The Highwayman (Rakes and Rogues of the Restoration Book 3) (7 page)

“Of course. I am not one to break a confidence, I assure you. But wouldn’t the better course be simply to avoid those activities which might—”

He grinned and tugged gently on a lock of her hair. “The answer is ‘no,’ and as there’s no adequate way to explain it to you, I shan’t even try. Look now. Here comes Nate. He was once a high-pad himself, and though he’s married and gone respectable, he’s still a rum colt. We can rely on him.”

“A colt?”

“An innkeeper who is a helper of sorts, with lending mounts and other things.” His grin flashed white in the night.

“He is a criminal too?”

“Of course not! Not anymore. He is a good friend. He merely caters to a diverse clientele.”

A portly man in a rich, gold-brocaded vest and a fine velvet coat hurried over to greet them, a beaming smile on his face.

“Jack, you bog-trotting son of the devil! ’Tis grand to see you, indeed! You’ve been far too scarce in London as of late. Mary will be all aflutter and we shall dine exceptionally well tonight because of it.” He turned to look at Arabella with undisguised curiosity, taking note of her bruises and her swollen lip, her disordered but finely cut clothing, and what was clearly a gentleman’s coat wrapped about her shoulders. “Is the lass another of your projects, then? I’m sure Mary has room for one more. And how is young Allen by the way?”

“Allen has grown since last you saw him, Nate. And so have you! He eats as much as a regiment of foot. Be glad I foisted him on someone else.”

Nate patted his belly proudly. “’Tis the sign of a successful businessman, old friend. Drinking and dining on the sweet fruit of his own labors.”

“Then you have been successful indeed,” Jack said with a grin. “My companion is Miss Hamilton. We have journeyed a long way together, but I’m afraid I’ve accompanied the lady as far as I might. I would have you see her safely home in my stead. Personally, and with the utmost care and circumspection. She will need trustworthy guards. Civil and presentable enough to act as footmen. Two for her home, and at least one more to accompany her about her business. A dependable man with military training, not a street thug. Will Butcher perhaps, as a favor to me. If you can arrange this for her, you’ll have my gratitude.”

The innkeeper grinned, looking from Jack to Arabella and back again. “My wife and I owe you our happiness, Jack. We’d be delighted to help you and your lady in any way we can. Mary is always saying how happy she’d be to see you take an interest in a nice—”

Arabella broke in, suddenly mindful of the proprieties. “I thank you very much for your kindness, Mr. Tully. Truly, I cannot tell you how grateful I am. But I must correct you. I am not Jack…that is Mr. Nick’s lady, but very much my own.”

Mr. Tully winked at Jack. “I see you’ve still got some convincing to do, lad. It’s always the way with the spirited ones, but of course, that’s half the fun. Why even today my Mary—”

“I don’t mean to interrupt, Nate. But I’ve still urgent business and hard riding ahead. You will see her home? You understand why it’s best she not be seen with me?”

“I can and I will and I do, lad. Though next time I’ll be expecting a proper visit.”

Jack nodded. “You have my word on it. As for the girl, if it happens that she has been ill, or visiting a friend…?”

“The wife and I can vouch for it. Naturally, we know most of the comings and goings in London of folk both big and small. Our version of the latest gossip passes as gospel in these parts.”

Jack clapped him on the shoulder. “Thank you, my friend. I knew I could count on you. Give my regards to Mary and tell her next time I’ll be expecting some of her plum pudding and honeyed beef.”

“Aye, I’ll do that. I’ll leave you to say your goodbyes now. Give a whistle when you want me to fetch her, Jack. And welcome to The Angel, Miss Hamilton.”

~

I can find my own way home from here, Jack. I don’t need to be fetched and escorted about,” Arabella said as he took her by the arm and pulled her into a stairwell in the courtyard. She didn’t know why she should feel so out of sorts when home and safety were at last so close at hand, but there was a queer panic in her heart, and she was unaccountably close to tears at the thought of saying goodbye.

“Yes, you do, Arabella. It is safe inside the inn, but you mustn’t travel alone or even walk alone outside it. Trust no one but Nate and Mary. This is a dangerous area. A harbor for thieves and highwaymen, most of whom don’t share my scruples about using violence.” He straightened her collar with his free hand. “They gather here to prey on travelers. The wiser customers meet at the bottom of St. John Street and make their way to the inn in groups under armed guard. Pray put my mind at ease. Stay here for tonight and in the light of day, Nate will find you men you can trust, and see you safely home.”

“Yes of course. You make them sound like fishermen lining the banks when the salmon are ready to run—all of them hoping to snatch a fine fish. You needn’t worry. I shall do as you recommend. It’s rather odd though. Most of my life I’ve felt safe and protected in my father’s halls, but I was often bored and lonely. I’ve never felt as frightened as I have in these past few days, but nor have I ever felt so gloriously alive. No sky has ever been so beautiful. No evening air has smelled as sweet. No ride has been so thrilling.” She looked at him with luminous eyes.

He smiled, and brushed his knuckles gently across her swollen cheek. “Those are dangerous thoughts, Bella.”

“Is danger always so exciting?”

“Yes…to some.” He wrapped his finger around a glistening tendril of her hair and drew it out its full length. “Will you allow me a keepsake of my adventure with the daring
Belle de nuit
?”

Breathless, she gulped and nodded. A wicked looking dagger appeared, and with a soft snick he cut one long lock, and put it in his pocket. It was a romantic gesture, but it filled her heart with sorrow. Soon he would be lost to the night, and something wonderful would come to a close. She didn’t want him to remember her. You remembered what was gone. She wanted this night to never end. She wanted him to stay.

“I suppose I should give you back your coat.” It was all she could think to say.

“That’s not necessary, Bella. Keep it. Let it keep you warm.”

But she was already struggling out of it. The coat was far too big for her and her arm caught in her sleeve as she tried to shrug it off.

“Here. Let me help,” he said with a low chuckle. The struggle to free her arm drew her closer, and his low laugh cut off abruptly as their eyes caught and held.

I thought his eyes dark and shadowed, but now they are amber in the torch light. At times, it almost seems like they’re aflame
. Arabella was intensely aware of his parted lips, the feel of his fingers wrapped around her upper arm, and the rise and fall of his chest, just inches from hers. She watched, mesmerized, as he lowered his head toward her, holding her breath as he nuzzled the curve of her shoulder and neck. His breath was warm against her ear, sending shivers through her body, and she turned into him. His eyes gleamed and she made no protest as he lowered his mouth to hers. His kiss was careful, gentle, mindful of her bruises, but it thrilled her to her toes.

Heedless of all the lessons she’d been taught, she stood up on her toes, wrapped her arms around his neck, and hesitant, curious…she kissed him back. He groaned and hugged her tight against him, backing her into the wall, the fingers of one hand threading through her hair as his mouth claimed hers in a heated caress. Her lips, already swollen and tender, ached with pain and pleasure. The feel of him pressed against her, his arms around her...made her forget all else. She didn’t want it to stop, she didn’t want him to leave, and she sighed when he finally pulled away.

“My apologies, Lady Hamilton,” he said with a shaky laugh.

“Please don’t do that.”

“Do what? Kiss you?”

“Please don’t apologize. That was my first kiss, Jack. Do you regret it?”

His lips curled in a slight smile and he caught her chin between thumb and forefinger. “A starry night, a lady brave and bold, a first kiss. You have been an adventure well worth the risk, Bella, and I don’t regret a thing.”

The way he said her name warmed her like a caress. “I owe you so much. How can I ever repay you?”

“Come and find me if they ever catch me, and give me a kiss to warm my soul before I hang.” He brushed her bruised lips with a kiss as soft as a whisper, and she stepped fully into his embrace.

His fingers traced her neckline with a delicate touch, leaving shivers of sensation that rippled through her body and made her nipples ache and harden as if from the cold. He caressed her collarbone, and then spread his hand wide and slipped it under the cool rope of her necklace, to lie warm against her skin. Her heart thrummed beneath his palm. He deepened his kiss as his fingers toyed with the faintly glowing moonlit strand encircling her throat. Traveling its length, his knuckles brushing the tender skin peeping from her modest décolletage to linger a moment, barely touching, just below her ear.

He felt her tremble. He felt a moment of knee-weakening lust, surprising tenderness, and unexpected regret, and then he plucked her necklace from her neck, and dropped it in his pocket.

“Jack?” She stared at him in stunned surprise, clutching her throat. “What are you doing? That was my mother’s!”

“I warned you, Bella. I am a highwayman.” He let out a piercing whistle and Bess came galloping, with Nate not far behind. “Keep her safe, Nate,” he called as he caught the swift moving mare by the mane and swung easily onto her back. Wheeling about to face Arabella, he bowed from the waist and tipped his hat with a flourish. “Adieu, Bella! Until we meet again.” The black horse reared up, taking several steps backwards, and then leapt forward. A moment later horse and rider were swallowed by the night.

Arabella stood there, staring into the dark. She could hear the bustle from the inn behind her. Someone was playing a fiddle. An argument was growing heated on an upper floor. A carriage rumbled by on the road behind her and somebody slammed a door. They were ordinary sounds on an ordinary night. She felt for her necklace, but both it and her highwayman were gone.
I have just awoken from a dream
. Her overwhelming feeling was one of loss.

Riding hard along the North Road for Newark, Jack slipped his hand into his coat pocket and hefted the modest string of pearls he’d taken from his bedraggled countess. They had a pleasing weight and a sensuous texture, slipping from his palm, sliding through his fingers to pool in a smoothly rounded cluster, waiting to be gathered and caressed again. They reminded him of his virginal adventuress. Natural, lacking in pretension, with an understated quality and substance that set her more flamboyant sisters in the shade.

He’d been feeling restless and empty of late, dissatisfied with everything, taking no pleasure from that which he used to enjoy. Bored, jaded, he’d been hoping for an adventure. Anything to break the monotony that made one day seem exactly like another. He’d had no real expectations when he set out to meet Perry. He’d certainly not expected Arabella.

A countess, no less. A pampered and coddled denizen of a society he had no use for except to line his pockets and temporarily ease his ennui. After that, nothing had gone as he’d expected. He was not a cruel man, nor a callous one, and his reputation for gallantry to the fair sex was fairly won. Memories lingered still of a broken woman who’d repeatedly placed herself between him and his father’s fists. The stranger who had helped him years ago had come just an hour too late to help her. She was already dead, lying with a broken neck, discarded on the floor amidst broken crockery and bottles.

He had helped Arabella because he could, and because of memories from long ago. But he hadn’t expected to like her quite so much.
I didn’t even see her face until we were in the hall
. And then it was battered and bloodied. It was her voice that had first captured his interest––a sultry purr that almost belied her inexperience and modest dress. It suggested a marriage of primness and passion that made a man want to unlace her clothing and unlock the heat simmering within. He’d had a too brief taste of it in her innocent yet eager response to his kisses.

She had won his admiration when she kicked the bucket and let loose a string of curses that would have made a London dockworker blush. His teasing had been to distract her and take her mind off their descent, but he’d enjoyed her reactions as she had good-naturedly, if cautiously, played along. It was a courtesy and camaraderie he had not expected from one of her background.

She’d certainly come as a surprise. None of the women he knew could blush
and
climb down a sheer stone wall without panic or complaint. She spoke her mind, was artless, genuine, and intrepid, and she felt surprisingly good in his arms. He had enjoyed their escape from her prison in ways she hadn’t the experience to imagine. His body had accustomed itself to the weight and feel of her as she rode in his lap and was missing her already. Worse than that, he had been reckless, letting down his guard and telling her things that could cost his freedom or his life should she decide to report them. He was damned if he knew what imp of the devil had prompted him to give her his real name.

He tightened his hand around the pearls. She was not for him, and he was not he for her. Taking the necklace had been an impulsive act. One meant to remind them both of who they were. She was a lady and an innocent. He hadn’t rescued her only to finish the job her mongrel cousin had asked him to do. She was lucky it was only her necklace he stole, for she was as enticing and ready to pluck as a juicy piece of ripe fruit. He wagered she’d be married within the year despite the nonsense she spouted about glorying in her spinsterhood. Besides, she lived in London, and whether it was as Swift Nick, Samuel Johnson, John Nevison or Gentleman Jack, London was no place for him to be.

Most of his peers carved out a territory of sorts. Many roamed Hounslow Heath. Crisscrossed by the Bath and Exeter roads it offered rich pickings from wealthy visitors headed to the West Country resorts, or courtiers heading to Windsor. Others stalked Hyde Park, Islington, and the streets and outskirts of London. The Newmarket Road, used by gamblers and members of the court on their way to the races had been the scene of a pitched battle between highwaymen and courtiers not long ago, and there were many other favored haunts.