Chapter Sixteen
“You are quiet,” Anna said as the buggy rumbled along the dirt road beneath them.
Jackson stared out at the landscape, seeing little of the grassy plain.
The only thing keeping him in the present was the horses’ reins in his hand.
Not even his love of the expertly bred horseflesh pulling the conveyance could lighten his gray thoughts.
“I thought you’d welcome the silence where my company was concerned. ”
“Now what kind of truce would we have if one side wasn’t permitted to speak their mind?”
“With a master debater like you?” Jackson said. “A bloodless one.”
She gave him a look. “If you’re willingly admitting you are second fiddle, then I know something is wrong.”
Jackson smiled despite his mood. How could he not?
Only creatures with stone hearts, like his mother, wouldn’t be charmed.
Calling him a liar so shamelessly . . . while wearing a canary-yellow dress that perfectly brought out the cunning in her eyes.
“My brother is fond of you,” he said, attempting a safer topic.
“Your brother is a delightful young man.”
Jackson nodded. “He’ll be glad to hear your complimentary opinion.”
“Oh, what is wrong?”
Jackson turned away from the hills blurring past to see a wrinkle between her brows. “I am pensively reflecting on my past behavior.”
She made a sound in her throat. “If you must, do so elsewhere. You are ruining the mood.”
“‘The mood’?” Jackson glanced around at the picturesque landscape. “Even while seated in an open-air vehicle?”
“There is a kind of solitary acknowledgment that goes hand in hand with the constant feeling of movement. The juxtaposition is for those of deep and intellectual minds.”
“I see.” And he did. “So, the only one allowed to be morose and thoughtful is you?”
“I am glad you understand.”
He smirked, sure she was badgering him for such a purpose. “I thought you would enjoy lecturing me on my skewed rarity and density or whatever insulting idiom strikes your fancy.”
“Perhaps you should leave the idioms to Kenelm Digby and save yourself further humiliation.”
Jackson frowned. Digby. “The man who invented the shower bath?”
“That would be William Feetham.”
“Scotsman?”
“English.”
Jackson blew out his breath. “Your reading extends beyond Greek mythology and Shakespeare?” He’d never be able to win an argument in mythology, philosophy, or ancestry.
And his temperament was improving despite the scales tipped in her favor. Perhaps, because of her favor.
Start over.
Hope filtered through the guilt straining his chest. If Anna could forgive him after all this time, then there should be time for him to patch things up with Figaro.
He’d make the time.
Anna sniffed and tugged her wrist-length gloves tight, as if she hadn’t been carefully watching his expression. “You are improved, then?”
“Thanks to you.”
“Naturally.”
Jackson chuckled. “My mother would say that pride is akin to vulgarity.”
She cocked a challenging brow. “And?”
“You wear it well.”
She sniffed again, clearly pleased and far too stubborn to say so. Less distant but still holding back.
He’d fix that too.
A flick of his wrist and the horses sped up into a fast canter.
Anna glanced his way but said nothing.
When she faced forward, he flicked the reins again.
The buggy jolted forward.
Anna’s scrutiny didn’t fade this time. “Do you know what you are about, Duke?”
“I’m sure I don’t know to what you refer?” He flicked the reins a third time, and the horses took off into a soft gallop.
Anna laughed as she clutched her bonnet to her head. “You’re going too fast,” she scolded without heat.
“I always drive this fast.” Faster, honestly. The bite of wind across his cheeks, the power of his horses flying across the ground—he’d missed the feeling these past two weeks, too concerned over missing a report to do his usual daily riding.
Anna shook her head as she removed her bonnet and threw it on the floor at their feet.
Arfff.
Jackson pressed his lips together to hold back a surprised laugh.
Arfff.
Her voice light, she asked, “Are you well?”
She was asking him?
He coughed into his hand. “Fine.”
More bodily sounds. Jackson was a gentleman and ignored them.
But Anna turned in her seat. “I understand your desire for haste, but if you need to stop so you may see to your . . . ah-needs, do not delay on my part.”
He startled. “Excuse me? I believe I should be concerned over your needs.” Good God, she hadn’t eaten the eggs, had she? “Grandfellow Hall is some miles back, but I may be able to beg some privacy at the next cottage we pass.”
Anna scoffed. “You cannot think that I am the source of those crude sounds?”
“There is no one else here.”
Their standoff lasted two seconds.
Arfffffff.
They both leaned over the sides of the buggy at the same time, the unpleasant noise seeming to originate from beneath them.
Bunching her dress between her knees to bend further, Anna studied the undercarriage, something about the wooden beam running from one wheel to the other odd. “Does that connection look strange to you?”
The carriage ran over a rut in the road, and the beam groaned again.
One horse gave an alarmed whinny, and the buggy lurched forward as the startled horse urged its partner faster.
Another groan. Another shriek of the pair. Another burst of speed.
Her blood turned to frozen mist in her veins. That cracking beam looked awfully important to the integrity of the vehicle, and the horses had lost their heads in fear.
There was no chance of stopping.
Anna shot upright, panic a metal taste in her mouth. They’d have to jump or dive for the buggy seat or—
Jackson cursed beside her.
Then, two large hands clasped around her waist and pulled.
Anna flailed helplessly as her rump left the upholstered interior.
A weightless flight through the air—when the ground broke her fall. Something in her arm gave. Sharp pain shot up into her shoulder.
Anna rolled onto her uninjured side, and her temper urged her to her feet. “I understand the situation, but I am not some doll to be tossed—” She glanced around, but Jackson hadn’t made the jump with her.
Her gaze shot to the buggy, the vehicle racing at breakneck speed now. Jackson was standing in his seat, doing everything he could to calm the horses.
There was another groan, this one so loud, Anna winced.
The buggy swayed dangerously.
Crack!
A scream tore out of Anna’s throat as one wheel shattered, and the buggy tipped.
“Jackson!”
Movement—a flash of a figure—before the vehicle slammed to the ground.
Anna ran, raced, prayed. Rocks bit into the soles of her boots.
The horses, stopped short and trapped from the weight of the harnesses, screamed and reared, their hoofs stomping the ground and making it impossible for her to get close.
She stepped forward. “Jackson!” She dove out of the way, missing a hoof to the temple.
A curse formed on her tongue, when a dull groan reached her ears. Movement where the buggy had hit the ground.
Anna darted around the horses, not caring if the beasts gored her if only she could see Jackson was unharmed.
She found him on his side. Gingerly, she rolled him onto his back to see a nasty cut above his eye.
Unconscious with a blow to the head. And he was so pale. Fear gripped her lungs. “Jackson?”
There was a slight movement of his arm, and he groaned.
Alive.
“Thank God,” she breathed. “Jackson? Can you hear me?” She smoothed the hair from his forehead.
His eyes burst open. He sat up with a jolt, his pupils huge and his hands raised as if to ward off a blow.
She pressed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Jackson.”
He whipped his head around, his gaze settling on her face.
When his jaw turned to granite.
Anna’s insides twisted. He’s angry at me.
But, no, he wasn’t looking at her.
Jackson stared at the buggy, lying on its side, the undercarriage exposed.
The perfect angle to view how the axle hadn’t split naturally from use.
Jackson knew saw marks when he’d nearly been done in by them. Not only him.
His raw hands stung—the back and forth of the reins with the horses having damn near worn clean through his gloves. There was a tear in his breeches and a gash across his thigh. His head pounded. The rest of him was hot, injured, and dizzy from his abrupt descent to the ground.
He felt nothing of pain. He wouldn’t feel it. Not until the person responsible was weeping blood from every orifice.
His fingers curled into fists.
Someone had deliberately sabotaged the carriage, with Anna on board.
Who would have gone to such lengths? Had he been the intended target?
Had Anna’s investigation into her brother’s disappearance caught the attention of the brothel and gang Roberts had mentioned?
Jackson’s chest heaved, his blood rising.
Were the bastards close? Waiting to try again if their attempt had failed?
“You’re bleeding,” Anna said, the concern on her face breaking through his murderous fantasies.
There was a gentle touch on his arm as she pulled him back in the direction of Grandfellow Hall.
“We’ve only gone two miles or so.” Her gaze swept down his figure and hesitated on his injured leg.
When she met his eye a second later, there were lines around her mouth. “Can you manage the walk back?”
She’s worried about me.
The knowledge was order to his riotous thoughts.
“I can manage,” he reassured her, walking forward on his own strength. He’d manage just fine.
The same could not be said for the individuals responsible for putting Anna in danger.