Page 2 of The Countess Caper

“That’s what got me into this situation in the first place.” Marigold had spent the last seven months learning everything she could about human anatomy. About illness and medicine and childbirth. About truly disgusting things Tessa would have preferred never to know about.

“True enough.”

“Just go,” she grunted.

Tessa swung into the saddle, made so much easier by her stolen breeches. She had created an alter ego whose name was Acton. He was very capable. He could find a carriage through sheer luck. In the dark. With a single boot and no hat. A little storm would never stop him.

Tessa, unfortunately, would have to steal a carriage from the first person she encountered or else from the coaching inn nearby. She had breeches, her fairly inaccurate pistol with a single shot, and a rusty antique dagger she had found in the attic.

What could go wrong?

The busy road, usually clotted with traffic traveling to and from the Cornish coast, was deserted.

Of course it was.

The sky, which had started out clear and bright, was darkening rapidly. Rain would soon follow.

“Bollocks,” she muttered again. She was not going to let Marigold give birth alone in the mud.

The coaching inn came into view, on the crest of the next hill, wind-stunted trees standing sentinel. The smell of wood smoke and stables whipped down toward her. A single fat raindrop hit the tip of her nose. She pointed at the gray clouds. “Absolutely not.”

The stable yard was empty, with only hay under her boots as she dismounted and a sullen stable hand poking his head out. Behind him, shining like the sun, was a carriage. It clearly belonged to a nobleman, already hitched with strong horses who looked like they knew how to handle a spot of trouble.

She could absolutely change her name to Trouble.

She would have tried to manage the reins, even having never handled four horses at once. She was deeply, deeply grateful not to have to make the attempt. A coachman already sat up on the bench, waiting for his master.

Tessa lowered her tricorn hat a touch, hoping it shaded her face, and made sure her very distinctly red hair was stuffed up inside. She tossed the reins to the stable hand and pitched her voice low. It only sounded a little bit like she had a mouthful of rocks. “Stable the horse for Lady Delacourt,” she ordered him.

The innkeeper’s wife knew the code name and would take good care of Foxglove. She had helped her sister once, the same way she was helping Marigold.

To the coachman, Tessa called up, “Your master needs to get me on the road to Fox Hollow. At once.”

She threw herself into the carriage before he could question her. She had only her appearance of authority to back her up. This part would have worked much better were she wearing the fine silk gowns of Lady Tessa, the bright, flighty smile that promised a caper. She kept her hand on her pistol. She’d hate to have to stand up through the roof opening to threaten him, but she would do so in a heartbeat. Another raindrop spattered in the dirt.

She landed on the carriage seat, took a deep breath, and then let out a gurgle of a shout, quickly cut off. She could not afford histrionics.

The shadow sitting across from her implied it was a very big man.

Very big.

A large boot touched her own.

Honestly, if the Fates could be just a bit more helpful today…

Apparently not.

“I’m sorry,” she said, holding up her pistol. Adrenaline shimmered through her, along with worry for Marigold, but her hand did not shake. She could be proud of that later. “But I don’t have time for this.”

“I don’t much have time for being robbed,” came the dry response.

“I’m only borrowing.”

There was a pause, an exhale.

“Lady Tessa,” the shadow said darkly. “Why am I not surprised?”

How did he know it was her? She hadn’t pulled her scarf up, but her hat, her clothes, the gray light from the storm should have been enough. Her hair was hidden. And this was not the Tessa Kilkenny anyone in Mayfair would recognize. She glared at him. He shifted slightly.