“No,” she said with a sigh.
“Maybe you want someone to see us, Miss Langley. Then you can persuade Sebastian to let you venture to the land of the Pharaohs.”
An image entered his head, an exotic tent nestled in the hot, rolling desert of the Nile valley. Helen stripping off her clothes amid the stifling heat and drawing a damp muslin cloth over every inch of her bare skin.
Bloody hell!
“He’s more likely to force me to marry the first man who’ll have me than let me do anything so adventurous.” Her deep exhale carried the weight of regret.
“I doubt that’s true.”
“Sebastian changed when Michael died. It’s as if a part of him died, too. He blames himself. It’s why the whole scene this morning makes no sense. He would never put business matters before my welfare.”
Guilt flowed like poison in Nicholas’ veins. “He knows I will protect you with my life.” Sebastian’s compulsive need to punish Parbrook had left them in this tenuous position.
“Because you see me as family?” she said curiously.
“In a manner of speaking.” In his dreams, she bore his name and slept in his bed. “I would never presume to replace Michael, but Sebastian needs my friendship and counsel. His bravado is a mask to hide his grief.”
Hence why Nicholas held his tongue. Why he put brotherhood before his own needs. After suffering a shocking betrayal, the worst of which he had only recently discovered, nothing was more important to him than loyalty.
“Yes, he is lucky to have you in his life.” She paused to moisten her lips, to torment him further. “We both are.”
Nicholas wasn’t sure if he had imagined the last comment. Just as he wasn’t sure if the carriage had picked up speed. Was his heartbeat thundering in his ears, or was it the sound of horses’ hooves pounding the dusty road? Did this woman make him dizzy with need, or was the vehicle lurching to the left?
He knew it was the latter when Helen gripped the overhead strap as one might clutch the reins of a wild stallion. Her face turned ashen. Her eyes grew wide and fearful.
“Good Lord!” She gasped. “Do you think Jenkins is ill?”
Nicholas raised the blind closest to him. Hellfire. They were teetering dangerously close to the edge. “What the devil is wrong with the man?” Had the fool been taking secret swigs of liquor? One small swerve would send them plunging twenty feet down the embankment.
Jenkins’ muffled protests reached their ears.
He reached across and raised the other blind, stunned to see a black vehicle veering towards them, the coachman whipping Jenkins, not his team of four.
What in blazes!
Nicholas reached beneath the seat, quickly opened the cupboard and removed the mahogany box containing a brace of pistols.
“Surely you’re not going to shoot the coachman!” Helen cried when he raised the lid. “We should lower the window and attempt to reason with him.”
“One does not reason with a madman.” He steadied his hand and tried to pour the powder into the pistol’s muzzle, but the carriage rocked violently on its axis. “Doubtless he’s intent on robbery.”
“In broad daylight?”
The villain wasn’t afraid to take risks.
That made him unpredictable.
“Study the vehicle,” he said, rushing to load the pistol. “Are there any passengers? Get a good look at the coachman. You will need to describe him later.” Assuming they survived.
Helen gathered her wits and pressed her face to the glass. That’s what he loved about her. She wasn’t a simpering miss but an intelligent woman capable of dealing with the unexpected.
“The blinds are drawn,” she said, panting with fear. “It’s impossible to tell if there’s anyone inside. And the coachman looks like the gruff fellows one hires from the Crown Inn in Whitechapel.” A startled gasp tore from her throat. “Wait! Thereissomeone inside the carriage. I saw a hand at the—”
The conveyance pitched wildly left.
There was no time to lead an offensive.