"Stop it," he ordered. "Don't let your imagination control your thoughts. You have to stay calm."
"Yes, you're right," she agreed. "I have to stay calm. I'll do whatever you tell me to do. Just let me help."
She straightened back against her seat and folded her hands together in her lap again. She was trying to act composed. It was an impossible feat.
"I want you to stay right where you are with the doors locked," he told her.
She didn't argue with him. She didn't have any intention of hiding inside and leaving him all alone to deal with the Westleys. They were vile and unpredictable people. Lucas might need her assistance, and she needed to be there so she could give it.
She didn't want to lie to him, and so she kept silent. A moment later she turned to look out the window to see if they were near their destination yet, and when she saw the houses they were passing looked disrespectable and dilapidated, she knew they were close to the Westleys' house. The scent in the air had turned sour. They were close all right. Taylor gripped her hands in anticipation. And then she began to pray.
"Did your grandmother know your sister's husband died?"
"Yes," Taylor answered. "I told her as soon as the letter arrived."
"And then what did you do?"
"I wrote to Mrs. Bartlesmith after Madam had formulated her plan."
He waited for further explanation and when Taylor didn't continue, he prodded her again.
"What was the plan?"
"You."
He didn't understand. His frown said as much. She wasn't going to enlighten him. He would understand everything later, after they'd located the babies.
"When I was a little girl, Marian protected me. She was like my guardian angel. I will do whatever is necessary to protect her daughters. They're my responsibility now."
"What did Marian protect you from?"
"A snake."
"Malcolm." He remembered she'd referred to her uncle as a snake when they were leaving the bank.
"Yes," she whispered. "Malcolm." She didn't want to talk about her vile relative now. She wanted only to concentrate on the little ones.
"What's going to happen to your nieces now that both their parents are dead? Will their father's relatives take them in or were you considering taking them back to England?"
She didn't give him a direct answer. "The little girls are going to need someone who will love and cherish them and raise them to be good and kind and gentle, like their mother. They need a protector. They must be kept safe from all the snakes in the world. It's their right, Lucas." And my responsibility, she silently added.
Would she consider taking them back to England, he'd asked. Not bloody likely, she wanted to shout. She was going to go as far away from England as possible. She didn't tell Lucas her plan. Oh, she knew there were dangers lurking in the wilderness, and Lucas would tell her it wasn't a fit place for babies. God only knew she'd already considered every potential problem. Yet no matter how she looked at it, she came to the same conclusion. The twins would be better off living on the frontier than back in England under Malcolm's watchful gaze. He was the far greater threat. She felt sure that age hadn't robbed him of his appetites. Snakes, after all, remained snakes until the day they withered up and died. And Malcolm, ten years junior to Taylor's own father, was just shy of reaching fifty. He had plenty of years of debauchery left in him.
The vehicle was slowing down. Taylor glanced out the window again to see if she recognized the area. The moonlight was bright enough to read some of the signs. The houses, or rather shacks, were so close together they seemed to touch. The streets were deserted, perhaps because of the lateness in the hour, of course, but also because it had started to drizzle, and with the moisture came a blustering March wind.
The Westleys' home came into view. Light radiated through each window on both the lower and the upper floors. The Westleys were still there, for she spotted a figure through the thin window covering on the second floor. Someone was darting back and forth.
She almost wept with relief. They hadn't been able to run away yet. "They're still there," she said. "Look. There's a woman in the upstairs window. She's scurrying back and forth." Like a rat, she silently added.
"Looks like she might be packing," he replied. He eased the door open and gently pushed Taylor back against the seat. "No matter what you see or hear, stay inside. Promise me."
"Yes," she agreed. "I'll stay inside," she promised. "Unless you need me," she hastily qualified.
He started to get out. She grabbed hold of his arm. "Be careful," she whispered.
He nodded, got out of the vehicle, and then closed the door behind him. Taylor leaned out the window. "I wouldn't trust our driver if I were you," she whispered. "He's sure to take off while you're inside."
"He isn't going to leave," he promised. He leaned forward, brushed his mouth over hers, then turned and walked up to the side of the perch where the disgruntled looking driver sat.
"My wife's waiting inside until I come back."
The driver shook his head. "Best get her out then. I ain't waiting on anyone in this part of town. It ain't safe."
Lucas acted as though he hadn't heard his protest. He motioned him to lean down so he could hear what he was next going to say.
"When you wake up, you can take us back to the hotel."
The driver wasn't given time to ponder the meaning behind the remark. Lucas struck him hard across his jaw with his fist. The man slumped down in his seat.
Taylor couldn't see what was happening with their driver. She concluded Lucas had been able to convince the man to wait for them. She watched as her husband crossed the dirt road. He went up the front steps of the house, crossed the rickety porch, but when he reached the door, he didn't knock. He tried the doorknob first, then put his shoulder to the task of breaking the barrier down. He disappeared inside.
She started praying. Lucas was gone a long time. It seemed an eternity. Twice she reached for the door handle. And twice she stopped herself. She'd given her word to stay put, and unless she heard a shot fired, she knew she would keep her promise. Unless, of course, Lucas came back empty-handed. If he hadn't found out where her babies were, then she would take a turn trying to find out. Taylor pulled the gun out of her pocket and rested it in her lap. She realized her hands were shaking, but she didn't honestly know if it was fear or anger causing the tremors.
She heard a crash followed by the sound of glass breaking. She pictured a vase slamming down on top of Lucas's head. She couldn't sit still another second. She unlatched the door and jumped down to the pavement. She started forward, then stopped when Lucas appeared in the open doorway.
Taylor hadn't realized how worried she was about his safety until she saw he looked quite all right.
"Thank you, God," she whispered.
She heard the driver let out a loud groan. The man sounded ill to her. "We'll be leaving in just a moment, my good man," she called out. She didn't turn around to look up at the driver when she gave her promise. Her attention was fully directed on her husband. She was trying to discern from his expression if he had good or bad news.
He wasn't giving her any hints. He'd just reached the roadway when a figure suddenly appeared in the doorway of Westley's house. It was a man, and when he shifted his bulk into the light, Taylor could see Henry Westley quite clearly. Lucas had obviously punched the man in his nose, for blood trickled down from the injury and covered his mouth and his chin. She watched as he wiped the blood away with the back of his left hand. His right hand was behind his back. He was staring at Lucas, a look of hatred on his face, and when he raised his right hand, she spotted the gun. What happened next seemed to take place in slow motion, yet only a second or two passed before it was over. Westley brought the gun up and took aim. His target was Lucas, his intent unquestionable. He was going to shoot him in his back.