The Irresistible Miss Peppiwell by Stacy Reid

Author:Stacy Reid
Language: eng, eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Tags: historical romance;victorian;victorian romance;entangled publishing;scandalous;stacy reid
Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC
Published: 2014-09-02T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

“Grab her!” Orwell’s cry of wounded rage spurred her faster.

Phillipa clutched the pistol to her breast, holding her torn bodice closed against the chill, and raced across the flatlands. She could see a manor house in the distance, but her breath labored in the daunting cold. She was grateful for the moon that peeked from the clouds providing her with light. She gripped her skirt, hating how the petticoats hampered her movements. She raised it high above her knees and sprinted as fast as she could. Fat drops of rain slapped her cheeks as she ran and ran. She refused to look back. The thundering in her ears grew louder, and she belatedly realized it was hoofbeats.

Oh, Lord. Her breath caught and tears splashed her cheeks. He was riding her down.

“Phillipa! Stop!” His hated voice was muffled by the wind and the ringing in her ears.

“Leave me alone!” she cried, her tears flowing with the rain.

She could not run any faster, so she turned into the woods. With brambles ripping at her hair and her lungs burning, she stumbled to a stop and spun, jerkily raising the pistol.

Her heart thundered, and she blinked, dazed, at the massive black stallion that loomed over her.

Sweet relief crashed through her as she stared into the grim face of the man she most wanted to see in the world. Her heart soared.

“Anthony!”

“Oh, thank God!” He jumped from his horse and swept her into a tight embrace. “Is he dead?”

“No!” she gasped, her body racked by a rash of shivers.

“I heard a pistol shot.”

Her teeth chattered. “I fired into the cushions, to create a distraction while I fled.”

The cold rain came down in torrents. She raised her violently trembling hands to Anthony’s cheeks. “Is it really you?”

“You’re freezing.” He shrugged out of his greatcoat. “Here,” he muttered, bundling her into the voluminous cloak. It was warm and smelled like Anthony, and she sank into its comfort. He’d come for her. She was safe.

Pounding footsteps came through the trees, and she gripped the pistol tight. She really would shoot Orwell this time, before she let him hurt Anthony.

But it was the coachman. He broke through the thick brambles of the forest and screeched to a startled halt when he saw Anthony. “I— I—”

His stammer was cut short in a wheeze when Anthony delivered a short, brutal jab to his throat. He fell with a crash into the thicket, choking, then stumbled off, running in the direction of the last village they’d passed.

“Stay here,” Anthony ordered her.

Not a chance. The dark pressed in on Phillipa, and she scrambled to keep up with Anthony as he strode back to the carriage. His fine white shirt was plastered to his broad shoulders and rain ran in rivulets down his golden hair. He looked like an avenging angel.

Orwell drew up sharply when he saw them, quickly masking his astonishment.

“Lord Anthony,” he said with a sneer, stepping down from the carriage into the rain.

Her mouth went dry at the dangerous glitter in Orwell’s expression.

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