Evan stared at him. “What has happened to you, Charles? Your piety is all twisted and foul. I do not recognize you.”

Deele was about to answer but stopped at the sound of hooves and wheels approaching at speed. I could see the anticipation within him; perhaps this newcomer would offer an opportunity to overcome us.

I had to admit to a second of malicious pleasure at what was about to arrive.

The phaeton emerged from around the curve at a smart trot, Julia fixed intently upon handling the reins, Weatherly with blunderbuss at the ready, and Miss Grant sitting forward, searching the road. At the sight of us, Julia deftly maneuvered the phaeton to one side and drew the horses to a stop, just in time to avoid Miss Grant’s going under the wheels as she clambered down from her seat and ran forward, injured arm clutched to her chest.

“Hester!”

I held up my hand, halting her headlong dash toward us. “Miss Grant. Wait!”

She stood, stranded between the phaeton and the coach. I did not want her to distract Evan or come between any guns.

“You!” Deele said to Miss Grant, his voice deep with loathing. He turned back to Evan. “You are helping the creature who is dragging our sister into perdition?”

“Come this way,” I said, waving Miss Grant over to my side of the carriage. “You, too, Weatherly. Help me get Hester out of the carriage.”

“What is wrong with her?” Miss Grant asked as she obeyed my urgent summons. “Did he hurt her?”

“Drugged,” I said, opening the door. We both looked inside at Hester: still insensible. It must have been a hefty dose of laudanum. At the corner of my eye, I saw Weatherly climb down from the groom’s seat and hand Julia the blunderbuss. It seemed my sister always ended up with Hades in hand.

Miss Grant glared through the carriage at Deele. “You are despicable. All you do is hurt her!”

“Me, hurt her? You are destroying her chance of salvation,” Deele hissed back.

“She hates you!” Miss Grant lunged forward, as if to launch herself through the carriage. “Hates you!”

I grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back from the door. “There is no time for this. We must get Hester out now!”

She drew a quivering breath. “Of course.”

At the front of the coach, the clink and jangle of tack told me Mr. Kent was well on the way to achieving the next part of the plan: unhitching the lead horse from the coach and letting it loose farther down the road to delay pursuit.

Weatherly jogged up to us. “Did you wish me to retrieve Lady Hester, my lady?”

At the other side of the carriage, I heard Deele’s profane outrage as he saw his horse free from the harness.