It was fruitless, of course. His station was too elevated, their fortunes too disparate, and allowing his chivalrous actions to lead her mind down any other path would prove disastrous for her. She continued the internal lecture, underscoring for herself all of the many reasons not to allow her romantic imagination to run away with her.
They were more than half way to Briarwood Park when the phaeton hit a particularly deep rut in the road. The vehicle lurched alarmingly and a loud crack sounded on the deserted road.
Rhys tugged the reigns viciously, attempting to slow the horses, but the conveyance tilted to one side and then the wheel collapsed entirely. The bottom of the vehicle on one side was bumping along the rutted road, the shattered wheel in pieces behind them. He heard Emme's shriek of alarm. She was clinging to the phaeton's narrow seat, her fingers digging into the wood, her knuckles white with effort, as she struggled not to be thrown from the carriage. He transferred the reins to one hand, as he reached for her with the other. His hand closed about her upper arm, preventing her from being ejected from the vehicle as it listed dangerously. The horses had slowed, but not enough.
Rhys braced his feet against the phaeton's frame. The muscles in his thighs strained as he tried to keep them from falling from the carriage. When the horses finally came to a halt, pieces of the curricle littered the road. But they were both safe.
He lowered her to the ground and then climbed down behind her. He checked the remaining wheel and what he saw made his gut clench. The pins had been loosened. It was a miracle that the second wheel hadn't shattered as well. With shaking hands, he led the horses toward a small stand of trees, towing the shattered remnants of the coach from the roadway.
He was thinking, analyzing as he tried to calm the horses. Because he'd been determined to enjoy what little time he had with her, he'd set the horses at a leisurely pace. If they'd been traveling more swiftly, both he and Emme would be dead or at the very least, seriously injured.
Once he'd freed the horses from their wrecked albatross, he tethered them to a tree and walked back to Emme who was seated on the small stone wall that bordered the road. She was pale, but otherwise was unharmed, except for her arm.
He noted the dark circles of his fingerprints on her pale skin. He touched her arm gently, an attempt to sooth the angry marks and his own guilty conscience. “Are you injured?"
She glanced at the rapidly forming bruises. “A small price to pay for not being trampled by the horses or run over by the phaeton itself."
He was grateful that she was not given to hysterics, though he felt perilously close to them himself. “This was not an accident. The wheels were sabotaged."
"It was fine on the way into the village,” she said. “It was tampered with while we were there, wasn't it?"
He'd reached that same conclusion himself. “I believe so, yes. Our more immediate concern is whether or not the saboteur intends to inspect his handiwork. I don't want to just sit here and wait for our would-be assassin to come along and finish the job."
Emme nodded. Though her legs were trembling, she rose. “We had best hurry."
She truly was remarkable, he thought. She possessed more resolve and poise in the face of danger than many men that he knew. “We'll take the path through the woods that will lead us to the park,” he said.
She was wearing her study kid boots, rather than slippers, for which she was thankful. “It certainly seems our best alternative."
He glanced back at the horses. The villain, if he pursued them, would know where they were by the location of the horses and the wreckage of the phaeton. There was little to be done for it, though. He would send a groom back for them. He wanted them to be as unobtrusive as possible, and if they needed to hide, the beasts would be a hindrance.
He took her hand and led her through the trees, until they reached a path that was near overgrown. “I should have this path maintained more carefully,” he said aloud, “it comes out by the lake."
She sensed how difficult it was for him to traverse that same path, to retrace the steps he had taken the day that his sister had died. “We can follow the road. We don't have to go this way,” she said.
Rhys shook his head. He hated those woods. He avoided them at all costs, but there was no choice. It was a matter of their safety. “We do, actually. The road is too open and carriage accidents too unpredictable. He will want to assure himself that his plan worked, and if he chooses to come looking for us, we'd have no place to hide. Here at least we can seek cover, though it goads me to do so."
The admission had cost him dearly. She could see it written on his face. “What would you do if I weren't here?"