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“I wouldn’t be bloody stupid enough to drag you willingly anywhere,” he huffed breathlessly.
“So put me down,” she snapped. “If you are so desperate for company, I can call the Count back for you if you want. He seems more of your type. You should get on well together.”
“Shut up,” Joe snapped. “I am in no mood to be trading insults with some harpy so mind your mouth.”
“Harpy?” she cried. “How dare you call me a harpy, you, you, heathen!”
“Will-you-just stop-that,” Joe grunted as he dodged the wildly flailing hands, which occasionally slapped him. His flesh stung from the force of her fury where her dainty little hands actually hit him. He gritted his teeth and cursed with relief when he rounded the corner of the conservatory and saw Marcus waiting for him with the carriage.
“Get that door open,” he ordered, ignoring the vociferous protests of the woman over his shoulder.
Marcus yanked the door open and eyed the landscape gardens over his colleague’s shoulder.
“Whatever happens, don’t stop for anything,” Joe ordered when he reached him.
He dropped Marguerite into the darkened confines of the carriage and clambered aboard. His bottom had barely touched the seat when the door slammed shut and they were both encased in impenetrable blackness. If it hadn’t been for her heavy breathing, Joe would have checked to make sure she hadn’t climbed out of the other side.
“Sit still and stay quiet,” he ordered.
“Just tell me what is going on,” she demanded.
“I will explain later,” he replied.
Before she could demand something else from him, Joe slammed the window down and leaned outside. He cursed when a loud bang from outside created a shower of splinters inside the carriage, just inches from his face. Suddenly, the carriage picked up the pace and careered wildly around the corner at the end of the driveway.
Marguerite grabbed hold of the straps and clung on for dear life.
“Get down,” Joe snapped, brushing splinters off his shoulder.
“Was that gunshot?” Marguerite demanded. Her voice was high-pitched and full the horrified confusion she felt. “Are they shooting at us?”
Horrified, she watched Joe slide the window down and lean out of it. He had something in his hand, she dreaded to think what. But she had her answer soon enough when another loud bang echoed around the carriage. She clamped her hands over her ears to protect herself from the hideous noise, but it was of little use when a second, equally ferocious boom echoed around the interior of the now damaged conveyance.
“I want to get out,” she moaned.
“Shut up,” Joe snapped when he drew his head back in. He didn’t need much in the way of light to be able to reload his gun but then he didn’t need it. He had reloaded the weapon so many times he could do it blindfolded.
Throwing one dark glare at the woman now cowering on the floor, Joe leaned out of the window again and took aim. He would talk to her later when the danger had passed, and they had managed to evade Sayers.
“Marcus, head to Bentley,” Joe called.
“Will do,” Marcus grunted before he braced himself for the tight right-hander up ahead that was taken on two wheels.
“He is going to get us killed,” Marguerite cried as she clung on and winced when the carriage bounced wildly before it righted itself.
“He is keeping us alive,” Joe replied as he reloaded his gun again. “Stay inside and on the floor.”
He ducked instinctively when another shower of splinters cascaded over them.
Marguerite had no choice in the matter. She couldn’t get out given the speed they were going, and she knew if she sat on one of the seats the next bullet that struck them might hit her. At the moment, she was completely at Jeremy’s mercy, and that maniac of his who was driving the carriage.
Joe steadied his arm on the window frame and took aim. His shot went wide of the outrider trying to catch them up but was enough to make his target panic and lower his own weapon. It gave them the time they needed to put some more distance between them and the black carriage giving chase. Joe half expected the Count to lean out of his own window and trade shots, but the longer the carriage rolled and nobody appeared the more he suspected that the Count was more of a fraudster than any of the Star Elite had ever anticipated. He was a weakling. A man who didn’t get his hands dirty at all; but paid thugs stolen money, a lot of it, to do his dirty work for him.
“Coward,” Joe snorted with a shake of his head.
Once back in the carriage, he looked at Marguerite.
“Are you firing back at them?” Marguerite asked only to wince at such a stupid question. Her horrified gaze was locked on the wicked looking weapon Jeremy held as casually as if it was a bunch of flowers. She shuddered with revulsion.
