Mad Jack (Sherbrooke Brides 4)

She continued to smile at him even as she turned her face against the squabs and closed her eyes.

“Damn you.” He was on her then, jerking her chin back, his hands wrapping themselves around her hair. He was kissing her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. He pulled her over on top of him, holding her legs still between his.

• • •

Gray said to his horse, “She stole you. You never even had a chance to bite her for what she did. If you find her for me, I’ll let you nibble on her to your heart’s content.”

Durban snorted, flicked his tail, and lengthened his stride. They passed a farmer in a cart piled high with hay.

Gray was on the North road. She’d been gone for only an hour. She was probably in a carriage. If the bastard who took her was thinking about a quick wedding, then he’d be dragging her to Scotland.

Five days to Scotland.

He didn’t think he’d want to try to hold Jack prisoner for five days. Not when she didn’t want it. It would be five very long days. Who had taken her? Her stepfather? In that case, Gray was wrong to his boot heels, for Sir Henry would be hauling her back to Folkstone. Then Douglas would get him. Perhaps it was Lord Rye, the lecherous old fool. Would he try to take her to Scotland? Or perhaps to Bath, where he’d hide her in one of the many houses for rent in the area? If so, then Ryder would find them.

No, it wasn’t either of them, and that’s why Gray was riding hell-bent for Scotland. He’d immediately believed Aunt Mathilda when she’d said, “Young and determined.”

And then Aunt Maude had said thoughtfully, “Any man who took her would have to be not only strong and determined. He would have to be desperate.”

Aunt Mathilda had nodded slowly and added in her deep, beautiful voice, “Arthur.”

Mathilda and Maude knew all the possible bounders who could have snatched Jack. They believed it was Arthur, Lord Rye’s heir. Yes, the aunts had assured him. Arthur was strong, not as strong as his namesake, but he wasn’t a weakling like many young men who wenched and drank and played cards until dawn.

They were just an hour ahead of Gray and Durban, not much more. He pressed his cheek to Durban’s smooth neck and urged him on faster.

He was groaning, his breath hot on her cheek, his hands furiously kneading her breasts. Her hands slipped loose of the knot. She reared back suddenly and slammed her fists into his neck.

He gave her a look of disbelieving horror, then gurgled. He was holding his throat, turning blue. She didn’t wait. She opened the carriage door, grabbed his arm, and flung him to the floor. He slid down onto his hands and knees. She managed to squeeze behind him, plant her feet in the center of his back and kick with all her strength. He went flying out the open door. Unfortunately, the coachman saw his master crash onto the road and roll to the side.

She would have given anything for a gun, for a stick of wood to use as a weapon.

The horses came to a sliding halt. The coachman jumped off the seat and rushed to look into the carriage at the girl his master had kidnapped.

“What happened to Mr. Arthur? What did ye do to him? Poor lad, he didn’t do nuthin’ except steal ye out of Portman Square. Ah, there he be, poor lad, lying on ’is face in the dirt, all still. Ye kilt him, ye did. Fer shame, and ye a lady an’ acting like a floozy with no sensibility.”

The coachman ran as fast as he could toward the fallen Arthur. Without hesitation, Jack jumped onto the box, grabbed the reins, and flicked them over the horses. She yelled at them, jerking on the heavy reins, slapping them against the horses’ necks.

She heard the coachman shout, “Stop! No!”

She took a quick look over her shoulder to see Arthur lying in the middle of the road, still. Too still. Oh dear, was he dead?

She saw herself deported to that place nearly a world away called Botany Bay. She urged the horses forward even as she considered going back to see to Arthur. She looked back one more time. He was sitting up, holding his head. No, he was rubbing his villain’s neck. Good.

The road was wide, the ruts deep and dry. She pulled back a bit on the reins, for there was a curve coming up. She thought she heard a horse coming. The horses didn’t pull up at all. They didn’t even pause.

The lead horse, a huge bay, jerked his head up and snorted, then stretched out and lunged forward, bringing the inside horse with him.

Jack had never driven a pair before. It wasn’t at all the same as riding. She tried to pull them back. It didn’t work. They flew around the curve directly into the path of an oncoming horseman, galloping hard right at them.

She heard the man’s yell, saw his horse rear back onto its hind legs. She saw that it was Durban and his eyes were wild. Gray’s eyes were wild too.

She saw that he’d kept his seat on Durban’s back, but not for long. As the horses galloped away, Durban went crashing off the road into a thick stand of yew bushes. Gray was thrown off Durban’s back and slammed into an oak tree.

She closed her eyes for an instant, every action she’d taken in the past ten minutes careening through her brain. Oh God, Gray would have caught them if only she hadn’t thrown Arthur out of the carriage.

Jack gritted her teeth, sawed on the reins, got no results, then finally, having no idea how to stop the beasts, she just looped the reins loosely around her hands and sat there, feeling the wind tear through her hair, shivering because the air was cold at this colossal speed, closing her eyes because they were tearing and burning from the harsh wind. And she prayed.

To her relief and surprise, the horses began to slow. It seemed forever, but surely it didn’t take them too much longer to pull up, winded.