Collins used the butt of his crop to raise Alice’s chin. “This one could have sworn out information against me, but she didn’t. Probably hoping I’d be grateful, weren’t you?”

“You are vile, and I should have laid information.”

“You still could, but you won’t, because there won’t be enough left of you to speak coherently when I’m through with you. We’ll let the lad watch, so he’ll learn early the true purpose of a female.”

“Not so fast, my lord.” Ethan stepped out of the surrounding woods. “She might not be willing to swear charges against you, but I certainly am, now that you’ve been foolish enough to return to English soil.”

“Well, if it isn’t Bellefonte’s by-blow, all grown up and calling me foolish.” Collins sneered, dropping his crop. “I’m armed, I have the child, and I’ve reinforcements available. You’re one man—half a man, if memory serves—and I’ve your son quite literally in my crosshairs.”

Collins raised a pistol and cocked the hammer, the barrel aimed directly at Jeremiah. Alice succeeded in shifting Waltzer so her body was between the gun and the child, but Collins only grinned.

“Oh, well done.” He leered at her over the gun, and Alice felt her gorge rise. She did not, however, feel her breathing hitch—not in the slightest. “You won’t do the boy any more good than you did your sister, your ladyship. At this range, the bullet will pass through you and make quite a mess of him as well.”

“Shoot them both,” Ethan said, sauntering forward. “She’s a governess, and he’s a brat. Why on earth would you trouble yourself to make off with a little pismire pony like him anyway? It’s my horseflesh I object to parting with.”

It was an odd way to refer to one’s firstborn son, but Jeremiah was small, if not quite ant-like. He was also paying attention; behind Alice’s back, she felt him tense, as if readying for something.

“His pismire pony of a brother is just as bad.” Ethan’s tone was bored, while Alice felt the child’s arms tighten around her waist and wondered what had just passed between father and son. If somebody yelled that particular phrase, there was a good chance…

Ethan arched an arrogant eyebrow. “So what do you want, Collins? You expect me to pay money for this folly? And you, Thatcher. Perhaps you’re another one of Collins’s reluctant conquests. Welcome to the club, I understand there are more like us. Phillip Edmonton, Beauvais Morton, Henry Fentress, and many others.”

“Buggery?” Thatcher’s brows drew down in horror. Alice gathered that in Thatcher’s personal hierarchy of felons, the baron’s predilections placed him well below a mere kidnapper of children, horse thief, or raper of women.

And there Ethan stood, facing the one who’d done him such violence.

Behind her, Jeremiah tightened his arms more, as if he were tensing—

When Collins swung to face Thatcher, Ethan threw up both arms and charged Argus, bellowing at the top of his lungs. Jeremiah added to the commotion by similarly hollering at the top of his lungs then wrenching himself over Waltzer’s side, dragging Alice off the horse with him. Bishop, apparently at his wits’ end with the morning’s doings, reared until his burden fell from his back. As Argus shied violently, the baron toppled from the saddle then rose to his feet, aiming his pistol directly at Ethan.

“Get back, Grey, or I’ll shoot!”

Ethan charged him, grabbing the gun barrel and forcing it aside. Ethan was larger than Collins and likely in better condition, but Alice suspected meanness also gave a man strength. They grappled over the gun while Jeremiah struggled to undo Alice’s bonds.

As the binding on Alice’s wrists gave way, Ethan’s knee came up into Collins’s groin with savage force. Collins dropped like a stone into the dirt while Ethan held the gun on him.

“Heathgate,” Ethan called. “Show yourself.”

The marquis emerged from the trees, leading both his chestnut and a gray mare Alice did not recognize. He tied up the mares and headed for Collins’s prone form as Jeremiah pelted across the clearing into his father’s body.

“We did it!” Jeremiah crowed. “We sent the bloody blighters packing! Wait ’til I tell Joshua. Papa, you were wonderful, and I got it, didn’t I? I’m a pismire pony!”

“You are brilliant.” Ethan picked his son up and hugged the child tightly. “You saved the day, and likely Miss Alice as well.”

Both of them turned radiant smiles on Alice where she sat with no dignity whatsoever on the hard ground.

“Alice?” Ethan knelt beside her, Jeremiah standing at her shoulder. “Sweetheart, is something amiss?”

Now he called her sweetheart, before the child and with the marquis hovering nearby. Alice closed her eyes and swallowed. “Something’s wrong with my back or my shoulder.”

Or both and everything in between. She did not want to cry before Jeremiah, did not want to diminish the heroics of the moment, but she could hardly draw breath for the pain.

“Hurts?” Ethan asked quietly.

“Hurts badly.” Alice tried to nod but abandoned the movement. Even swallowing somehow hurt her shoulder, and now—how marvelous!—the marquis was glowering down at her too.

“It’s probably dislocated,” Ethan hazarded. “We’ll fetch Fairly, and he can have a look at you. Can you sit up?” She did, but only with Ethan’s assistance, and she felt a cold sweat on her forehead before they were finished.

“Is Miss Alice going to die?” Jeremiah asked quietly.

“I am not.” Alice winced as Ethan set her on her feet. “Though you are growing rather substantial, Jeremiah, and I don’t think my shoulder was quite up to breaking your fall and mine.”

“Sorry.” Jeremiah looked distressed. “That man was going to shoot you to shoot me.”

“He was,” Ethan said, expression grave, “and Miss Alice was willing to protect you at the cost of her own life. You did the right thing, Jeremiah, and we’ll soon put Miss Alice to rights. Fetch the mare for me, lad.”

Before Jeremiah had taken a step, Alice saw that Collins had managed to drag himself to his feet.

“Ethan, he’s getting away!”

Heathgate moved first, while Ethan put himself between Alice and Collins. The marquis was lethally quick for such a big man, but Collins was desperate. He caught up Argus’s reins and grunted his way into the saddle. With a vicious jab of his spurs into the gelding’s sides, Collins took off at a gallop for the woods.

“Horse thievery,” Heathgate spat over the sound of retreating hooves. “As the local magistrate, I am happy to report this is a hanging felony.”

“Papa,” Jeremiah said worriedly, “Argus is bolting.”

Jeremiah had the right of it. While Alice watched, Argus flattened from a gallop into a dead run. The horse’s ears were plastered to his head, and Collins was sawing frantically at the reins.

Ethan shifted so Jeremiah’s face was hidden against his father’s side, but over Ethan’s shoulder, Alice saw Argus thunder beneath a low-hanging branch, the rider flopping to the ground like a rag doll.

Justice, Alice thought without a shred of remorse. She’d been dragged and lamed by a horse, thanks to Collins, her sister had been emotionally lamed, and apparently others—Ethan included—had suffered at the man’s vile hands as well. The pain of that knowledge rivaled the throbbing in her shoulder.

“I’ll see to him,” Heathgate said, striding off in the direction of the fallen baron.

How long Alice stood there in Ethan’s embrace, her hand on Jeremiah’s shoulder, she did not know. The morning was crisp and sunny, the birds were singing, and nothing but the hurt felt real.

“Neck broken,” Heathgate reported when he returned. “He didn’t suffer, which is a great injustice, though the Crown might get its hands on his private holdings. I suppose that’s something.”

Because Alice was leaning directly against Ethan, she watched his expression shift from consternation to, not resignation, exactly, but acceptance.