Page 9 of When the Marquess Was Mine
Heath had been right, damn him. This was an idiotic idea. With a sigh he set the horse back in motion. Only a mile to go.
He paid little attention to the trio of riders who came up behind him. They passed at a smart trot, one after the other, only to stop twenty feet ahead of him.
“Where be you headed, Lordship?” asked one.
He halted his horse, belatedly realizing his isolation. He wasn’t afraid of a fight, but it was three on one, bad odds in any circumstance, and once again he cursed his mates for abandoning him. “Hardly your concern.”
The biggest one jumped down from his horse. “That’s rude. Answer the question.”
“I’m afraid we’ve not been introduced.”
The third man chortled. “We will be, guv.”
The big man reached for the bridle of the horse. At the last moment Rob turned the horse’s head to avoid his grasp. The fellow glowered at him. The other two dismounted.
He had a pistol, but it was in the saddlebag. He hadn’t thought he’d need it, so far from the main roads and city. He eyed the meadow to his left, trying to guess whether his horse could outrun them.
It was worth a try. Rob pulled the horse sharply left and put the spurs to him, but the ruffian was too quick; he had Rob’s coattail in his hand, and he yanked, causing the horse to give a shrill whinny and bolt.
And with a bone-jarring crash, the marquess hit the hard-packed dirt of the lane.
Chapter 4
Georgiana urged her horse across the field, relishing the chance to let the animal run. In London ladies were expected to ride gentle mares and never venture past a trot, but Georgiana loved to go fast.
The weather was warm and clear, and it hadn’t rained in a week so the ground was firm and dry. Geneva and her mother had gone visiting in the carriage. The baby had been fussy and unhappy all morning, and Kitty didn’t want to leave her. That left Georgiana free to do as she pleased.
Adam, the groom, pulled up alongside her. She glanced at him in question, and he gave a nod and a grin. Yes, the horse could go faster. Georgiana touched the gelding’s flank with her crop and leaned low over his neck as he shot forward, reveling in the rush of wind past her.
They streaked across the field, the horses taking soaring leaps over a low stone wall.Good heavens, this is living, she thought with glee. They tore up toward Maryfield, keeping well clear of the sunken lane that wound between the hedgerows. Finally they had to slow the horses, Georgiana doing so with a sigh. It would be wonderful to continue that way, at high speed, for an hour.
“A good run, my lady,” said Adam admiringly.
“Ajax is a marvel!” She stroked her horse’s neck as they turned back at a walk. “Would that I could take him with me to London.”
Adam chuckled. “Sir Charles might not like that. Ajax is one of his favorites.”
Georgiana shook her head in pretend despair. “Of course he is! How could he not be?”
The groom started to reply, then fell silent. He turned his head and gazed intently toward the road. “Lady Georgiana,” he said quietly, “we need to make haste.”
“Why?” Up ahead, a horse’s frightened whinny sounded, making Ajax dance sideways into Adam’s horse. “What is it?”
“Might be a spot of trouble,” said Adam grimly. He flipped open a pocket on his saddle and drew out a pistol, proceeding to check it while keeping one eye on the road. He did the same for a second pistol, tucking the first back into the pocket.
Nervously Georgiana glanced that way, too. There were horses and people on the road. The road was so sunken she couldn’t make them out clearly. “What is it? What’s happening?”
“Robbery, most likely.” Adam nudged his horse forward, blocking her view. “There’s been a rash of it about lately. We ought to head back.”
Maryfield was a small village, well off the turnpike. It wouldn’t be travelers; it would probably be a local woman on her way to market, stopped and robbed of her coin. It had happened once to a teacher at Georgiana’s school. The woman had been abused, spat upon, and relieved of a month’s salary. She’d been taking it to her sister, who lived in the nearby town and was ill with four small children, and instead returned to the academy with blood on her face and a mortal terror of walking to town.
She rode around the groom. “Not yet.”
“My lady,” he protested, once again riding forward to put himself between her and the road. Another frantic neighing sounded from across the field. “It’s not safe!”
“You have a pistol,” she pointed out. “And it’s far less safe for that poor victim.”
“Don’t go any closer,” the groom pleaded. “Please, m’lady!”
