The Marquess Who Loved Me by Sara Ramsey Page B

want what I think, or what you want to hear?”
    Ellie dropped her fist into her lap. “What you think.”
    “I think you want me to say you should leave.”
    “That’s not what I asked for.”
    Lucia shrugged. “Then if I say I think you should stay — do you want to hear that?”
    “Staying is an awful idea.”
    “My point precisely, my lady.”
    “You know what happened between us,” Ellie said. She’d shared the details one night, when she’d had far too much claret and was in a maudlin mood as she prepared for bed. Lucia had been good enough not to reference it again, but her mind was a steel trap — she wouldn’t have forgotten. “Why wouldn’t I run at the first sight of him?”
    “For the same reason you’ve lived in his house all these years, I suspect. And the same reason you haven’t married again.”
    “I’m not in love with him, if that’s what you mean.”
    Lucia opened an eye.
    “I’m not,” Ellie insisted.
    Lucia opened her other eye. In the dim interior of the coach, she suddenly looked deadly serious. “Believe what you will, my lady. But for all the advice you’ve given me, let me return the favor. You either stayed because you love him, or stayed because you want revenge. I don’t know which desire drives you — but either way, the only way to seize it is to stay with Folkestone and see where he leads you.”
    Love.
    Revenge.
    Ellie wanted both. But Lucia had missed a crucial piece.
    Ellie wanted forgiveness — both from Nick and from herself. And she wanted to believe that, if she ever had the chance to love again, she would be strong enough to hold on to it — and strong enough not to lose herself just for the taste of it.
    A crack sounded outside the carriage. Someone shouted. Ellie felt the carriage jerk as the horses tried to bolt, and another jolt as the driver reined them in.
    Ellie opened a window covering. Lucia moved to do the same on the other side. The sun, shrouded in clouds, had nearly set — but even in the dimness, Ellie saw the shapes of two masked men on horseback.
    And two guns, both aimed at the carriage.
    She pulled the curtain closed. The carriage had lost speed. Their driver couldn’t evade mounted highwaymen. She could only hope that the robbery would be bloodless. No one had been killed by a highwayman in their neighborhood in ages. It was best to give them something, then send them packing. She had taken descriptions of her jewels to London rather than her entire collection — there was little else for the highwaymen to take.
    But it was odd of them to choose daylight, when they could be more easily recognized and their victims were unlikely to be wearing expensive evening finery.
    “Do you have your pistol?” she asked Lucia.
    The maid held up her reticule.
    “Put it between the cushions — they’ll take the bag. We will give them what they want, but if they threaten violence, defend yourself.”
    “Of course.” Lucia slid the pistol out and secreted it under the upholstered cushion. Ellie surveyed the rest of the carriage, but unless she wanted to try hitting the men with a lamp, there were no other weapons.  
    The carriage stopped. Her breath came fast and shallow. She braced herself against the seat — they wouldn’t see her tremble.
    A second shot fired, closer this time. Lucia’s lips compressed in a grim line. Ellie looked up, not sure whether to open the ceiling panel — not sure whether her nerves would hold if the driver was dead above them.
    But she couldn’t sit idle — not when she might be able to pay the thieves to leave before anyone was harmed. She reached for the door handle and unlatched it.
    “Stay here,” she ordered Lucia.
    Just as she opened the door, someone yanked it from the outside. She stumbled, hitting her head on the doorframe. The sharp explosion of pain made her eyes water.
    One man had dismounted. He looked up at her with a leer as he gestured with his pistol. “Now ain’t you a prize,” he said,