Free Anita Mills by Scandal Bound

the girl,” Trent approved. “Now, turn your back and cover your ears. No, don’t argue with me.” He waited until he was sure her head was averted, and then he walked to where one of the horses still lay tangled in the shaft and harness, its eyes wide and dilated with fright. Resolutely he raised his pistol and fired a ball into its head. Then he closed his eyes for a moment and leaned against the upended carriage. At least his powder had been dry enough still for the task and he hadn’t had to slit its neck.
    “Beggin’ yer pardon, mi’lor,” Dobbs interrupted diffidently, “but what’s ter do ‘bout Emmett?”
    Trent exhaled slowly and straightened his shoulders. “There’s nothing we can do for the moment. You’ll have to get help and come back.”
    Dobbs nodded and went to fetch the horses he’d cut loose. When he led one back, he and Trent boosted the injured driver up on its back and then threaded a makeshift bridle around its nose and through its mouth.
    “Can you make it, Timms?” Trent asked again.
    “Aye, I think so.”
    Dobbs got another horse and pulled himself up by hanging on its mane. Leaning over to take Timms’ rein, he decided, “Mebbe I better ’ave it. Yer looks queasy ter me.”
    “And you are chilled to the bone,” Trent observed as he prepared to throw Ellen up on the last mount. “Here— take my cloak and wrap it around you. I’ll get behind you and hold you on as best I can.”
    “No, you keep your cloak, my lord.” The thought of his hands around her waist and under her breasts gave her pause. “And I think it would be better if I rode behind you.”
    “There’s no time for argument, my dear. If you think you can hang on better that way, I’ve no objection, but you will take the cloak.” He gave her a boost up on the big black’s back before removing the heavy woolen cape and handing it up to her. As soon as she had pulled it around her shoulders, he ordered her, “Hold him steady until I get up.” And then he swung up in front of her. “Are you sure you’ve got your seat?” he asked as he reached for the makeshift rein.
    “Can you handle him like this?” she asked anxiously.
    “Aye, Deveraux are noted horsemen,” he flung over his shoulder.
    She arranged his cloak about her back and drew her exposed legs up against his, pulling the rest of the cloak to cover as much as possible of both of them. Leaning against his soaked back, she sought to give and get warmth.
    Even as he nudged the horse forward, the rain came down harder again, forming sheets rather than droplets, and the wind increased until it howled. The temperature was falling from the early-autumn storm, and Ellen could not afford even a semblance of modesty. She hugged the marquess tightly and burrowed her face against his shoulder blades to protect it from the biting wind.
    “Can you see anything?” she shouted against his shoulder.
    “Nothing!” he shouted back.
    They plodded along the sodden road until both Ellen and Trent thought they would surely freeze before finding any shelter at all. Her whole body ached from the chills that racked it, and her teeth chattered so hard that they clicked against one another. Then, as she straightened to ease the cramp in her shoulders, she saw it. She pounded his shoulder excitedly as the horse rounded a bend in the lane they’d turned into.
    “Th-there’s a b-barn or s-something ahead.”
    When they drew closer, they could see it was someone’s hunting box, and it was apparently unoccupied. Ellen slid to the ground and held the horse while Trent dismounted and tried the door. It was securely locked. In desperation, he threw his weight against it several times in hopes of breaking the lock, but without success. Finally he walked around the box, testing each window until he found one that gave several inches.
    “Here,” he called out to her. “The ropes are frayed on this one. If I can but get it up a little higher, I’ll push you through.”
    She