Page 15 of A Lady Most Wayward (The Queen’s Deadly Damsels #5)

Philippa grabbed her shoulders and shook her hard. ‘The past doesn’t matter. Forget it. Remain calm. Look at me. Right here. Focus on me.’

The stern command was impossible for Olivia to ignore. She stared into Philippa’s calm blue eyes, and the panic ebbed.

‘They are going to stop the carriage. When they open the door, we aren’t going to wait for their demands.

We are going to attack first. Take this gun.

’ Philippa released Olivia and picked the gun up from her lap.

She shoved it into Olivia’s shaking hands.

‘I have another. All you need to do is pull back the hammer, here, and point and pull this trigger. Do you see?’ Olivia lifted the heavy weapon and tentatively pulled back the hammer until it clicked.

She was pointing the gun straight ahead, right at Philippa.

The duchess shoved Olivia’s hand to the left, so the gun pointed at the door.

‘Bloody hell. Just don’t shoot me. I’ll never live down the embarrassment of being wounded with my own gun. ’

‘Right. Sorry. I won’t.’ Olivia shifted on her seat to gain better balance as the carriage slowed.

There were no more sounds from the coachman, and she feared he might have been hit by one of the shots.

Possibly both. ‘I can’t do this.’ She swallowed bile rising in her throat.

She wished her hands weren’t trembling so terribly.

No one would believe she could hit a target with the gun shaking like a leaf in a windstorm.

Philippa had pulled a second gun from her other pocket and glanced at Olivia. ‘You can and you will. Because you must. If you don’t, you will die. Didn’t you tell me your daughter needs you alive?’

It was the exact harsh advice Olivia needed to hear.

Pushing her fear down into the pit of her stomach, she thought of Hyacinth.

She wasn’t going to let some foolhardy highwayman rob her of a chance to save her daughter.

Not after everything she’d endured. Taking a deep breath, her aim steadied as the carriage came to a stop.

The sound of men shouting to each other, at least three different voices, and horses stomping near the carriage, had Philippa reaching into her magical pockets for a dagger.

‘How many weapons do you have in there?’ Olivia shifted her focus from the door to Philippa and then back again.

‘Not enough if there are more than three men. These guns only have one shot, and then they must be reloaded.’ She stopped speaking as the brass handle twisted.

The door opened, and just as a head appeared, there was a mighty bang. Sulphur and acrid smoke filled the carriage, making it difficult to see. The man now lay half in and half out of the door. He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t breathing. What parts of him Olivia could see were covered in blood.

‘They’re armed,’ a deep voice shouted from outside the carriage.

‘They killed Stewart!’ another screamed.

‘And we shan’t hesitate to kill the rest of you if you don’t depart immediately,’ Philippa called, eerily calm.

She took Olivia’s gun from her hands and gave her the expended weapon.

‘Get down,’ she hissed. Olivia slid from her seat onto the floor, kicking to push the dead body out of the carriage.

He landed on the ground with a wet thump.

Philippa lay flat on her belly on the bench, her head peeking through the window next to the door.

‘There’s only two of them,’ she whispered to Olivia. ‘We might have a chance.’

We might have a chance. Marvellous. I might be sick all over myself.

Using the butt of the gun, Philippa broke the glass out.

Olivia covered her head as shards rained down.

She craned her neck to watch Philippa slide closer to the wall of the carriage.

Olivia wanted to warn her to stay down, but she couldn’t form words.

Philippa sat up enough to aim her pistol out of the window.

Another mighty bang had Olivia covering her ears as more smoke and the choking taste of sulphur made her gag.

‘One left.’ Philippa wasn’t whispering any more.

‘Fucking hell!’ A high-pitched cry emanated from outside the carriage, followed by the sound of hooves pounding the ground. When the thundering became nothing more than a distant rumble, Philippa looked down at Olivia.

‘He’s gone.’ The duchess calmly brushed glass from her skirt. ‘Come on, then. Let’s get out and see what kind of mess we’re in.’

Olivia wasn’t sure whether to burst into tears or start screaming.

She opted for the latter. ‘What kind of mess we’re in? Are you mad? You just killed two men!’

The duchess merely raised an eyebrow at Olivia. She’d seen the same look when Philippa had been served puffed cheese tartlets that didn’t meet her standard at a ball. ‘Would you rather I let them kill us?’

Damnation. She has a point.

Because while Olivia abhorred violence, she certainly didn’t want to sit quietly while these men robbed, raped, and then murdered them.

In the asylum, she had seen fights break out between the patients.

Some of the orderlies liked to get rough when ‘barmy bitches’ wouldn’t follow orders or kicked up a fuss about the treatments being administered.

Olivia learned quickly the best way to avoid a smack across the face or fist in the gut was to comply.

But that was its own form of torture. To submit when everything in her wanted to fight.

Philippa would never have let them steal her will. She would have found a way to crush them.

It was both inspiring and demoralising to know Philippa would have achieved what Olivia could only dream of accomplishing. Leaning closer, the infuriating woman reached out, and for a wild moment, Olivia thought she might try to kiss her.

Hardly the time! But…

Instead, she brushed her thumb over Olivia’s cheek and looked at the crimson smear. ‘You’ve cut yourself.’

Olivia reached up, pressing her palm against her skin and registering the sting.

She was vain enough to wonder if it might scar.

Anger reared, which was far preferable to the terrifying panic making her shake.

‘Thanks to your work with the window.’ She narrowed her eyes at the duchess and wrestled with her skirts.

They had tangled around her legs, making it almost impossible to gain her feet in the small space between the two bench seats.

Philippa reached out to help her, but Olivia slapped her hand away.

‘I don’t need your help. You’ve done quite enough!’ she hissed. Giving up on a dignified exit from the carriage, she crawled to the door but stalled at the body crumpled on the ground. Thankfully, the man landed on his face, so his features were hidden.

‘He’s just asleep,’ Olivia whispered to herself.

‘Dead asleep.’

Philippa’s dry response had Olivia stiffening her spine.

Lifting her chin and refusing to grace Philippa with a response, she awkwardly jumped out of the carriage, landing next to his body. Philippa followed behind her.

‘You are a terrible travelling companion.’ Olivia turned to face Philippa, but her gaze caught on the driver. Unfortunately, he was not lying belly down. His face still stretched in lines of shock. His eyes stared sightlessly into the sky. His chest was a mess of flesh, ripped cloth, and blood.

Olivia bent forward and threw up the contents of her stomach onto her sensible leather boots.

* * *

‘Blast.’ Philippa’s heart squeezed painfully. Not in fear, but something else. Something almost like regret. She hadn’t meant to be so harsh with Olivia, but they hardly had time for anything else.

Striding over to her, she ignored the woman’s attempt to wave her away with a flapping hand. Philippa gathered Olivia’s wild curls that had escaped the coil she so carefully pinned before they left their rented room that morning as she retched once more.

One thing was blatantly clear. Olivia might have aligned herself with the Devil’s Sons, but she was no hardened criminal. Philippa feared she might shatter as easily as the glass she knocked from the carriage window.

‘Shh. It’s going to be all right.’ Philippa attempted to soften her voice, but the words came out closer to a terse command than a comforting murmur. She wasn’t good at soothing. It was much easier to bully. Or scold. Or destroy.

Olivia straightened and spun to face her, forcing Philippa to release her glorious curls.

‘How can you possibly say that? We’re in the middle of nowhere.

The coachman is dead.’ She gestured to the poor man lying next to the wheel.

‘Those two other men are dead.’ She flung her hand at the highwayman by the carriage, then looked wildly around, not seeing the other victim of Philippa’s keen aim.

‘Where the bloody hell is the second one?’

Philippa looked down the road where they had travelled.

‘His horse spooked when I shot him. Took off that way. He must have got caught in the stirrups.’ She didn’t elaborate.

Olivia needn’t picture the man being dragged along the roadside.

‘The other horse no doubt followed him.’ Which was a shame.

The two beasts pulling the carriage looked to be decent horseflesh, but with no saddles, it would take some skill to ride them.

Pulling a flask from her pocket, she handed it to Olivia. ‘Drink.’

Olivia eyed the flask, then squinted at Philippa’s skirt. ‘Truly. What else have you got in there? A magic carpet, mayhap? Some biscuits for afternoon tea? A lady’s maid to manage your hair?’

She had to give Olivia credit. Despite everything they’d endured, despite her obvious horror at seeing three men killed in the space of as many minutes, and despite their dire situation, she certainly maintained a level of pluck that was admirable.

‘Never you mind what’s in my pockets. Drink this. It will help.’

Olivia unscrewed the flask and took a tentative sniff. She crinkled her nose. ‘It certainly isn’t sherry or French wine.’