Page 5 of The Countess Caper

“Exactly.”

She rolled her eyes. “Bullets are not cheap.” Or so she assumed. She had found this one in the attic as well. But if the last months had proven anything to her, it was that nothing was cheap. Not bullets, not paper, not flour. Not glue or brocade or paint, all of which was needed in great supply at Magpie House. Along with nails and hammers and wood. And sugar and pickles and stilton cheese. Pregnant women ate anything. It was disconcerting to watch.

The carriage took a hard turn. The momentum slid her along the seat, and she braced herself, but not before Roarke used his leg to steady her, pressing on the outside of her own. “Why are you wearing breeches?” he asked, sounding faintly strangled.

She glanced down at the thick fabric stretching across her thighs. She’d forgotten she was wearing them. “Are you shocked?” she asked. Someone who regularly went about without a cravat should not hold opinions on fashion. “You never struck me as the missish type.” And it was hardly the most shocking thing she had ever done. Ask Lord Tewksbury. With any luck, he still had punch up his nose.

“I never thought I was,” he said wryly.

Wait until he found out she wasn’t wearing her stays under the linen shirt and coat.

“And shocked is not the word I would use.”

Before she could ask him—demand, in fact—that he elaborate, the carriage rolled to a stop. Tessa scrambled out, not waiting for the coachman to open the door or for Roarke to get out of her way. She nearly sat on his knee like a mistress at the opera.

She might have blushed, for no good reason, if she’d had the time.

He wrapped his hands around her waist—nearly entirely around her; he was that big—and plucked her off, as if she had offended him. He dropped her on the ground and yet still somehow managed to reach Marigold’s side first. Marigold scrambled back, then shouted a curse vile enough to burn the hair off a donkey’s arse. Did donkeys have hair? Fur, then.

“It’s all right,” Tessa assured her quickly. “It’s only Dartmoor. He’s here to help.”

Marigold blinked. The sky abruptly dropped two storms’ worth of rain on them. “I don’t care if he’s the devil himself.”

Roarke did not take offense. Or perhaps he did—it was hard to tell. He did not speak much, and he generally looked as though he was utterly fed up with everyone around him. But in a patient way. She did not know how he managed it. A giant, patient, unruffled rock. If the sarsens of Stonehenge ever fell, he could stand in in a pinch.

Thunder rolled as the wind kicked up, as bad-tempered as that donkey with the burning arse fur. A large branch whipped back and then snapped with a resounding crack. Marigold was safe in the bushes.

Tessa was not.

Roarke did not even have the time to shout a warning. Instead, he lunged, grabbing her by the lapels and hauling her out of the way. The branch scraped his arm, ripping his sleeve before it pierced the dirt like a javelin. Tessa’s heart bumped against her ribs. Rain spattered off the rim of her hat.

“Get in the carriage!” Roarke shouted at her. He scooped Marigold into his arms and was at Tessa’s heels as she darted ahead. They’d left the door open, and the fine embroidered cushions were wet. The coachman was struggling to calm the horses. The rain turned into needles; the wind lashed.

“To Fox Hollow!” Tessa shouted over the storm. “The midwife’s house has a red door, just past the church.” She clambered inside the carriage. Marigold sprawled across the seat, trying to breathe through the pain. She was shivering. Roarke had already wrapped his coat around her shoulders. Tessa sat next to him.

“Don’t worry,” she told her cousin with false cheer. “We’re nearly there.”

Chapter Three

They were not nearly there.

Marigold was going to have a baby on the floor of a carriage between lightning strikes, and Roarke was bleeding through his shirt.

Tessa kept her smile bright, confident.

“You’re smiling that smile,” Marigold said.

“Which smile?”

“The one that makes you look like you’re going to bake my bones into your bread.”

“It’s comforting.”

“Not if it’s my bones going into the bread.”

“This is the smile that got me through three Seasons, I’ll have you know.” Tessa adjusted the brightness of her smile. “Better?”

Marigold grunted. Tessa took that as agreement. She hovered on the edge of her seat, wondering if she could catch the baby, should it make its appearance. How fast did they come out?