Page 1 of Road Trip With a Rogue
Chapter One
Hampstead Heath, London, April 1817.
Daisy Hamilton had been looking forward to her first highway robbery, but someone had beaten her to it. Several someones, in fact.
Bloody Hell.
The three men blocking the moonlit road had clearly identified this wood-lined stretch as the perfect place for an ambush—just as she had—but while their decision to hold up this particular coach was presumably random, the crest painted on the door singled it out as her specific target.
She had the worst luck.
Daisy slid silently from her horse, tied the reins to a branch, and crept forward for a better view, careful to stay within the cover of the trees.
A broken log had been dragged across the lane to force the coach to stop, and the burly coachman up on the box was cursing as he tried to control the plunging horses. Two highwaymen had positioned themselves in the middle ofthe track with pistols drawn, while the third had circled around to the rear of the carriage.
“Stand and deliver!” the foremost robber bellowed.
The coachman paid him no heed. The horses reared, pawing the air, as he fought with the reins. When he finally managed to control them, he shouted, “Move aside, damn you!”
Daisy raised her brows at his tone. He sounded more annoyed than intimidated. Perhaps he’d encountered thieves on this route before? Or perhaps he was an ex-soldier, a veteran, no stranger to threats of violence. Even so, his bravado was unwise, considering the odds of three to one.
She doubted he’d be getting any help from inside the coach. Spoiled eighteen-year-old heiress Violet Brand and nineteen-year-old Peregrine Hughes were eloping—a process Daisy had been engaged to stop. Being set upon by highwaymen could hardly have featured in their plans. Violet was probably having a fit of the vapors in there, and a pampered youth like Peregrine had probably never fired a pistol in his life.
Daisy’s lips twitched in dark amusement. The idiotsdeservedto be robbed. Who went out into the world so unprepared? She felt naked without at least two blades on her person at any given time. Even in a ballroom.
Still, she cursed her own hubris for telling Ellie and Tess that she could catch the runaways on her own. Her fellow investigators would have been most welcome right now, since she was obviously going to have to intervene in this farcical scene.
She was bloody well going to double her fee when she sent Violet’s father the bill from King & Co.
Daisy cocked her pistol, waiting to see what the highwaymen would do next, when the driver of the coachsuddenly lurched to the side and grabbed something near his feet. He straightened, a huge blunderbuss in his hands, and fired at the nearest robber just as the man gave a shout of alarm.
The explosion was blinding, and she ducked instinctively as the man’s companion returned fire, shattering the quiet of the night.
Bloody Hell!
She blinked as her vision cleared. The first robber lay lifeless on the ground, his horse galloping away down the road. The second man was struggling to reload his pistol as his own mount bucked and reared, and the brave coachman had been hit; he was clutching his arm and groaning in pain, slumped sideways on the seat.
“You shot Ned, ye bastard!” The rider who’d been behind the coach galloped forward with a shout. He aimed his pistol at the coachman’s back to deliver a fatal shot, and Daisy didn’t stop to think. She leveled her own weapon and fired.
Her ball struck the rider, and his shot went wide, splintering the side of the carriage. He tumbled from his horse in a blur of limbs and dark clothing, hitting the ground with a sickening thump, but there was no time to check if he was dead.
The last man abandoned his attempt to reload and leapt from his horse, stumbling toward the gun that his fallen companion had dropped. If he reached it, the coachman was dead.
Daisy threw down her own spent pistol, pulled a knife from the sheath at the back of her belt, and stepped out into the road.
“Don’t touch it!” she commanded, lowering the register of her voice to sound more masculine.
The man in the road froze, surprised by the appearanceof an unexpected third party from the bushes. Daisy raised the blade so it glinted threateningly in the moonlight, glad of the tricorn hat hiding her face and the scarf she’d pulled up over her nose and chin. She was dressed as a male—high boots, breeches, and an enveloping greatcoat—but with her wobbly voice and short stature she doubted she cut a particularly menacing figure.
Her opponent clearly came to the same conclusion. He made a scoffing sound.
“Stand aside, lad. This ain’t no business o’ yours.”
“I disagree. I can’t let you to hold up this coach.”
He snorted. “You’re barely old enough to shave. Go on, now. This is our patch.”
Daisy shrugged. “Don’t make me hurt you.”