Page 9 of Her Daring Earl
“Eliza! Come back in!”
“There is someone out there,” she responded as the driver glanced over his shoulder.
“Apologies, my lady, I tried to stop the horses too abruptly when I saw people in the road ahead. We’re slowing now.”
Eliza peered into the darkness, trying to make out who it was and what she was seeing. The streets were otherwise deserted, but she could have sworn that was Fitz in front of them – unless he had become so ingrained in her thoughts that she was seeing him everywhere.
He stood to the side closest to the buildings behind him, and another, much larger man was next to him, holding something out toward him.
Just then light glinted off the object between them, and Eliza gasped as she realized what it was – a pistol. Pointed at Fitz. It was him. She was sure of it.
“Keep going!” she called to the driver.
“But—”
“He’s going to kill Fitz!” she exclaimed. “Keep going.”
The driver didn’t question her, knowing exactly who Fitz was and his ties to the family. He snapped the reins, urged the horses on, and, despite the object in their path, they continued forward.
The man looked up at the last moment, his gun discharging as he tried to jump out of the way, missing the horses but not the wheel of the carriage.
Eliza looked back as the carriage continued forward, only to see both men lying on the ground.
And with them, Eliza’s heart.
CHAPTER 4
Fitz blinked rapidly as the night sky high above him came back into focus.
For a moment there, he thought he had left this earth, waking to whatever world next awaited him, but then the pebbles of the road beneath him bit into his back, telling him that his time had not yet come.
He ran his hands over himself, feeling for blood or bullet holes, but they came away dry. Thank goodness.
“Fitz!”
He pushed himself up on his elbows, starting when he noticed the big man lying on the ground next to him. Ignoring the call for a moment, he snaked his arm beneath the man, grunting as his hand wrapped around the pistol. He carefully pulled it out, wary that the big man might wake up and finish the job.
The large gash on the side of his attacker’s head, however, might mean he was safe.
With the wood of the still-warm pistol in his hand, Fitz finally allowed himself to look up as a flurry of skirts and concern came crashing toward him.
“Eliza?” he said with confusion as she gripped his shoulders tightly while leaning back and running her eyes over him.
“Are you alive? Shot? Injured?” she fired toward him.
He couldn’t help the slight laugh that emerged in response to her onslaught of questions.
“I am well. At least, as far as I can tell.”
It was only then he noticed the red smear of blood on her cheek, and he reached up, brow furrowed, to wipe it away.
As he did, he realized that it was not her blood that marked her but rather his own, and it was dripping down his arm.
“You are hurt!” she said, with more accusation in her tone than concern.
“Just a scrape,” he said, waving it away. “I’m fine. Better than this knave here,” he said, waving his hand to the man beside him.
“Was he robbing you?” she asked, standing now as her mother approached.
