drinking ale with the air of men who could companionably sup their drinks for hours on end without any need to do more than grunt at each other occasionally.
Decima felt her lips twitch as they straightened up and stood, then Adam slid back into his corner, long legs stretched out, and Henry passed cups of tea to her and Olivia.
‘What are you smiling at?’ Adam asked with a lazy lift of one brow.
Decima eyed the dark brown tea with some misgivings as she took the seat next to him. ‘You and Henry. Men seem capable of sitting together for hours on end, communicating in grunts. Women talk.’
‘I’ve noticed. Chatter.’
‘Communication,’ Decima said firmly. ‘It makes society go round.’ She checked that Olivia was on the other side of the room talking to Henry and lowered her voice. ‘Please do not suggest we race again, not with Olivia here. She is very nervous.’
‘But you would like to race?’ Adam appeared to ignore her reproof, his eyes fixed on the foam on top of his tankard.
‘Well, yes. But then I like speed, she does not.’
‘You do, I have noticed.’ He looked up, his eyes green with sparking amusement. ‘Ice skating, riding, sledging…’
‘Yes, all of those things.’ Decima found she had to look away and began to study a blackened print on the wall with apparent interest.
‘And you don’t run away from danger, either.’ His voice was soft velvet with a reminiscent tone that sent the colour hot into her cheeks. It was not the dangers of speed to which he was referring.
‘Charlton would tell you that is because I am a hoyden and have no conduct.’
‘But that is new, is it not?’ Adam asked, drawing swirling patterns in the spilt ale on the tabletop with one elegant finger. ‘You used to be a dutiful young lady who would never step out of line and who always deferred to her relatives. You told me so.’ He lifted his hand away from the table, leaving a wet pattern of interlocking hearts. As Decima stared at it, it began to shrink and dry.
‘And then I came into control of my affairs and with independence comes freedom, I have found. Within bounds, naturally,’ she added in a commendable imitation of Hermione’s tone when lecturing on proper conduct.
‘Indeed?’ Adam was teasing again and the tense moment was past.
‘Indeed,’ she agreed. ‘I am about to purchase a phaeton and a team and Henry has agreed to assist me with that. He will not approve my trying a pedestrian hobbyhorse, though,’ she added wistfully. ‘He considers that would pass all bounds. There are ladies’ versions, apparently,’ she added when she saw both Adam’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘With three wheels.’
‘Then I am with Freshford on that subject—they would be a truly terrifying addition to London traffic. He is a man of sense.’
Adam glanced across to where Henry was talking to Olivia. Her charming smile was lighting up her face, transforming her from a pretty but passive statuette into a lovely, vivid young woman. ‘Quite beautiful,’ Adam observed dispassionately, as though he was admiring a work of art, and a cold chill ran down Decima’s spine. Was that really all he wanted? A beautiful trophy wife?
She was still brooding when they resumed their places in the carriages. Adam drew alongside to discuss the route with Henry. ‘We turn off to the left at the crest of Brockley Hill, then follow the lane across Stanmore Common. The house is shortly before Bushey Heath.’
With an effort Decima pulled herself together and tried to take an intelligent interest in the purpose of the expedition. ‘It is very pleasant around here,’ she observed, looking around them as Henry followed Adam’s curricle off the main turnpike. She was immediately grateful the men had not chosen to drive high-perch vehicles, as they lurched from one pothole to another. ‘But somewhat isolated. If it were me,’ she decided, ‘I would not think it ideal. It is too far from London to make it easy to drive in and back in the day—not if one wishes to shop or attend a function, that is. But the house may be lovely and make up for that.’
They were crossing an expanse of common land now, with furze bushes and spindly trees in clumps amidst the brown of last year’s bracken. Adam turned in his seat and gestured towards some chimney pots that could just be seen rising above a copse fringing the edge of the open land. ‘That is the house.’
As he spoke, two riders swung out of the nearest clump of furze and spurred towards them. Their purpose was unmistakable, even without the masks pulled up over their lower faces and the heavy horse pistols in their hands.
Decima heard Olivia’s scream, then Adam was turning the curricle, only to be headed off by one of the riders. With the frantic girl clinging to his arm, Decima could see he was having difficulty controlling his team.
‘Damn it.’ Henry was juggling whip and reins. He thrust them into Decima’s hands and reached under his seat, coming up with a pistol in his hand, but the curricle in front cut off a clear shot at the riders and Decima could see he was unable to fire without risking hitting either Adam or Olivia.
Then Adam dropped his whip, thrust Olivia ruthlessly to the floor of the curricle and reached down. Like Henry, he too was carrying pistols under the seat. Despite the plunging team, he stood and took aim. The gun cracked and one of the riders clapped a hand to his shoulder, then his companion fired, wheeling his horse in at close range before Adam could use his other pistol.
‘Oh, God!’ Decima fought with the reins as the team tried to back away from the noise and confusion and Henry managed to drag the other gun from its fixings. For a moment she could not see what had happened. The scene before her seemed as before the shot was fired, then Adam bent, clutched at his thigh and toppled out of the curricle to the ground.
The unwounded rider swung round, threatening them with his weapon. Henry threw himself across Decima, shielding her body as he tried to find a steady bead on the man.
‘Adam!’ Decima tried to push Henry away and steady the horses before they bolted, but the riders closed in on the driverless curricle, one on each side. One man bent and seized the rein and then they were away, cantering across the uneven ground, bearing Olivia away from where Adam’s still body sprawled on the turf.
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