Page 58 of A Bride By Morning
The three carriages had left Meadowcroft at the same time in different directions, each one packed with plenty of luggage to maintain the ruse. “Don’t be,” he told her. “They’re armed and trained.”
“So are you, and yet both times you left for London, I didn’t sleep.”
More of his facade dissolved as he envisioned her pacing across her bedchamber at Meadowcroft as he roamed the streets of London doing foolish things to avoid her. She had lost sleep over his choices.
Overhim.
Gabriel slowly lifted Lydia’s hand and pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist, along the bare skin between her glove and traveling dress. A part of him resented these garments—impediments to access; he wanted to kiss every naked inch of her. But another part was possessive and exultant: only he had been granted the privilege of kissing her. Only he would know the texture of her skin. These were gifts bestowed upon him alone.
“You’re distracting me,” she whispered.
“Trying to.” He gave a slight smile. “Is it working?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
But as he leaned forward to kiss her on the lips, a shout echoed from outside. The carriage staggered to a halt. Lydia smacked against him, and Gabriel gripped her shoulders to steady her. One of the horses reared back and jolted the carriage again, but they weren’t going anywhere. And if they weren’t going anywhere, then—
Bang!The gunshot echoed across the country landscape.Bang!A second.Bang, bang, bang!Somewhere at the back of the carriage, Gabriel heard the thump of a body hit the dirt, and the horses screamed.
Lydia choked, her hand covering her mouth. Gabriel’s lips flattened. They both knew the driver and the bodyguard—Wentworth’s men—riding with them were dead, and the horses shot with them.
“Get the fuck out of the carriage.” The voice spoke in Russian, but it was no one Gabriel recognized. Not Medvedev.
Gabriel pulled away from Lydia. Her breath came fast, chest rising and falling in agitation. “Listen to me,” he told her in a low voice. “When I say your name, get beneath the carriage, and do not come out until I tell you to. Do not hesitate. Understand?”
Lydia shut her eyes and gave a nod.
“Get the fuck out of the carriage!” their assailant shouted again.
Gabriel opened the carriage door and helped Lydia down. A short distance away, the bodies of his footman, coachman, and horses were collapsed in the dirt, their silhouettes exposed by the bright moonlight.
And five men had their guns drawn and pointed right at Gabriel and Lydia.
Shit.
“I see Medvedev hasn’t come,” he said in Russian.
“Went after one of the other carriages,” one of the men said, coming forward. “You might have been fortunate, Alyosha. Some of us think he’s still fond enough of you to offer mercy.”
“Andrei, is that you?” Gabriel gave a grim smile. “Leading your ownvory? I didn’t think Medvedev would promote a fuckwit like you.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Andrei snarled.
“I don’t recognize your companions,” Gabriel continued easily, readying himself. “All the way from Russia? Or is Medvedev so desperate that he’s hired help from my fellow Englishmen?”
Andrei snarled and pulled back the hammer of his pistol with aclick.
“Lydia, now!” Gabriel shouted.
Lydia dropped to the ground and rolled beneath the carriage.
Good girl.
Gabriel launched himself at Andrei. The sudden movement surprised the other man, allowing Gabriel to seize the pistol. He broke Andrei’s kneecap with a swift shove of his foot, and the man went sprawling. Gabriel used Andrei’s body for cover as the other men fired their pistols into their ally’s torso. Then, before they could correct their aim, Gabriel raised Andrei’s gun with the skill of a sharpshooter: one down. Two. Three. Four.
All dead with a bullet to the head.
