“Must’ve gotten on the train at Shrewsbury.” Catullus grabbed his baggage as well as Gemma’s battered little carpetbag. “Have to get off now.”
No one argued. With movements so swift as to be almost instantaneous, all the bags were collected and the compartment vacated.
“That way.” Catullus indicated they move toward the front of the train.
As everyone hurried away, Gemma dared to venture, “The train’s moving, you know.”
“Counting on it.” Catullus kept throwing glances over his shoulder, to see if they were being followed. And, damn it, they were. The Heirs had recovered their footing, though one of them already sported a swelling jaw, and cut through the narrow, rocking passages of the first-class compartments.
Gemma didn’t know how long English trains were, and was afraid to find out. Once she and the Blades reached the engine, she had no idea what they planned on doing. Maybe throw the Heirs into the furnace?
She collided with Lesperance’s solid back as he stopped short. Gemma braced her hands against him to right herself.
“Accident,” she muttered when Astrid glared at her.
“What’s the matter, Astrid?” Catullus asked behind Gemma. “Why’d you stop?”
Astrid rattled the solid door in front of her. It didn’t even have a window. “Locked.”
They all glanced back to reverse their course, but just then the Heirs appeared at the other end of the carriage. No way back, couldn’t go forward. Trapped.
“Get to the side,” Catullus growled. “I’ll kick it open.”
But Gemma’s restraining hand held him back. “Not necessary.” She quickly edged forward until she stood in front of the locked door.
And opened it.
Both Catullus and Lesperance chuckled in appreciation, and then they all hastily entered the carriage ahead. Catullus slammed the door shut behind them right before the Heirs caught up.
The two Heirs pounded on the locked door, shouting threats so crude, even Gemma blanched. And then one of the Heirs began to throw himself against the door. It rattled hard, threatening to open.
Gemma looked around. She and the Blades were in what appeared to be a mail coach, with heavy canvas bags filled with letters lined up on the floor and on racks. No windows, no external doors. Two hinged hatches were set into the ceiling, allowing thin slivers of sunlight to filter into the tightly crammed coach.
“And now?” she asked Catullus.
“Now,” he answered, looking up, “we make our departure.”
“Sod this,” snarled Draycott. He drew his pistol and shot the lock off the door.
“Careful!” Forton threw up his arms to shield himself from flying wood and metal.
But Draycott didn’t spare Forton a glance as he threw open the door. He stepped into the coach with his pistol ready.
He and Forton found themselves in a mail coach crowded with sacks of letters and wrapped parcels. And no Blades.
“Where are they?” Forton bleated.
“How the bloody hell should I know?” Draycott scowled at the empty coach. When he reported back, Edgeworth would be furious. Two of the most important Blades had been in their grasp, and slipped away. Again.
And where the devil had they gone to? They had disappeared, and Draycott almost believed that the Blades had broken their own fool directive to never use magic. With an oath, Draycott shoved his way past Forton out of the coach, never seeing the unlocked hatch above him.
“Tuck in your arms and legs,” Catullus shouted to her. “And let yourself roll.”
Gemma, balanced on the junction between the mail coach and the next carriage, eyed the speeding ground with a combination of terror and excitement. The bags had already been thrown off, and both Astrid and Lesperance had leapt off soon after. If they’d survived, she had no way of knowing.
Her choice was either to go back into the mail coach and risk the Heirs, or throw herself off of a racing train.
At her hesitation, Catullus took her hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze. “I’ll be right beside you,” he shouted. “Trust me.” And he actually winked at her before tucking his spectacles into an inside coat pocket.
She actually did trust him, and having him beside her did give her confidence. So, with a nod and a smile, she crouched, readying herself.
Her movements made him smile, admiring. Then he, too, prepared himself to leap.
“On my count,” he yelled. “One … two … three … jump!”
Gemma threw herself into the air.
Chapter 4 Unfamiliar Territory
The only thought careening through Catullus’s head as he flew through the air was, God, please let her be safe. Jumping off speeding trains wasn’t something he did daily, but he had enough experience with it to feel confident about landing without being hurt. Gemma, however, was new to his world. She could be hurt. Or worse.
He hit the ground, pulling his arms in close to take the impact. Rolling, he tumbled down a low hill. He smothered a curse as he bounced over a rock, but then, mercifully, the hill ended and he came to rest in a ditch. He heard the distant sound of the train speeding away, but no Heirs in pursuit.
The Blades and Gemma had gotten away. For now, they were safe. Or maybe not.
His eyes opened to find himself staring up at a curious sheep. It stared at him with black, ovine eyes before trotting off with a bleat. Catullus took a mere moment to be sure that all his limbs were still functioning before sitting up. He looked around quickly; then his heart pitched.
Gemma lay on the ground, a few feet away. And she wasn’t moving.
He scrambled over to her, a litany of swearing tumbling from his lips. She lay on her back, one arm flung overhead, the other resting on her stomach. Tiny cuts and scrapes dotted her face and hands, and her hair had come down into a mass of copper waves.
He knew better than to try to move her right away, but he had to restrain himself from gathering her up in his arms.
“Gemma?”
No answer.
He said her name again, then bent low to her mouth, where, saints be praised, he felt the stirring of her breath. Gently taking up her wrist, he felt for her pulse, and it came steadily against his fingertips.
Catullus brushed strands of her satiny hair from her face.
“Gemma?”
Then, she moaned softly, and her eyes flittered open. He thought he might shout with joy to have those sapphire eyes on him again.
“Catullus,” she whispered. “The Heirs?”
“Gone, for the moment.”
She blinked, coming back into herself, then tried to push herself upright.
“Careful. Don’t move. Are you hurt anywhere?”
She shook her head slightly, but the motion made her gaze unfocused. “Dizzy.”
“Rolling down a hill tends to do that to a person.” He felt anything but droll, however. “I’m checking you for injuries. Let me know if anything pains you.”
His hands moved over her, impersonal—or he tried to be. He tested her arms, her hands, and gained his first true understanding of her slim, strong body. When he progressed to her feet and legs,