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Decima regained control and drove the few yards to reach his side. She thrust the reins into Henry’s hands and jumped down, stumbling in her long skirts. He was dead, he had to be dead, he lay so still on his back, his right thigh a mass of blood from where the bullet had torn through his buckskins.
As she reached his side Adam groaned and raised himself on one elbow. ‘Olivia?’
‘They’ve taken the curricle.’ Decima fell to her knees beside him. Thank goodness, the bullet did not appear to have hit an artery, the blood was not spurting. She rummaged under her skirts, seized the edge of her petticoat and tore ruthlessly.
‘Go after it,’ Adam gasped, looking up at Henry. ‘Have you a loaded pistol left?’
‘Yes, both.’
‘Take her to the house—you can hold two of them off from there.’ Adam’s breath was coming in painful gasps. ‘Hurry.’
Henry brought the whip down with a crack and the team responded, already almost out of control with fear. Decima barely watched him go, her whole attention fixed on the man sprawled in front of her.
‘Adam? Can you hear me?’ His eyes were closed. ‘I must bandage your leg, stop the bleeding.’ How was she going to move him? Could she leave him here and go for help or would the men come back…? First things first, she steadied herself. Stop the bleeding.
‘Is he out of sight?’ Adam spoke clearly. Thank heavens, it would be much more difficult if he were unconscious.
‘Yes, try not to worry, Henry will save her, I know he will.’ There was the distant sound of a shot.
She looked up from where she was trying to make a pad out of wadded strips of petticoat to meet a pair of calm, lucid grey eyes fixed on her. ‘Of course he will,’ Adam said, lifting himself onto both elbows with a grunt. ‘God, this track’s hard. I must be lying on a flint.’
How could he be so calm, so brave? ‘Lie still, you’ll make it bleed worse. Can you just raise your leg a little, I know it must hurt…’
Adam sat up fully. ‘Leave it.’ He got to his feet, pulling her up with him. Too amazed to resist, Decima stared at him.
‘Your leg—Adam, you must let me bandage it.’ But the blood had stopped completely now and the man facing her was standing squarely on both feet, not favouring either leg. The grey eyes watching her were unclouded by pain, or any sign of fear for Olivia’s fate.
‘You aren’t wounded at all!’ She stared at the jagged tear in his buckskins, the blood-soaked leather. ‘How did you do that?’ Her heart was still pounding with the aftermath of fear and frantic action, her arms ached from the effort of holding the plunging team and she felt sick with reaction.
Adam shook his right arm and a knife slid out from the sleeve into the palm of his hand. ‘Sausage casing filled with pig’s blood in my breeches pocket.’
Decima reacted without any thought. Her right hand went back of its own accord and she hit him, flat on the cheek. ‘You idiot! Henry’s armed, someone will get killed!’
Adam rocked back on his heels, but made no other move to avoid her blow. ‘Bates swapped Henry’s ammunition for blanks before we started. The only person with a loaded gun is me, and that’s here.’ He patted a coat pocket. ‘My two assistants have blanks in their pistols as well and by now I imagine they will have proved singularly inept kidnappers and will have abandoned the curricle and Olivia in it. Come on, I am sorry you were frightened, but it’s all in a good cause.’
‘Frightened? I was terrified. And Olivia—can you imagine how she is feeling?’ Decima gathered up her skirts and ran to catch up with him. ‘Adam, what do you think you are doing?’
He glanced down at her, a smile twisting his mouth. ‘Match-making. I am sure Olivia would consider ten minutes of terror a fair exchange for not having to marry me.’
‘But…’ Decima found she was having to run again. He strode on, leaving her staring after him, her mouth half open. ‘But unless you propose to die of your wound and stay dead, how is this charade going to help?’
‘I am relying on human nature and on your friend Henry’s abilities as a chivalrous hero to carry the day. Now, stop hectoring me for a moment, Decima, you may lecture all you like in a minute.’ The two highwaymen were riding out of the copse, masks gone to reveal the grinning faces of young men on a spree. Neither of them looked capable of anything more vicious than an inn brawl over a girl.
‘All went according to plan, my lord,’ one of them reported, touching his battered tricorne hat to Decima. ‘We let go of the curricle just where you said, and made sure the reins got tangled in a bush—it wasn’t going anywhere. The young lady’s all right, I’d say—shrieking fit to bust, though. Would Henry be the short blonde gentleman?’
‘Yes,’ Adam agreed.
‘He’s well in, then,’ the groom observed with a grin, remembered Decima’s presence, and broke off in confusion.
‘Good work. Off you go, and for goodness’ sake tidy yourselves up before you hit the turnpike or I’ll be bailing you out of the local clink on suspicion of being on the High Toby.’
They rode off in high spirits and Decima took full advantage of his permission to lecture. ‘How can you be sure they will hold their tongues? Is this going to be spread all over town? We will be a laughing stock and the scandal will ruin Olivia,’ she stormed as they entered the copse.
‘They are grooms of mine, they are completely trustworthy and they think they are helping me win a wager with Sir Henry.’
‘Of all the improbable stories! They will never fall for that.’
‘Decima, they are eighteen years old, ripe for a spree and certain that the nobility can be relied upon to carry on in a completely incalculable manner. This just proves it. Now hush, we are almost at the house and I don’t want Henry’s attention distracted from calming Olivia down.’
