The Highwayman's Lady (BookStrand Publishing Romance)

by Karen Lingefelt

  His sister, however, was nowhere in sight. “Is Samantha not feeling well?” He wondered if perhaps she was with child already, even though she and Gabriel had been married for barely a fortnight.

  “Oh, she’s quite well,” Gabriel assured him. “It’s just that I insist she take her breakfast in bed, as a proper countess should. Your Aunt Aurora made her get up early every morning and carry trays upstairs to her, and now that we’re married, I think Samantha deserves to be pampered. Don’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t have allowed you to marry her if you weren’t going to pamper her—even if you did marry her without my consent. I suppose this means I won’t see her before I leave.”

  “Where are you off to?”

  Jack took another sip of the coffee that was only now starting to take effect. “I must return to Halstead House and offer for Miss Griffin before the duke sends her on the next stage to obscurity.”

  “Ah, so you did go there last night?”

  “Yes, and you were right about the location of the duke’s book room.”

  “We were there for a ball the other night, and I couldn’t help noticing the floor plan is identical to that of Ellsworth House. And Whitbourne House and Danforth House, though the layout, for some strange reason, is reversed over at Woodard House. It never occurred to me that such an observation might be useful one day—and for such a scandalous cause! You’re not going to tell Halstead or even your prospective bride that you’re the highwayman?”

  “I’m afraid I have to. What other reason can I offer for wishing to marry her at once, when we only met a few days ago?” Aside from the liberties he’d taken last night, of course.

  “You didn’t happen to see her last night, did you?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did.”

  “And of course she didn’t see you without your mask?”

  “No. And I still don’t think she suspects it’s me, which I find quite puzzling, for she should’ve figured it out by now—especially since I kissed her last night.”

  Gabriel eyed him askance. “I trust you removed your mask for that?”

  “It was dark.”

  “Naturally. Only why should she have figured out your identity by your kiss last night?”

  “Because that’s not the first time I kissed her. I also stole a kiss from her at Howland House but at that time she thought she was kissing Jack Jordan—that is, she knew she was kissing me because I wasn’t wearing a mask at the time. And it was broad daylight.”

  “Then that’s what you do. You offer marriage because you kissed her in broad daylight the other day.”

  “Actually, it was only yesterday.” Though by now it seemed to Jack as if it had happened a lifetime ago. “But I still think I should tell her the truth.”

  Gabriel gave his brother-in-law a long, hard look. “I’m a great proponent of telling the truth—after all, your beloved sister was undergoing a deception of her own when we met, though admittedly she didn’t do it for the same reason you underwent yours. She was blackmailed by your Aunt Aurora into pretending to be someone she wasn’t.”

  “Whereas I wasn’t blackmailed. I was only doing it as part of some silly house party prank. Waylaying the newest arrivals!”

  “Since you’re not really a criminal, you may as well tell her the truth.”

  Jack drained his coffee cup, pushed back his chair, and rose to his feet. “I shall go over to Halstead House and do that now.”

  “I take it you’ve met the duke?”

  “As a matter of fact, I haven’t.”

  Now Gabriel stood up. “Then perhaps I should come along and introduce you. I’m not sure you should approach him without first being properly introduced.”

  “You sound just like Lady Tyndall.”

  The two of them made the short walk to Halstead House, only to be informed by the butler that His Grace was out.

  “Very well, then what about Miss Griffin?” inquired Jack.

  The butler peered at him as if he were the masked brigand who’d been marauding through this house last night.

  “Miss Griffin?” echoed the butler, as if he’d never heard of anyone by that name.

  Good God. Could Halstead have sent her away already, with orders to the servants that everything was to be as if she’d never existed?

  “She’s the duke’s cousin,” said Gabriel.

  The butler still looked mystified.

  “I suppose you weren’t on duty last night,” said Jack, for he didn’t recall seeing this retainer anywhere on his previous visit. “But she was here last night, having just arrived from Sussex.”

  No sooner did the word “Sussex” hiss out of Jack’s mouth than Gabriel gave him a sharp jab with his elbow. Jack cursed himself for his carelessness—for how would he know with such certainty that she’d been here last night unless he was the masked marauder? Then he reminded himself that the valet, at least, thought the masked man had been the duke.

  Or so Jack hoped.

  “I’m not at liberty to say anything about Miss Griffin,” the butler said icily. At least he’d acknowledged her existence.

  Jack couldn’t help himself. “Not even if she’s—” He abruptly broke off his words as this time Gabriel stepped on his foot. Hard.

  The butler pointedly looked at Gabriel. “However, my lord, if your business with His Grace is urgent, then you may find him at Lockwood House.”

  “He went there?” Jack burst out.

  The butler cast him another reproachful scowl.

  “You’ll have to excuse my brother-in-law,” said Gabriel. “As you can see by his uniform, he just returned from the Peninsula and is prone to unfortunate, inappropriate outbursts. Some war injury, I’m told. We’ll be on our way. Sorry to have troubled you.” He seized Jack’s arm and practically pushed him down the front steps as the butler swiftly closed the door. “And why should Halstead not call on Lockwood this morning, Jack? That tells us he’s looking for you.”

  “This just keeps getting worse and worse,” Jack muttered.

  “I know.” Gabriel slapped a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “At the very least, they suspect you’re the highwayman who ruined her.”

  “Only I didn’t—that is, the highwayman didn’t ruin her!” Jack ground out. “But that’s not what makes this worse.”

  “Then pray, what does?”

  “Having to see Viscount Lockwood. He’s the main reason I stayed in Sussex longer than I should have. I’m in no hurry to be reunited with him and his notions of marrying his daughter.”

  “You won’t have to marry her now. You’re going to offer for Miss Griffin, aren’t you? She may be there with Halstead. Perhaps we should take a carriage, since Lockwood, much to my wife’s relief, lives out in Hampstead Heath.”

  This time, Jack clapped a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. “Since Lockwood is my uncle and I’m his heir, perhaps it’s better if I go alone.”

  Gabriel nodded in understanding. “Just know if you need a second, I’m always ready to serve.”

  Jack rode on horseback to Parliament Hill on Hampstead Heath, where a large, stately carriage with the Halstead crest emblazoned on the door stood right outside Lockwood House. After stabling his mount, he entered the house through the front door without even bothering with the brass knocker. Why not? Thanks to the inheritance laws, this was going to be his house one day whether he or his uncle or anyone else liked it or not. Moreover, Jack had never been one to stand on ceremony, much to Uncle Crispin’s annoyance.

  But then just about everything Jack did—or didn’t do—was invariably to his uncle’s annoyance.

  No sooner did he cross the threshold than he heard Crispin’s angry voice from behind the closed door of the nearby book room. As was usually the case whenever Crispin was in high dudgeon, there was no one in sight of the front hall. Everyone, from Aunt Marcella to the most junior footman, went into hiding until his rage subsided.

  But would Crispin, a viscount, dare to raise his voice to the higher
ranking Duke of Halstead?

  As Jack stood right outside the door of the book room, he concluded that his uncle would indeed if the subject of his rant was Jack himself. Jack didn’t even need to stand in this very spot to hear. Crispin’s diatribe could have been heard not only on the other side of Parliament Hill, but all the way to the Houses of Parliament.

  “My nephew is a scapegrace!” Crispin roared. “A ne’er-do-well! He lives only to defy me and scandalize our family! First he buys himself a commission and hares off to Spain where he could’ve gotten himself killed—and all to avoid marrying his cousin!”

  “I’m sure he felt called to serve King and Country.” That must be Halstead, thought Jack. “But now that he’s returned—”

  “Now that he’s returned, what’s the first thing he does?” Here it came. Jack braced himself for something along the lines of “dress up like a brigand, waylay a carriage, and steal a lady’s ring!” Instead Crispin skipped over that and went straight to the consequences. “I’ve a good mind to have him clapped in irons and put on the next transport to Botany Bay!”

  Jack heaved a weary sigh. Crispin had been making that threat ever since Jack was a child for misdemeanors like stealing tarts from the pantry in the middle of the night. Or just wandering the halls of Lockwood Manor in the middle of the night. Or happening to glimpse a half-naked maidservant slipping out of Crispin’s bedchamber in the middle of the night. So it was hardly surprising his uncle would make the same threat for the crime of posing as a highwayman—also in the middle of the night.

  Alas, this time his uncle would be well within his rights to make good on that otherwise tired old threat.

  “I scarcely think his offense warrants transportation,” countered Halstead. “As for the irons, well—irons, noose, trap, call it what you will. Miss Griffin has named your nephew as the man who compromised her.”

  “I don’t dispute that, Your Grace. Unfortunately, he only did so to get out of marrying his cousin, just like he joined the army to avoid marrying her.”

  Jack had had enough. Without even knocking—after all, he was only interrupting a conversation about himself—he flung the door open.

  Uncle Crispin spun around in his usual stance—fists clenched, head tilted back, mouth wide open like a roaring lion ready to bite Jack’s head clean off his shoulders. “I said I was not to be disturbed!”

  “Oh, I think ’tis years too late for that.” Jack glanced at the Duke of Halstead, who, as Felicity said, appeared to be just over six feet, as tall as Jack, with dark brown hair and eyes to match. “I realize we haven’t been properly introduced, Your Grace, but I do believe I’m the man you’re looking for.”

  Halstead arched his brows. “Captain Jordan?”

  Jack sketched his most graceful bow. “At your service, Your Grace.”

  “Where the bloody hell have you been?” demanded Crispin.

  “Slumming in Seven Dials, of course,” Jack shot back. “Isn’t that where you always think I am? I must say, Uncle, I do like the way you picked up where you left off the last time I saw you. I was gone for five years and already I not only feel as if I never left, but I feel as if I’d like to go back to the other war zone. At least on the Peninsula there were people who appreciated what I was trying to do.”

  Halstead extended a hand, something like admiration glimmering in his eyes and underlying his voice. “Is it really true what my cousin Felicity told me about you?”

  Jack took the proffered hand and shook it firmly. “I’m afraid so. And I’m here to answer for my crime.”

  He paused to give his uncle the chance to accuse him of robbing innocent, frightened lady travelers in hopes of being caught and duly hanged, just to avoid marrying his cousin.

  Instead, Halstead chuckled. “Oh, I’d hardly call kissing her a crime, unless she was still betrothed to Renton, but she insists he’d already ended it because she selfishly valued her life over the ring he gave her and that she, in turn, gave to some highwayman. I don’t think it matters at this point, do you?”

  Jack stared back at Halstead, hoping he didn’t look as astonished as he felt. So she hadn’t accused him of being the highwayman—and perhaps still didn’t know!

  Instead, she was claiming Jack—not the highwayman—had compromised her with that stolen kiss in front of Howland Hall. He blew out a long sigh of relief. Maybe no one would ever have to know he was the highwayman.

  Thinking of what transpired last night, he said, “Your Grace is right, it matters not at this point. I am here to inform you of my willingness to do the honorable thing.”

  Crispin practically sputtered with scorn. “I’d like to think you’re here because you’ve finally deigned to return to your home and family and responsibilities.”

  Jack scowled back at his uncle. “That, too. But a young lady’s reputation is at stake and I must rectify that before I do anything else.”

  Halstead met his steady gaze. “She says you kissed her in front of Howland Hall in broad daylight, and that anyone looking out of any of the manor’s many windows could’ve seen it.”

  “She told you the exact truth,” declared Jack. “And at the time I was under the impression that she was no longer engaged to Lord Renton.”

  His uncle was almost purple with rage. “How could you be such a fool? Never tell me you did this just to avoid marrying your cousin? I vow you’d rather get yourself killed than marry her. That’s why you joined the army.”

  “And what a whole lot of good that did! Just my rotten luck I returned to England alive and in one piece. You know bloody well I joined the army because my father was a soldier. And he never died in battle, either.”

  “No, he never did.” Uncle Crispin almost sneered. “He survived all that unpleasantness in the American colonies only to die with your mother in a carriage accident. An accident that didn’t even have to happen, if you hadn’t pleaded with them to deliver you to school beforehand. They died spoiling you.”

  “Maybe it wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t insisted on sending me away to that school, and all because I was your heir.” Something sharp squeezed Jack’s heart before catching in his throat.

  “Perhaps I should be on my way,” said Halstead. “At the very least, Captain Jordan, do I have your word that—”

  “You do, indeed,” said Jack, knowing he sounded more irate than he meant to. He blamed his uncle for that, at least. Crispin had a knack for always rubbing Jack the wrong way. Every time they encountered one another. Even after he’d been away for five bloody years. “Just tell me when and where to meet Miss Griffin, so I may propose to her.”

  “There’s no need for that,” said Halstead. “She already knows she must marry you.”

  “No, there’s no need for that at all,” Crispin added, only with more venom in his voice. “Just marry her and send her to the country until she’s done her duty.”

  “She can’t very well do that without me,” Jack retorted. “Have you ever considered that’s why you don’t have a son to call your heir?”

  “Please excuse me, gentlemen,” the duke said quickly, as he practically ran out of the room, leaving Jack and his uncle to confront one another.

  Crispin’s eyes burned with something stronger than resentment. Jack balked at calling it hatred, if only because he himself felt no hatred toward his uncle. Just a dislike stemming from the treatment that had been meted out to him for so many years. Only how much of that treatment had Jack provoked himself, especially as he grew older?

  “And suppose I did have a son?” Crispin snarled. “Where do you think that would leave you? You would have nothing.” He flipped up a hand, the palm facing Jack. “Spare me all talk of your military service. So you spent the past few years serving King and Country. Noble enough, I grant you, so never think I disdain that.” He lowered his hand. “But the war is over, Jack. What would you do now, if not for the inheritance that is yours by law, and not by my choice, or out of the goodness of my own heart?” He raised his
hand again, as if rightly expecting another riposte from his nephew. “I already know you believe I have no goodness, let alone a heart in which to keep it. But really, Jack, what would you expect to do, aside from what all gentlemen in that situation aspire to do?”

  “And what’s that? I suspect you don’t refer to going into trade.”

  “I don’t, though I wonder if you’d ever consider it.”

  Jack hated to say it, because he strongly suspected doing so would be tantamount to walking—not blundering, but walking—into a trap. But he didn’t know how else to respond, so into the trap he knowingly stepped. “To be perfectly honest, I’ve never considered it at all.”

  Crispin nodded, his expression grim but mollified. “And why do you suppose that is, my boy? Note I’m not holding up my hand this time. I shan’t spell it out for you. I do believe you’re clever enough to conjure your own explanation.”

  That had to be the first time his uncle had ever paid Jack a compliment, however backhanded it was.

  Though it galled him to concede, he had to admit to himself that maybe he deserved the setdown after all that had happened…and not just in the past few days.

  “I’ve never considered it because I never thought I had to,” he finally said, meeting his uncle’s piercing gaze. “And I never thought I had to because…well, the inheritance. Which I willingly confess I’ve done absolutely nothing to deserve. There, does that please you?”

  To Jack’s surprise, his uncle’s perpetual scowl faded. Softened, even. “No, and this time I will raise my hand again to claim the chance to tell you why. Because I will confess, just as willfully, that I never did anything to deserve it, either.”

  Jack nodded. “If nothing else, I shan’t argue with that. I’ve always believed that.”

  “Ah, but have you always believed it of yourself?”

  “Not until a moment ago.” Jack tried not to sound too grudging as he held out his hand.

  His uncle stared at it for a moment, blinking in bewilderment, but once he apparently realized why Jack extended it, he took it into his own and they shook hands like the two civilized gentlemen they were meant to be, even if neither was originally meant to be Viscount Lockwood.