The Irresistible Miss Peppiwell(34)

He was so intent on his attack, he reacted too late to stop her.

She cocked the hammer. The soft snick echoed through the carriage. His hazel eyes narrowed in rage.

She pressed the muzzle into his soft belly, uncaring that he might feel the trembling of her hands. So much the better. She could accidentally shoot him.

Or not so accidentally.

“Get away from me,” she ordered between her teeth.

The carriage lurched, but her grip remained tight. He slowly backed away and sank back onto the cushioned seat opposite her. She thought he would feel fear at having a pistol trained on him. Instead, a smile teased his lips. The smile frightened her more than his assault.

“I will shoot you,” she warned lethally. “Stop this carriage at once.”

“I will not.”

She raised the pistol a fraction. “Do it now.”

“You will not shoot me. You will be hanged. Your family made pariahs. Not even fleeing across the ocean would save them this time.”

She forced her hands to steady as she aimed the gun at his black heart.

“Go ahead.” He taunted her with cruel laughter. “I am a lord. You are an American nobody, offended that I spurned her advances.”

“You will not live to tell a tale,” she said coldly, wishing she could end his miserable life. She desperately wanted to pull the trigger, but fear cramped her stomach. What if he was right? She would hang, her family disgraced, even though he attempted to rape her. And if they married, it would no longer be rape. It would be his right.

She had confided his obsessive pursuit of her to no one save Elisabeth, and Elisabeth’s father would never allow her to testify in court. Not even to save Phillipa’s life. Their association would ruin her friend, as well.

“If you move, I will shoot you,” Phillipa vowed. “I would rather hang than let you defile me.”

“One can’t defile a harlot,” Orwell sniped savagely.

“You will stop this carriage and let me leave. If you don’t, I will kill you.”

His dismissive laughter froze her insides. She gripped the heavy pistol, ignoring the growing burn in her muscles, and the jostle of the carriage as it sped her to complete ruination.

He rapped the trap door to the driver’s seat to give instructions, and her heart sped with relief. Until he yelled up, “Faster! Drive faster!” His laughter echoed sinisterly.

Tears stung her eyes as she heard the crack of the whip. The carriage careened, sped up even more, and her breathing became ragged. The oiliness of his smile, the depravity in how he licked his lips had her stomach cramping harder. The heaviness of the pistol grew harder to manage. She did not know how much longer she could hold on.

She did not dwell overlong on her decision. He gave her no choice. She raised the pistol and fired.

The bang exploded in the close confines of the carriage. Her ears rang; her head pounded. She heard the muted neighs of the horses, the driver’s frantic commands, and the carriage rocked wildly as it slowed. She acted with desperate alacrity, wrenching the door open. Before the team had fully halted and before the driver could stop her, she jumped.

And ran like her life depended on it.





Chapter Ten


“Grab her!” Orwell’s cry of wounded rage spurred her faster.

Phillipa clutched the pistol to her breast, holding her torn bodice closed against the chill, and raced across the flatlands. She could see a manor house in the distance, but her breath labored in the daunting cold. She was grateful for the moon that peeked from the clouds providing her with light. She gripped her skirt, hating how the petticoats hampered her movements. She raised it high above her knees and sprinted as fast as she could. Fat drops of rain slapped her cheeks as she ran and ran. She refused to look back. The thundering in her ears grew louder, and she belatedly realized it was hoofbeats.

Oh, Lord. Her breath caught and tears splashed her cheeks. He was riding her down.

“Phillipa! Stop!” His hated voice was muffled by the wind and the ringing in her ears.

“Leave me alone!” she cried, her tears flowing with the rain.

She could not run any faster, so she turned into the woods. With brambles ripping at her hair and her lungs burning, she stumbled to a stop and spun, jerkily raising the pistol.

Her heart thundered, and she blinked, dazed, at the massive black stallion that loomed over her.

Sweet relief crashed through her as she stared into the grim face of the man she most wanted to see in the world. Her heart soared.

“Anthony!”

“Oh, thank God!” He jumped from his horse and swept her into a tight embrace. “Is he dead?”

“No!” she gasped, her body racked by a rash of shivers.

“I heard a pistol shot.”