Page 2 of Road Trip With a Rogue

The man gave an ugly laugh. “As if you could, whelp.” He started toward the gun again.

“Stop!” Daisy growled. “I’ve killed with this knife before. I’ll do it again.”

The man stilled, weighing the truth of her words. She was lying, of course. She’d never killed anyone, with any weapon—unless the man she’d just shot by the coach was dead. Her stomach lurched at the thought, but she forced her hand not to shake.

“Move away, slowly,” she ordered.

The man pulled back, but just as she started to relax, his friend by the coach regained consciousness. He groaned and writhed, kicking his heels in the mud, and in the brief moment her attention was diverted, the other man seized his chance.

He lunged for the pistol.

Daisy threw her knife just as he fired. She dived to the side as the ball whizzed past her ear, horribly close, and in her confused state she thought she heardtwoshots, one from in front of her, and one from behind.

That made no sense. She rolled over in the grass, her heart pounding furiously, then pushed up onto her elbows to see if she’d hit her target.

She had. The man was lying flat on the ground, her knife embedded in his shoulder. But why wasn’t he moving? The wound she’d inflicted shouldn’t have been fatal. She’d only meant to make him drop the gun. Was he pretending to be dead to lure her closer?

Fully expecting a trick, she pushed to her feet and staggered toward him, staying low. But his chest was still, not rising and falling, and she gasped in horror as she got close enough to see his glassy eyes staring up at the sky.

He was dead, shot in the neck. A dark puddle of blood was already filling the muddy rut below him.

A wave of nausea rose in her throat. She tugged down the scarf covering her face, clapped her hand over her mouth, and swung away, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Had the driver on the box fired a second weapon? It seemed unlikely. He was still cursing and trying to bind his injured arm.

She turned to the man on the ground by the carriage. Had he pulled another pistol and tried to shoot her, only to miss and accidentally hit his colleague?

No. He’d lost consciousness again, and there was no gun on the ground near him.

Daisy shook her head, feeling dizzy. Her heart was beating so quickly she could feel it in her throat, and she sucked in a deep lungful of the cold night air to steady herself.

A noise came from the carriage, and she belatedly remembered the existence of the two passengers. Dear Lord, they must be frightened out of their wits! She took a step toward the vehicle, ready to reassure them, but herattention caught on the glint of a pistol protruding from the darkened window, held in a large, gloved male hand.

She stopped, surprised. Had Peregrine managed to load and fire one of the carriage pistols? Hadhebeen the one to kill the third man?

The door handle turned. She opened her mouth to thank him for his unexpected help, but the words died in her throat as the panel swung open and a tall, dark figure that was definitelynotPeregrine Hughes stepped down into the road.

Daisy’s stomach dropped, and a wave of horrified disbelief swept over her as she took in the man dressed entirely in black, save for a pristine white evening shirt and cravat.

Oh, shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Dark hair, broad shoulders, straight nose. Eyes as black as Hades, and full, mocking lips. She knew that face; its cruel beauty was engraved into her heart.

Lucien Vaughan. Marquis of Exton.

Daisy shook her head.No, not the marquis anymore.His father had died, sometime last year. He was the duke now. The Duke of Cranford.

Standing in the road.

What in God’s name was he doing here?

She was about to ask him that very question when a twig snapped behind her. Startled, she started to turn, instinctively reaching for her second knife, sheathed on the inside of her wrist, but before she could reach it a thick arm wrapped around her shoulder and came across her throat in a chokehold.

She gasped and tried to free herself, kicking and wriggling like an eel, but the pressure of the arm only increased. The man behind her squeezed, lifting her offthe ground, pressing his fingers into the side of her neck, and she opened her eyes wide, trying to fight off the encroaching darkness.

Bloody Hell. What a stupid way to die.

And in front of Vaughan too. How utterly humiliating.