Page 49 of Unmasked By a Captivating Lady
The Arabian stallion was his.
He kept staring at the beast. It was a true beauty, one of the finest he had ever seen.
She is going to love him,he thought fiercely. There is simply no other gift that she would feel the same way about. What is jewellery, compared to such an animal?
His smile widened. If this gift didn’t get her to talk to him, then he simply didn’t know what would.
***
Miles calculated that they were probably five miles from Thorn House, his country home, when the wheels on the carriage started to inexplicably slow down. Puzzled, he leant out of the carriage window, staring up at the driver.
“What is happening, man?” he shouted, above the wind.
The man shook his head slowly, his eyes on the road. “I do not know, sir. There seems to be a tree across the road, and I am unsure if I can get around it…”
Miles gazed down the road. Now he could see what the driver was talking about. A large tree was splayed across the road, its branches twisted. He frowned. The weather had been mild, and he had not heard of any wild storms down here. How had the tree come to be felled in such a manner?
The carriage drew closer, coming to a complete stop. Beside him, he saw the Arabian stallion stopping too, the man atop the beast drawing in the reins tightly.
All of a sudden, there was a loud noise. A shout.
“Stand down,” yelled a man. “Get off the carriage, slowly, and do not try anything…”
Miles felt his blood run cold. What was happening out there?
He peered from the carriage window. He couldn’t see everything clearly, but he could see the carriage driver had his hands raised high in the air in the eternal gesture of surrender as he clambered off the carriage.
A man was standing there. A large figure, dressed entirely in black. A long, black cloak swirled around his legs, and he was wearing long black riding boots. His head and face were obscured by a wide brimmed felt hat, pulled low over his forehead, and a black cloth tied across his nose and mouth. The only part of the man that Miles could discern were his eyes, pale blue and cold, as they gazed at the carriage driver.
He was also holding a gun, pointing it directly at the terrified man, who was now standing in front of him.
Miles felt his heart start to hammer violently in his chest as the reality of the situation hit him like a plank of wood. They were being held up. The tree across the road had obviously been deliberately placed there to force any oncoming carriages to slow down, so that the armed man would have the opportunity to make his move. He must have been waiting behind the trees and seen that they were approaching.
His heart beat faster still, and he felt a surge of sudden energy. He knew what it was. He had heard many men describe it, when facing a life or death situation. It was as if he was suddenly on high alert, ready to battle or run, as the situation demanded.
I should wait,he thought quickly.I should not put myself, or anyone, in danger. He is holding a gun, after all.
But a sudden, fierce anger consumed him. How dare this blaggard do this! He was not going to get away with it. He was also not going to take one single thing from anyone – not if Miles had his way.
Slowly, carefully, he groped for the gun underneath the carriage seat. He always made sure he had it when he was travelling, but he had never had any need of it before.
If truth were told, he had thought that he wouldneverhave any need for it. Andrew had insisted upon it, and now he automatically placed it in the same spot when he was undertaking a long journey.
His fingers closed over the cold wood and metal. His blood was pounding so hard that he almost felt giddy. With a slightly shaking hand, he withdrew the weapon, cocking it slowly, so that it was ready to fire, when needed.
He took a deep breath. It was now, or it was never.
He pushed open the door, rushing out, the gun raised. He saw the man’s eyes widen in shock as he registered him. The rake swiftly turned his gun towards Miles, cocking the trigger.
Time seemed to slow and warp after that. Miles knew that he fired his gun. He jerked back as it fired. He saw the rake stumble, and cry out in pain, clutching his leg.
For a second, triumph consumed him. He had hit the man! Not in any vital place, but enough to slow him down, and incapacitate him.
But suddenly, he was aware of a stinging pain in his arm. He gazed down in shock. Blood was gushing from the top of his left arm, just underneath his shoulder.
He had been hit.
He staggered forward, lowering the gun. The rake still had his own gun raised, even as his leg bled profusely. But it seemed that the wound had not managed to slow him down. Quickly, he spied the Arabian horse, who was neighing in fright.
