Evan leaned down beside Bruno and offered his laced hands as a mounting step. I placed my booted foot onto his outstretched palms and swung my other leg over the horse’s unsaddled back, dragging my skirts and petticoats up in a most indecorous manner. I wrenched them into a more demure arrangement, the warmth of Bruno underneath me almost canceling the chill of the night air on my stockinged legs. I looped the reins and settled into my seat.

Evan looked up at me, and I could see him carefully not noticing my exposed calf. “Is it worth me asking you to retreat if they start shooting?”

“Only if you do.”

He sighed. “Just do not get shot. I could not bear it.”

“Nor could I,” I said dryly. Still, the danger was very real. “I should have brought a pistol too.”

“Do you wish for the blunderbuss, my lady?” Weatherly asked, holding out the big rifle.

It was tempting—if only to horrify Mr. Kent—but I shook my head. “Keep it to protect Lady Julia and Miss Grant.”

“Of course, my lady.”

He bowed and jogged back to the phaeton, the blunderbuss still in hand.

“I brought two pistols; you can have one of mine,” Evan said.

Mr. Kent stared at him. “You are going to give Lady Augusta a pistol?”

“Well, not until we are closer,” I said, flashing a smile at Evan. “I do not have a saddle holster.”

Evan snorted and swung up onto his horse.

“We’ll all be hanged,” Mr. Kent muttered as he mounted his horse.

We looked at one another—a shared moment of resolve—then the three of us sprang our horses, leaning forward into the building rush of the gallop. We had lost at least another ten minutes behind Deele, but hopefully he would not be pushing his horses now. He had his prize in hand and would not be expecting his outlaw brother to be riding hard behind.

35

Dark clouds had momentarily blocked the pale moonlight. I bent over Bruno’s neck, straining to see any treacherous holes he might catch his hooves in. My heart pounded in time to the thud of his gallop, my breath coming short and hard, my thighs aching from keeping balance and control upon his unsaddled back. Although it was a freezing night, sweat dampened the front of my chemise and gathered under my cravat, as much in anticipation as exertion. And perhaps a little fear.

A mile back we had spotted Deele’s coach lamps, and now Evan, Kent, and I were making our run to overtake him. A foolhardy gallop across a field on a cloudy, crescent-moon night. Absolute madness, and ridiculously exhilarating.