her looking at him.
Deborah felt her breath wedge in her chest. For a moment it seemed the years were peeled away and she was dressed not in sturdy outdoor clothes and chipstraw bonnet, but a pastel silk gown with gardenias threaded in her hair. She was not in an autumnal setting, serenaded by birdsong, but in the Earl of Gresham’s pale marble hallway with strains of a lilting melody drifting from the ballroom. But the gaze that was bathing her face with golden warmth was the same and her lids drooped as she anticipated Randolph’s lips bruising hers with a passion she recalled had left her feeling weak and dazed and so wonderfully happy. A second later the spell had been whipped away.
‘Hope we’re not interrupting.’ sneered a male voice.
Chapter Three
‘You are very much interrupting,’ Randolph returned in a lethal tone. He moved Deborah behind him and anchored her there with an unshakeable hold on her wrist. ‘So go away.’
‘You!’ Debbie spat whilst squinting against a gilded western sky to see the youngest Luckhurst brother grinning at her. She’d immediately recognised the owner of that coarse voice. Behind him were two other men of about the same age whom she’d noticed accompanying him on other occasions. ‘I know it was you who set about my driver, Seth Luckhurst—’ she began, before pressure on her wrist insisted she keep silent. She heeded Randolph’s warning and her teeth sank into her unsteady lower lip to stem further wrathful accusations. Thereafter her loathing was limited to glaring at the three men who were emerging from a thicket a few yards away. All were dressed in rough country garb, although a neckerchief knotted about Seth’s throat brightened his drab figure.
‘Are you deaf as well as stupid?’ Randolph enquired mildly. ‘I said your presence is unwelcome. Do you not understand English?’
A look of surprise passed between the men. They were used to issuing threats, not receiving them, but all of them were ready for a fight.
‘Don’t reckon it’s us wot’s stupid.’ Seth smirked as he swaggered closer. ‘You’re not from round here, are you, friend? If you was, you’d know not to cross me.’ One of his thumbs jabbed arrogantly at his chest. It rose to tip his hat back on his head in a cocky gesture, then both brawny fists were jammed on his hips. ‘If you fancy being a hero for Miss Woodville, I’ll give you a fight. Or you could just get going, y’know.’ Something about the stranger’s cool confidence was unsettling Seth Luckhurst despite the odds being stacked very much in his favour. ‘It’s her I’m after. I need to … talk to her,’ he finished on a lewd chuckle.
Randolph gave a sigh, as one might when one’s patience is being tested to its outer limit. ‘Unfortunately you can’t,’ he replied with weary courtesy. ‘I want to talk to her and my need is greater than yours.’ He let go of Deborah’s wrist and started to shrug off his leather coat as though readying himself to take up Seth’s offer of a fight.
Deborah immediately sought and gripped hard at one of his hands, unsure whether she did so to seek his security or to stop him brawling. He had little chance of success against three adversaries. She was as worried as much for Randolph’s safety as she was for her own. A finger traced a soft, secretive caress on her palm—a wordless instruction that she remain quiet and trust him. Randolph turned to his horse to deposit the garment over the saddle and pivoted back with a pistol in each hand.
An immediate gasp parted Deborah’s lips. She’d not even seen him remove the weapons from their repository, so coolly and smoothly had he handled them.
‘Be sensible and be on your way.’ Randolph’s suggestion held an amount of tedium.
Seth rubbed a nervous hand over his bristly jaw. ‘There’s three of us and you’ve only got two shots.’
‘And both of them are levelled on you,’ Randolph told him with a smile. He could tell that Seth was the ringleader and the others deferred to his authority. He seemed a common enough bully and Randolph suspected Luck-hurst would crumble when his own life was in serious peril.
‘Shoot me and they’ll get you,’ Seth blustered, but he’d backed away a pace.
‘Sensible move,’ Randolph drawled his praise.
Seth stopped on seeing his cronies peering at him askance. Turning tail so quickly would do nothing for the reputation of the Luckhursts. He and his brother, Zack, were feared as the area’s most brazen villains. If Zack found out what had gone on, he’d beat the living daylights out of him. Seth adjusted his hat and, beneath its lowered brim, ruminated whether his accomplices would blab that he’d retreated from a stranger who spoke and dressed like a town fop.
Sensing he was wavering, Randolph helped the fellow make a decision. A shot rang out, making Deborah start and suppress a scream and Seth bellow in rage as his hat flew backwards off his head. It landed, tattered and smoking, on a grassy mound.
‘Missed.’ Randolph tutted and gave a sardonic smile. ‘I’ll need to practise.’
‘You’ll pay for this,’ Seth snarled. His usually rubicund cheeks had turned ashen in alarm. He knew very well that the fellow could have put a bullet between his eyes had he chosen to. He was obviously a proficient marksman and therefore a fellow to be wary of. From town he might be, but he was certainly no novice gunman. Seth turned and, furiously swiping the ragged hat from the ground, stomped back towards the shrubbery. His cronies fell into step behind him, looking uneasy. Before he disappeared into the thicket Seth turned and glowered at Randolph. ‘Stupid thing you just done. I’m going to come looking for you and when I find you …’
‘I’ll make it simple for you. I’m staying at the Woolpack in Rye. Ask for Randolph Chadwicke from Suffolk.’
Immediately on hearing that three tousled heads almost collided as the men immediately conferred. Seth straightened, arrowed another suspicious stare at Randolph. A moment later they’d disappeared and soon after came the sound of hooves hitting hard ground.
Randolph paced away from Deborah, the loaded pistol still raised as though he suspected they might arc about to return on horseback in a surprise attack.
As the sound of the gang’s retreat died away Deborah’s shoulders slumped in a release of tension and a sigh shuddered out of her. A moment later the enormity of what had happened—and how much worse it could have been—hit her like a thump in the stomach. A sob burst in her chest and she crossed her arms over her middle, inclining forwards as though she felt sick.
As soon as he noticed her stifled anguish Randolph returned swiftly to her side. An arm remained raised, levelling the loaded gun in readiness whilst the other enclosed her in a comforting embrace and pointed the spent weapon skywards. A moment later he had deposited both weapons whence they came and swung into the saddle. Reaching down, he circled an arm around her narrow waist and scooped her up easily in front of him as though she were weightless.
Simultaneously Deborah smeared the wet from her eyes and sucked in a startled breath. She could never in her life remember being handled so roughly. Spontaneously she squirmed as though she might slide down the animal’s sleek flank to the turf. A brawny arm girdled her midriff, preventing her moving, then jerked her back against his solid torso.
‘Be still,’ Randolph growled against her ear. ‘Trust me, if they decide to come back mob-handed and overpower me, you won’t like what it is they have in mind for you.’
Deborah could feel her cheeks starting to prickle and burn, and not simply from the warm
