, gruffer voice echoed back. “This one ain’t goin’ down.”
The hooded man growled. “What do you think your pistols are for, eh? Shoot ‘em and come here!”
“No!” Nora cried out, involuntarily. “Don’t hurt them!”
The hooded highwayman smirked through the pane. “Then why don’t you let go of this door?”
Torn between her safety and the safety of Donovan and the driver, she did not know what to do. And yet, her body was overcome with a survival instinct that would not allow her to let go of the door handle. She kept tugging on it, determined to keep that rogue out.
If only she had looked back over her shoulder, she might have seen that the carriage door on the other side was slowly being pulled open. The hooded man was merely the distraction.
Chapter Twelve
