Page 47 of The Countess Caper

Tessa skimmed the letter, grinned. “Not tea. Whiskey.”

This was exactly what Tessa needed.

A bit of crime.

Tessa had been at sixes and sevens since marrying Roarke. Trying not to think of him. Of his mouth on her inner thigh, his hands in her hair. The way he smiled at her, as though surprised he still knew how. It was somehow even more difficult not to think of him now that new floors had been installed all throughout the ground level. One could walk clear to the back of the house without being poked or tripped or otherwise threatened. Rue found it quite boring. Tessa enjoyed being able to focus on something else: the state of the roof, the windows, any number of other lurking disasters just waiting to strike.

Roarke.

Not Roarke, she reminded herself sternly.

Crime.

Which was nearly as thrilling.

Nearly.

But not quite.

She sat atop her horse, tricornered hat low over her head, wearing old-fashioned breeches and a slightly moth-eaten coat. She’d tied a scarf over her nose and mouth. Her pistol was at the ready. It wasn’t even raining.

Surely a sign from above.

Summer’s letter had told her that Lord Stanhope was leaving the house party where she was a guest and that he meant to take the road not a half-hour from Magpie House.

Lord Stanhope was very, very rich.

Also, an absolute blackguard of a man who deserved to itch in his privates until the day he died. He had many sins to pay for.

And today, Tessa meant to collect.

She had dragged a large branch across the road, just cumbersome enough that the coachman would have to stop the horses to remove it. A rabbit was currently using it as a perch to rest on as he ate a mouthful of greenery. Not precisely the menacing effect she had been hoping for. Still.

The rabbit bounded away a few minutes before Tessa heard the approaching horses. She waited on a small rise, a copse of trees behind her. Should someone give chase, she had several escape routes open to her. And several more traps set out to guard her back. It turned out that the diabolical combination of Rue and Mrs. P was nothing if not creative.

Rue insisted she come along this time, and it lent Tessa a little more confidence. With a shot ringing from the shadows, Rue might appear to be an entire gang. Tessa looked across the road. Rue nodded from her perch in the tree and eased back so she was well hidden.

The carriage approached, painted white with gilded trim. Mud spattered the wheels. Tessa stroked her horse’s neck, keeping him still as the others were reined to a halt in the middle of the road. One coachman, one outrider.

Easy as pie.

She waited until the coachman had dismounted and stomped over to the branches, muttering loudly. Tessa guided her horse to the side of the road, pistol aimed at him. He started, spat a curse. He moved, whether to make a run at her or from her, she wasn’t sure. He didn’t have time for either. Rue’s shot rang out, pinging the largest branch by his knee. A lucky accident, to be sure, but she’d take it. He froze. His horses did not. The outrider had to rush for the reins instead of his own weapons.

“My apologies, sir,” Tessa said. “But I’m afraid you’re going to have to stay right where you are.”

He held up his hands. “I’m not risking my life for that toff.”

Tessa beamed at him. “Good choice.” She hastened to lower her voice, to make it sound threatening. Gravelly. Roarke-like, even. “I mean, good.”

She could feel Rue rolling her eyes from her treetop.

“Ah-ah.” She pointed her pistol at the outrider, who had control of the horses and was now considering his options. “I wouldn’t.”

“Don’t, lad,” the coachman said over his shoulder. “Not worth it.”

Having everyone acquiesce might not be very dashing or exciting, but it certainly was easier. Still, she stayed in the saddle. She edged closer to the carriage window, angling so she could see Lord Stanhope inside. He was alone. Perfect. He might have a dagger, perhaps even a pistol of his own. Best nip that in the bud.

She shot out his window.