The problem was she did not feel as though Lucia was compromising her. She felt strengthened by their conversations, by Lucia’s mere presence. It was good to have something pure to protect, rather than simply a meagre living to strive for. Was such thinking misguided? No doubt Julian would say it clouded her judgement. She would heed that. She could not allow her feelings for Lucia, however intoxicating, to influence her actions, her ability to think clearly. Especially not tonight. It was too dangerous.
“Julian, William, and I must leave for a few hours,” she said, more abruptly than she intended. She saw the alarm in Lucia’s face and added, “Bill assures me you will be quite safe. I have come to trust him, you know. He is not a bad man, though arrogant.”
Lucia smiled thinly, and Len sensed she found some irony in Len faulting arrogance in another. From anyone but Lucia that smile and its implications would have provoked resentment in Len. And yet she found herself tempted to laugh at herself, to smile along with Lucia.
“If you trust him, I will trust you,” Lucia said. Len felt her whole body react to the notion of Lucia’s trust in her, and she swallowed hard. “Where is it you must go?”
Len’s heart beat harder. Her mouth felt dry. Inwardly cursing her weakness, she found she could not form the right words. Lucia had shown such trust in her. It made her feel more of a criminal than ever. “I do not choose to tell you. You will understand, of course.”
She heard the strain in her own words and knew Lucia was intelligent enough to understand their meaning. Their eyes met in acknowledgement, but all Lucia said was, “I will see you later then.”
“Yes.” Len strode away from Lucia immediately before she felt weakened further. As she mounted Oberon, her tricorn, scarf, and gloves removing any trace of the woman about her, she felt Lucia’s eyes on her through the near darkness. Cursing herself, she put the woman out of her mind and nudged the horse into a canter. Julian and William were alongside her on their mounts. Len felt the wind on her face and cleared her mind, let her instincts take over. She needed her wits about her tonight.
*
Lucia remained in the cottage while Len, Julian, and William were absent, determined not to think on what they were doing. She longed to warm herself by the fire roaring in the clearing, but the idea of placing herself there among the frame-breakers frightened her. For the first time since Len had untied her hands, she felt her own vulnerability. Len made her brave, but without her, Lucia felt lost and quite frightened. She retreated to the musty bed and sat—her knees pulled up to her chest, the woollen blanket around her hunched shoulders—in the darkness. She waited, trying to stave off the trembling of her fingers. Thankfully, Bill Wilcock did not see fit to torment her, and not one of the men approached the cottage while she was alone.
About three hours later, to her relief, Lucia heard the distant approach of hooves. She knew it to be Len, Julian, and William, since Bill posted some of his men to be lookouts at night, and they would have warned of the approach of anyone who did not have friendly intentions.
An odd anxiety knitting itself in her stomach, she stood up and folded the blanket absent-mindedly. She listened to the sounds without, as the horses were tied up and conversations took place. Excitement coloured the voices and movements she heard. Somehow, she did not want to venture outside. It was a jubilation she found impossible to share. She was still standing in the middle of the room pressing her cold fingers together when Len entered the cottage, bringing the chill air of the night with her.
“Lucia?”
“Yes, I’m here,” Lucia said dully. She heard Len lighting the lantern, moving around removing her hat and gloves. Len entered the bedroom, the light swinging around her.
Len passed Lucia a bundle of cloth. “Here,” she said. “This should keep you warmer.” Lucia unrolled the bundle to find a lady’s velvet travelling cloak. Matching gloves fell onto the floor. “And these will be better by far than those slippers,” Len added. She placed a pair of leather boots at Lucia’s feet.
Lucia looked at the items in astonishment. The velvet was expensive and soft under her fingers. She bent down to pick up the gloves and felt they were lined, to be especially warm. Her stomach lurched. “I do not want them,” she said flatly.
“Do not be silly, Lucia.” There was anger in Len’s tone. Lucia knew Len had already guessed the cause of her protest.
“I don’t want them.”
“And why is that, may I ask?”
“You know perfectly well.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Where have you been this evening?”
“I think you know.”
“These things—this fine cloak, these boots,” Lucia said, thrusting a hand towards them, “did you take them from a lady travelling the Mansfield road? Did you hold a pistol in her face and demand she give them to you or you would kill her?” Lucia’s confused anger was barely concealed now as she remembered her own fear in the situation she described. How could Len think she would want to benefit from such a terrible deed?
“I did not make her strip them from her body at the roadside,” Len said, her own anger all too apparent. “They were in a trunk in a carriage. And no pistol was pointed at any lady tonight.”
“Her father then, or her brother? Maybe a servant?”
Len’s silence gave Lucia her answer.
“I will not wear them.”
“You choose your times to be moral when they suit you, Lucia.” The accusation was almost a snarl of contempt.
“What do you mean?” Lucia was growing ever more furious.
Len’s concealed anger exploded into a rage Lucia had not suspected, and her tone was somewhere between wounded and venomous as she replied. “You have travelled with us, lived with us for several days now. You did not come to us through choice, I will admit, but you have had the opportunity to return home several times since. You chose not to. You eat our food, drink our tea, accept our shelter and protection all so you can experience a breath of freedom. And then, when you are confronted with the reality behind that liberty, you shy away from it, condemning what you previously accepted and those who you seemed to befriend.”
“I never accepted it!” Tears prickled Lucia’s eyes.
“Do not fool yourself, Lucia, there was not even really anything implicit about it. You have always known us for what we are, and you took the benefits of our life for yourself. Now you have a fit of morality as if refusing a cloak absolves you of it all.”
“I do not need to seek absolution.” Lucia felt the truth of Len’s accusations and her words were shaky. What pained her more than the exposure of her confused morality was Len’s all-too-apparent anger with her. To have incurred Len’s displeasure seemed the most awful of consequences, though she could not understand why this woman’s opinion mattered so very much to her. Len was relentless, her expression hard and resentful.
“You have been as guilty as any of us, in your own way. Do you not imagine the agonies of worry your father and sister go through are far worse than anything they experienced at our hands on the turnpike? You have been fed from the proceeds of our so-terrible actions. Believe me, Lucia, you would not be here now, on this jaunt you seem to be so enjoying, if we were not what we are.”
In Len’s words, Lucia was sure she heard Len’s own regret, her own distaste for the way she earned her living, but also her grim conclusion she had no option but to do as she did. Regret turned to anger with that knowledge, and she found the confidence to speak her mind. “Do not patronise me. You were once little different from what I am and did not always approve of robbing from travellers, I have no doubt.”
“No, I did not. But neither did I accept the hospitality of those who did such things.”
“You call this hospitality?” Lucia said. She did not really feel the incredulity that coloured her words.
“Oh, I apologise, Miss Foxe, is the accommodation not to your satisfaction?” Len’s words were an angry and resentful growl.
“Wear the cloak,” Len said, moving towards Lucia slightly.
“No.”
“I should have expected nothing more.” Len’s words were almost muttered to herself. Lucia baulked at the disappointment Len made no attempt to hide.
“What do you mean by that?” Her words were sharp with humiliation and hostility, her own disappointment. She had thought Len had developed a sort of respect for her, that there was something in common between them. Now it lay in tatters and Lucia’s skin prickled with anger.
“I mean what I say. I clearly expected too much of you. You have been sheltered, cosseted your whole life, in a way I never was. I thought there was something the same about us, but I was wrong. You are simply acting out a drama. I will not be a player in your performance any longer.”
“What do you mean?”
“You are not what I thought you to be.” At her statement, Lucia felt a growing hollowness in the pit of her stomach. Len was not done yet. “And I think you should return to your home tomorrow, where you will not be sullied by keeping company with immoral creatures such as we are.”
“I will not.” Though her head told her Len was right, Lucia could not persuade her stubborn heart which seemed to ache with every hard beat. “You know nothing of what I am.”
Len did not reply quickly. Instead, she moved towards Lucia, threatening. She seemed a much larger presence in the shadowy room than Lucia. As she moved, shortening the distance between them, she seemed also to compress the air between their two bodies, air thick with tension and anger, and force it through Lucia’s very skin and into her body until her blood seemed to boil. She began to tremble and her face burned. She heard her pulse throbbing and her breathing grow uneven. Yet Lucia did not recognise what she felt as either fear or anger. This was something else. A new emotion she had never known before.
Len leaned forward until her face was close to Lucia’s. “You will do as I say,” she said quietly.
“I will not,” Lucia said, in a tremulous whisper. “I am not one of your men.”
“You wish to keep immoral company after all?” Len’s voice was a whisper too, not hostile, yet not friendly. Her eyes reflected the light of the lantern, but it was difficult to make out the exact expression of her features.
Lucia swallowed heavily. “I wish to remain with you.” The confession made her almost dizzy.
“With thieves and frame-breakers?”
“With you.”
Len’s tone softened as she went on. “Yet you choose ignorance of what I do in the dark hours of the night?”
“I am not ignorant of it.”
“You do not approve of it.” Len was so close, Lucia felt her warm breath on her own face.
“It frightens me.”
“Life can be a frightening thing. But do you feel the thrill it brings?”
“Yes,” Lucia murmured, hot tears of something like shame pricking her eyes. The tension between them mounted further. Lucia knew something was going to happen but did not know what. Then for an instant, Len’s lips met Lucia’s. In surprise Lucia pulled back at the same moment as Len hastily withdrew herself.
“I am sorry, Lucia.” There was heavy strain in Len’s tone. But Lucia was deaf to the apology. Strange sensations she could not understand had taken hold of her. She stepped towards Len once more. As if they were both drawn by some invisible force in the shadowy room, Len moved at the same moment. Lucia’s nose brushed hers as she again sought her lips. Len’s mouth was hot and tasted faintly of brandy. Wrapping her arms about Len’s lean body, Lucia clung to her with a need only just awakened, as Len’s lips pressed hers and they breathed as one.
Lucia was swept away on emotions she felt had always been in her heart without her being aware of them. All their talk of liberation and choice, and the exhilaration of galloping with Len, were nothing to this. She had no learning to tell her if this was right or wrong, and she did not care. She only hungered for Len with a strength of desire she had never known she could feel.
She was aware of every press of Len’s hands as they slid over her back and to her hips. She had never been in such close contact with any person, never craved further contact so greatly. She bunched her hands in the fabric of Len’s dark velvet cloak, her fingers burning, yearning for more, but uncertainty holding her back.
Gently, Len eased back from her. Her lips tingling from their kiss, Lucia waited in dread for questions, apologies, or refusals. But Len did not speak. Her warm fingers were slightly rough on Lucia’s face as she caressed her cheek softly. Lucia turned to kiss those exploring fingertips without a second’s thought or hesitation. She heard Len catch her breath. In the next moment, Len’s fingers were at her own throat, unfastening her cloak and discarding it on the bed, pulling at the buttons of her coat and then tearing at the layers of her clothing below. Lucia did not help her undress, she watched, transfixed, not able to see every precise detail in the half-light of the lantern, but still seeing wonders unveiled before her. Before long, Len was gloriously naked from her waist upwards before her. The light flickered golden on her exposed skin, the shadows caressing the curves of her small breasts. Lucia’s cheeks burned, but she did not think of turning away in her modesty. She could not have turned away.
Lucia dropped her shawl to the floor. The cold of the night could not reach her. Len moved closer to her again and slid one of her hands around Lucia’s waist and to her back, pulling Lucia towards her. She bent her head, and her breath, then her lips, were on Lucia’s throat. Lucia shivered with pleasure at those caresses, the heat of Len’s mouth over where her pulse beat close to her skin. Len moved her kisses lower over Lucia’s throat. As she did so, she reached for the already-low neckline of Lucia’s dress and eased it lower. Lucia put her hands on Len’s naked shoulders and let her have her way, unable to protest or resist. Considerations of modesty and morality meant nothing to her. She closed her eyes and simply let the sensations fill her, beginning to understand just why she was so very compelled by Len and yet still in wonder at what was unfolding between them. Heat was throbbing in parts of her body previously mysterious to her, and she knew she needed Len’s touch to cure the ache. That need was all she knew.
Len pulled her gown lower still, and Lucia felt her breasts exposed to the night air. That sudden cold was replaced moments later with the heat of Len’s mouth. Lucia could not help but gasp with the pleasure that swept through her. Her gasp became a moan, and she heard the sound as though it came from the throat of someone else.
Len stood upright, her hands still on Lucia’s arms. She was breathing hard. Lucia was trembling with pleasure and wonder, in anticipation of she did not know what.
“Miss Foxe, you are in danger…” Len whispered.
“I feel quite safe.”
“You are in the hands of an outlaw.” Lucia took Len’s hands in her own and squeezed them softly, knowing she granted permission with that pressure. Despite that, Len seemed to hesitate, as if her own words had given her pause for thought, for doubt. They were both motionless for a long moment. Lucia’s heart throbbed, and she could not stand the suspense any longer.
“You are a thief. What will you take from me this night?”
“What riches do you offer me?”
“Everything I have.”
Len caught her breath at Lucia’s words. Lucia herself felt giddy with what she had said without a thought and had no wish to retract, even as she was not entirely sure what she offered. Len’s lips sought hers, a soft, questioning kiss. When Lucia responded with her own kiss, Len seemed to ignite with passion. Her hands tightened on Lucia’s arms. “Everything?”
“Yes.”
Even in the darkness, Lucia saw Len’s slow smile, felt the intensity of her gaze. “Then you must stand and deliver, Miss Foxe…” Len gripped Lucia’s gown and pulled ha
rd. The thin muslin was around her waist and Len’s mouth was on her exposed flesh, hungry and demanding. Lucia felt the fire growing in her loins and wondered if one could explode from such pleasure.
Len was almost frightened by her own need, the craving to consume which threatened to overtake her. Lucia’s skin was smooth against Len’s lips and tongue. She had thought it impossible to ever feel this way again. But the unlikely, naïve Miss Lucia Foxe had crept beneath her skin. The confident, angry, liberated Lucia she had encountered on her return to the cottage tonight had been too much to resist. No longer did this feel like an immoral act, taking advantage of her prisoner or of Lucia’s naïvety, with all the dangers and questions that brought. It felt like a coupling of equals. And Lucia’s hunger, though Len knew she did not have the learning or experience to understand it, seemed to match her own. Len wanted to feed that hunger, wanted Lucia to know the pleasures she had been starved of.
Len pulled Lucia closer, until their breasts were crushed together, and kissed her again, deeper this time. Lucia moaned sweetly into her mouth, though Len doubted Lucia knew she had made a sound. She could feel Lucia’s temperature increasing in every moment.
She gripped Lucia’s shoulders and pushed her backwards towards the old bed. Lucia moved with her willingly. Len could not help herself. The urge to possess Lucia was so strong, to show her what she was capable of experiencing. She pushed harder and Lucia subsided onto the bed, Len above her. Len kissed her again, sliding her hand over the softness of Lucia’s breast where her nipple tightened against Len’s palm, over the curve of her slender waist, until she encountered the muslin of Lucia’s gown. It was an obstacle easily overcome. She reached lower for Lucia’s hem, and raised it to Lucia’s thighs quickly.
The Locket and the Flintlock Page 18
