The Highwayman (Rakes and Rogues of the Restoration Book 3) (5 page)

“I’ve done that before. Not the crying part…but the toe. It hurts like the devil, doesn’t it?” The husky, slightly amused voice came from right above her.

She looked up, open-mouthed with astonishment. It was the highwayman, crouched on the ledge, peering down at her.

“But....What...? How...? You....”

He stood up, removed a dashing wide-brimmed feathered hat with a flourish, and gave her a deep bow. “Gentleman Jack, at your service, Lady Hamilton. But you may call me Jack.”

“You are the one who brought me here?” But she already knew the answer. Blindfolded and bound most of the way, her only connection with him had been his voice. She had refused to look at or acknowledge him when the blindfold was removed, but she would recognize that amused inflection and soothing tone anywhere. Now, seeing him for the first time, she thought he looked just as he sounded.

If things go as planned, you shall never see what a handsome fellow I am,
he had said to her in the forest,
and perched above her now, clad head to toe in black leather with his great cloak spread about him like black wings, she knew it for the truth. Half in shadow, he looked like one of Lucifer’s dark angels—dangerous and beautiful.

Self-conscious, unwittingly, she raised her hand to hide her marred face.

“I am the one who delivered you to your cousin. Yes.”

Her heart was thumping wildly in her chest. She had heard of him of course. His exploits along the North Road were spoken of often in London. Some even claimed he was really Swift Nick, the legendary highwayman who had earned his sobriquet from King Charles himself. She’d had no idea such an infamous rogue was the man in whose lap she’d been seated, who’d held her in his arms half the night. She’d had no idea he was so tall and handsome! She could feel the color stain her cheeks even through the swelling, and she reminded herself sternly that he was nothing more than a well-dressed brigand.

“I thought you had left. What are you doing here?” Though her voice was curt, she couldn’t stem a rising tide of hope.

“The job is done as promised. I’ve been paid.” He hefted a purse, tossing it and catching it so it jingled, before stuffing it under his shirt. “But there’s not an inn or tavern for miles. As I’ve nothing else to do, I thought it might prove amusing to deliver you home. A bit of a challenge, eh? Are you game?”

“I….You mean to rescue me?”

“Unless you’d rather I didn’t.”

“No! No! I mean yes, please!” She scrambled to her feet, ignoring screaming muscles, throbbing bruises, and the burning pain that seared her back.

~

Jack looked into hope-filled eyes and grinned, feeling right with himself for the first time that night. Then he leaned over and extended his arm. “Grab hold then, Miss Hamilton. We are going for a ride.”

~

She supposed it would be proper to tell him to address her as Lady Saye, but as a free-thinker herself, she wasn’t enamored with propriety or titles, and to correct him seemed unbearably rude. Wincing, she reached for his hand.

He hefted her halfway up the wall, and then grasped her wrists with both hands as she used her feet to help her scramble the rest of the way. When she was almost to the top, he slung an arm around her waist and rolled sideways, pulling her the last few inches. They collapsed in a heap.

“I…had not…thought you so dainty,” he said, catching his breath.

Arabella could feel his heartbeat, steady beneath her palm. Shoving against his chest she loosed herself, and began busily adjusted her skirts and bodice. She could have sworn her fingertips had slid beneath his collar to touch warm skin and they burned as hot as her face. She had never in her life experienced so much physical contact with a man. He had carried her, held her, lifted her, and now hauled her on top of him. Doubtless, there were many flighty foolish women who would swoon at the thought.

He rose easily to his feet, eyes alight with mischief, and extended his hand. “Are you all right, Miss Hamilton? You seem a little shaken.”

“It has been a trying day.” She allowed him to help her to her feet, but as soon as he let go of her she tripped on her skirt and almost toppled over. He caught her with a hand to the back of her dress and she bit off a muffled scream.

“Damnation! My apologies. I wasn’t thinking. How badly are you injured? Here. Let me see.”

“You most certainly will not!” She slapped his hand away. “I assure you, I am fine. A little tired and hungry. A few aches and pains. Nothing fresh air, supper, and a good night’s sleep won’t cure. Besides, what could you do for it here?”

“I can see if you’re fit enough to make the climb.”

“And if you judge I am not, will you leave me here?” There was a slight tremor in her voice.

“No, sweetheart. I always keep my word, and I give it to you now. I will see you safely home.”

She didn’t know why the words of a notorious bandit should warm her so, but they did. After days of facing terror, unaided and alone, she finally felt protected and safe.

“Now let me have a look at you so I can tell what I’m dealing with. I need to know if you’ve any broken bones or a bump on the head.” He brushed her tangled hair back off her face with careful fingers, mindful of her bruises, then lifted her chin and turned her head from side to side.

His touch sent shivers along Arabella’s spine and she couldn’t tear her gaze from his beautifully sculpted mouth, just inches from her own. No man had ever kissed her. Would he? What would she do if he did? But even as she thought it, he drew back with a frown. Mortified, she made an awkward attempt at humor. “I’ve never been accounted a great beauty. I must look ghastly now. I hope I don’t frighten you.”

She touched her face self-consciously, annoyed and uncertain as to why she cared what a common criminal might think. She wasn’t one to swoon over highwaymen, even if others did, but here she was, worried about her plain rumpled dress, her swollen features, and her tangled and matted hair. Robert’s blow must have addled her brain.

“Don’t be foolish,” he chided. He took her hand and drew it to the bridge of his nose. “Do you feel that?”

It was barely noticeable, more easily felt than seen, but there was a bump where his nose must have been broken before. She looked closer, searching his face, noticing the marks and scars that mapped a rough and adventurous life. She nodded.

“I was just remembering how it feels when someone strikes you. I’m sorry you were hurt.” He brushed her cheek lightly with his thumb. “Once I saw the way things were, I had no intention of abandoning you.”

“Thank you…Jack. And I suppose, under the circumstances, you might call me Arabella.”

He grinned, and suddenly changed his tone. “Bruises disappear and scars fade, Arabella. I promise, you’ll soon look good as new.”

“That is easy for you to say. You are a man. A well-placed scar here and there only makes you look dashing.”

“Think you so?” His eyes gleamed with something she didn’t quite understand, but it made her heart beat faster.

He placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her around, and then lifted a thick coil of hair up and off her back. Her breath caught as his finger brushed her neck and collarbone, easing the material of her now tattered gown down far enough to see her injuries. He cursed under his breath, but was relieved to see it was not as bad as he had feared. She had several welts, but her skin had not been broken, and with luck, there would be no scars. Still, he knew how it must sting.

“You seem fit to travel. All we have to now is hop to the ground and Bess will see us on our way.”

Arabella took a deep breath and peeked over the outer ledge. They were three stories up and there was a drop of at least thirty feet to the ground. As Jack came to stand beside her, she tugged on his sleeve. “I don’t see the rope.”

“What rope? This tower is barely as tall as a good-sized tree. Did you not climb trees as a lass? Perhaps you were too busy with embroidery,” he teased.

“I did climb trees!” Stung…she told the lie with great conviction. “But trees have branches.”

“Yes. Like steps,” he said in a soothing tone. “Stone walls like this have them too. Look you there, just below us. That jagged piece of rubble. It is a foothold. There are handholds and footholds all the way to the bottom. How do you think I climbed up?”

“I had hoped with a ladder.”

“I don’t need ropes or ladders,” he scoffed. “I
am an excellent climber.”

“But I am not.” Her words were barely a whisper.

“That presents no problem, love. You will stay between me and the wall. I can hold us both, so long as you don’t panic and overbalance us. I will step down first, and when I’ve secured my hold, you will slide down into my arms. After each drop, keep your feet on my boots and your hands tight around my shoulders or waist. Close your eyes if you like, but don’t look down, and I’ll have both your feet on the ground before you know it.”

She took a tremulous breath and nodded. Jack eased down the wall about two feet, his feet braced wide and his hands still clutching the ledge.

“Now you,” he said, looking up. “Slide your bottom to the edge, hold my shoulders, and ease down until your feet touch mine. Don’t be frightened. I won’t let you fall.”

She did as he said. Clutching his shoulders, she eased off the edge, sliding to rest lodged intimately against his chest and thighs. Her dress hitched up on the way down, and her bare thighs pressed tight against leather breeches. Her heart was hammering—not only from fear. Blushing profusely, she was glad of the dark as he held her tight against the wall. They continued that way, slow and steady, her hands on his shoulders as he moved down a foot, then the intimate slide as she joined him. If his nearness and her embarrassment made her want to jump, she fought the impulse, mindful of his warning not to overbalance them.

They stopped to rest on the second-story ledge. “Well done, Arabella! The worst is behind us. If we fall from here we might survive.”

“If we fall—” She caught his teasing grin and subsided.

More confident during the second part of their descent, she decided to ask him a question. “Why does a highwayman need to know how to climb? One would think it a skill not used every day.”

Breathing heavily, he did his best to answer. “Well…it helps of course…if one needs to escape…from jail.” He stopped for a moment. Then shifted a foot and grunted. “It’s a hazard most of us encounter from time to time. It…is also useful for getaways…and ah…can come in handy on many other occasions.…Assignations and such, for instance....Careful here....Good girl....” He lifted her by the waist and set her on the bottom ledge, beside him. “You’d be surprised how many ladies leave calling cards with their jewels.”

She didn’t think she would be. “I should expect you would receive many such cards.”

“My fair share, I suppose. It’s rather a game with some ladies. Though most are content with a kiss with which to shock and impress their friends. ” He sounded vaguely uncomfortable.

“And do you go on a great many assignations, Jack?”

“Not near as many as you might expect, Miss Hamilton. I am not particularly drawn to spoiled and simpering aristocratic misses, or their bored and hungry married sisters. I find they tend to grate on the nerves after a very short while.”

As foolish as it seemed to be interested in the amorous doings of a notorious felon, his answer pleased her. She was fairly certain he wasn’t referring to her. “But you are said to be very gallant toward the ladies.”

“Well…one endeavors to be polite. It seems the least one can do while relieving people of their valuables.”

This is the strangest and most unexpected conversation I have had in all my life. I am discussing prison escape, assignations, and robbery with a highwayman!
The stars were brilliant overhead and the sky seemed to pulse in time with her breath. It was impossible to believe, but amidst all the dangers and uncertainties surrounding her, Arabella had never felt more alive, more daring or bold, and at this moment, there was no place on earth she would rather be.

A cool breeze rose from the nearby river, chilling her as it lifted her hair. He removed his greatcoat and settled it around her shoulders, and she imagined he enfolded her under protective wings. He chuckled at the face she made as he rolled up the sleeves. “A sword and a pistol and you’ll be ready for the highway, Miss Hamilton.”

“I should need a suitable name, though. The highwayman Miss Hamilton…”

“Would strike fear in the hearts of slothful servants and insolent cooks. Yes. You’d need something that intrigues and excites, and hints at danger.” Jack thought for a moment. “I have it!
Belle de nuit.
And very suited to you too. It’s a plant that grows in the Spanish Americas. A mysterious flower that blooms only at night.”

Flustered, she offered him a shy smile, looking at him from under her lashes, her heightened color hidden by a pale wash of moonlight. His hair had come loose from its queue and he flicked it from his eyes. She liked the way it hung about his collar. She liked the way he looked after their strenuous climb, slightly rumpled, good-natured and relaxed, and she found herself relaxing too.

He grinned back at her, pleased with himself for making her smile. “You’ll have need of a suitable mount, of course. If it pleases you, tonight you may share mine.”

“Thank you.”

“You are most welcome.” He nudged her shoulder, a fellow conspirator, and spoke close to her ear. “So…my lady Hamilton, will you ride with a highwayman across the moors, racing the moon with naught but the stars to mark the way? Will you mount a devil steed, the fastest horse in England? Will you come adventuring with me?”

Her heart missed a beat. For a moment, she thought he meant to kiss her. “Yes, Jack. I will.”

Jack lowered Arabella to the ground and then dropped down to join her. Hugging the shadows, they melded into the dark, moving through the trees to where Bess stood waiting. He lifted her onto the black mare’s sturdy back, and then vaulted up behind her. The horse leapt forward into a gallop and a moment later, they disappeared into an oak forest and were swallowed by the night.