Lachley whipped his hand into his coat pocket and dragged out the lead-filled sap he’d brought along. His pulse thundered. His nostrils dilated. His whole body tingled with electric awareness. His vision narrowed, tunnelling down to show him the precise spot he would strike. They passed the whirling blades of the windmill, engulfed in the deafening roar of the passing train. Now! Lachley reined his horse around in a lightning move that brought him alongside Stephen’s sweating mount. Excitement shot through him, ragged, euphoric. He caught a glimpse of James Stephen’s trusting, unsuspecting face—
A single, savage blow was all it took.
The thud of the lead sap against his victim’s skull jarred Lachley’s whole arm, from wrist to shoulder. Pain and shock exploded across Stephen’s face. The man’s horse screamed and lunged sideways as its rider crumpled in the saddle. The nag bolted straight under the windmill, crowded in that direction by Lachley’s own horse and the deafening thunder of the passing train. Stephen pitched sideways out of the saddle, reeling toward unconsciousness. And precisely as Lachley had known it would, one of the windmill vanes caught Stephen brutally across the back of the skull. He was thrown violently to one side by the turning blade. The one-time tutor to Prince Albert Victor Christian Edward landed in a crumpled heap several feet away. Lachley sat watching for a long, shaking moment. The sensations sweeping through him, almost sexual in their intensity, left him trembling.