The Highwayman's Lady (BookStrand Publishing Romance)

by Karen Lingefelt

  “Now, if I weren’t destined to inherit your title one day, what do you think I would aspire to do if not learn a useful trade, or even wait for another war? There will always be wars, because there have always been wars, which is not to say I eagerly await the next one.”

  “You would aspire to marry an heiress, of course. But Miss Griffin is not an heiress. Would you still do the honorable thing were it not for the title you will one day inherit?”

  “I fail to see what difference that makes at this point. I compromised her, and now I must marry her.”

  Crispin shifted his gaze from Jack to a point over his shoulder, toward the doorway. “Yes? And who are you, young lady?”

  Jack turned to see none other than Felicity, who gazed back at him with wide green eyes, looking for all the world as if she’d never seen him before, yet knew all the same that they were talking about her.

  “How long have you been standing there?” he asked.

  “Long enough,” she replied cryptically. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

  He smiled. “I suppose I should, since your Aunt Cordelia will be dreadfully scandalized if I don’t. Uncle Crispin—Lord Lockwood—may I present Miss Felicity Griffin. My bride.”

  Before his uncle could respond, she blurted, “My what? I mean—your what?”

  “Bride,” Jack repeated. “Or future wife, if you prefer. The next Viscountess Lockwood.”

  He didn’t think her eyes and open mouth could get any wider, or her face any paler, but she proved him wrong quite ably.

  This was probably not a good time to ask if she were trying to catch flies. And definitely not a good time to cover that gaping mouth with his own while his uncle looked on.

  “So this is the one!” Crispin barked, and just like that he was back to his usual scowling self. “Well, girl, why the devil do you think the Duke of Halstead brought you here?”

  “I thought we were here to call on Lady Lockwood because she and the dowager duchess are such good friends! And I thought they sent me here to fetch a book—I assumed so they could have a few moments to gossip about me behind my back. I had no idea that—that—”

  “That I was here?” Jack supplied. “Or that the real reason the duke came here was to prevail upon my uncle—and ultimately his heir, to wit, yours truly—that you and I should marry as soon as possible?”

  “Because of what happened last night?” she cried.

  Jack thought his heart might stop at those words, and it took all his strength not to clutch a hand to his chest, as if to start it beating again. But fortunately it resumed pounding on its own.

  She knew! That clever, devious, and delightfully wicked chit knew! He might have said it aloud if only his uncle wasn’t still standing there to ask unhelpful questions like, “What happened last night?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  What could Felicity say to the viscount? That his nephew had broken into her cousin’s house dressed as a highwayman—or perhaps, more appropriately, some Carnival reveler who’d lost his way in the narrow, labyrinthine streets of Venice—and done all sorts of deliciously forbidden things to her?

  Her mind raced even faster than it had last night when Cousin Blake and Aunt Dolly had found her in the library. She could always unmask—for want of a more apt verb—Captain Jordan by accusing him of coming to Halstead House last night in his highwayman guise, and if he was the gentleman of honor he prided himself on being, he’d wouldn’t dare contradict her in front of his uncle or anyone else, as Lord Renton had ungallantly done.

  The viscount would never believe her, unless Captain Jordan corroborated her story. There was nothing to stop him from explaining matters to Lord Lockwood, so why didn’t he? Why did he just stand there with his hands clasped behind his back, gazing at her as if he was just as interested as his uncle in hearing her account of what happened last night?

  As if he hadn’t been there last night.

  As if the highwayman had been someone else. She knew he couldn’t be Renton. But she also knew she didn’t want him to be anyone other than Captain Jordan.

  She hadn’t told Blake about the highwayman who’d stolen into the house. Perhaps it was too late to tell him, but she couldn’t help feeling that if she mentioned it to him now, he’d have her sent to someplace worse than the old abandoned farm in Northumberland.

  He’d have her sent to Bedlam.

  “Well?” Lord Lockwood all but howled, and for a moment Felicity thought he was going to strike his nephew.

  Captain Jordan didn’t even flinch. He was taller and stronger than his uncle, and he’d surely faced worse on the battlefield. “I can’t blame Miss Griffin for hesitating to answer your question, since she barely knows you, so I will answer for both of us. I paid a surprise visit to Halstead House in the duke’s absence, and kissed her again.”

  He beamed at Felicity, as if very proud of what he’d done—of all he’d done, from the moment he opened the carriage door the other night and ordered her and Cordelia and Lydia to stand and deliver—or at least deliver—to the moment last night when he touched the most intimate part of her body, prompting sensations that even now sent hot tremors rippling through her very core.

  Yet she was still too shocked by his very casual and unexpected confession to say anything, or even do anything except gape back at him, her mouth wide open as if—oh, drat. As if she were trying to trap flies!

  “You did what?” his uncle thundered, and without waiting for an answer he turned on Felicity. “Is that true?”

  “Yes,” she finally said, and it was all she could manage at the moment.

  “And for that you think he should marry you?”

  “I never said such a thing, my lord. ’Tis my aunt and cousin who think that.” When she’d told them last night that Captain Jordan was the “thieving rogue” who’d compromised her by stealing a kiss, but couldn’t explain why, according to Cordelia, he couldn’t marry her, they’d said only that the matter would be discussed further on the morrow. When they’d set out to pay a call at Lockwood House today, she’d never suspected it was to further discuss said matter with Captain Jordan himself—and his disapproving relatives!

  Once again, other people sought to arrange a marriage for her, without any regard for her thoughts or feelings about it. Resentment welled deep within her.

  Captain Jordan stepped toward her. “Did I not introduce you to my uncle as my bride? Lady Tyndall wrote the Duke of Halstead that I compromised you. Therefore, I will do the honorable thing and marry you.”

  Felicity’s heart sank. As fond as she was of Captain Jordan, and as hotly as she now desired him, especially after the way he’d kissed her so passionately and pleasured her so thoroughly last night, she didn’t know which was worse—having to marry someone because it had been arranged by the parents while bride and groom were still in leading strings, or because he’d compromised her and now had to do the honorable thing.

  “Jack, I beg of you to consider this further, especially if she’s not so amenable.” Lord Lockwood didn’t sound as if he was begging so much as ordering his nephew. “You’ve only just returned to England after being away for five years. If you won’t marry your cousin, then at least take the time to search for a proper bride.”

  Cousin? Had he been trapped into an arranged betrothal, just as Felicity had?

  Though perhaps she should choose another word besides trapped, considering they really were both trapped now, and through their own reckless behavior.

  She sensed there was a great deal of animosity between these two men. The viscount clearly didn’t think she was good enough for his nephew, whereas the nephew seemed determined to marry her.

  Because it was the honorable thing to do after merely kissing her in front of Howland Hall?

  Because he’d ruined her in myriad other ways in the guise of a highwayman?

  Or simply to defy his uncle?

  One thing was certain. He didn’t want to marry Felicity because he loved her. Of
course, he couldn’t very well declare his love—if indeed it existed—with his uncle ready to knock their heads together before biting them off.

  But Renton had never loved her, either. And he’d only resigned himself to marrying her because their respective fathers had arranged it when both were infants. He would have leaped at any chance to end their betrothal.

  But then, so would she.

  She hadn’t expected love before, and she certainly had no right to expect any now. But that couldn’t prevent her from longing for it.

  “I’ve taken the time. I’ve searched,” Captain Jordan said, “and I’ve decided that I will marry Miss Griffin without delay.”

  “Without delay?” his uncle echoed incredulously. “I thought you only kissed her.”

  Heat bloomed in Felicity’s face, and her heart did a somersault as Captain Jordan threw her a knowing smile, along with a twinkle in his aquamarine eyes. She knew he was thinking that he’d done more than just kiss her.

  He glanced back at the viscount. “I see no point in waiting. I can obtain a special license today and we can marry tomorrow.”

  “We barely know each other,” she put in, even though she’d spent more time with Captain Jordan these past few days than she ever had during all the years she was betrothed to Renton.

  “What difference should that make?” snapped Lockwood. “Few couples do before they marry. If only he was as concerned about that as you are, then he’d marry his cousin Grace. They’ve known each other all their lives.”

  She was still so confused by this turn of events that she was barely aware of Captain Jordan taking her gently by the arm. “Come, Felicity, let us go for a walk outdoors.”

  Her heart fluttered at the sound of her first name on his lips. Even Renton had never called her by her first name. He probably never even knew what it was, but she could hardly throw stones at him for that, since she’d never known his first name, either. Until he inherited the earldom, he’d always been known to her as either the son of her father’s best friend from the army, or merely as her betrothed.

  Captain Jordan led her out of the book room and down a long hallway to a pair of French doors that opened onto a vast lawn that stretched all the way to a pond. Two enormous oak trees towered over water’s edge, with a bench under one tree and a swing hanging from the other, swaying invitingly in the summer breeze. Flowerbeds of pansies, marigolds, petunias, and foxglove dappled the lawn with bright splashes of fragrant color.

  She had to admit she liked what she saw. Without a glance at Captain Jordan, she made a swift beeline for the pond.

  “I do hope you’re not planning to drown yourself,” he called after her.

  That hadn’t even occurred to her. She was halfway hoping he might come after her and propose to her properly. As she approached the pond, she glimpsed a tiny islet in the very middle, inhabited by a pair of swans who ignored her in much the same way Aunt Cordelia and Lady Howland had ignored her in her bedchamber.

  He sauntered over and stood next to her. “Now that we’re out of everyone’s earshot, feel free to scream and shout at me as much as you like. I daresay you’ve earned the right.”

  She fixed her gaze on the swans. “I already did my share of screaming at you that first night, did I not? And you know it didn’t come to me as easily as it did to my cousin Lydia.”

  “I do know, and I’m glad for that. But I’m still sorry for what I did.”

  Felicity’s heart, which had fluttered only moments ago when all he did was speak her name, now seemed to land with a thud in her stomach. “Why are you sorry? Because now you have to marry me? Do you wish you’d waylaid some other woman that night?”

  “I wish it had never happened at all.”

  “Because if you hadn’t, then you wouldn’t have to marry me now? You needn’t.” She wished she didn’t sound so irate, even though she knew why she was so irate. Yet she doubted that trying to sound cheerful and excited about marrying him would elicit a declaration of love.

  “I know I needn’t. But would you rather be banished to God knows where, never to be seen by another soul again, because of what people only think the highwayman did to you?”

  “But no one saw you kiss me.” Nor did they see him doing those other things to her, but she wasn’t about to mention that. Just the thought set her cheeks flaming as scarlet as his uniform.

  “You can’t be sure about that,” he countered. “There are quite a few windows in Howland Hall. Surely you’ll agree ’tis better to marry me because of what I really did, than to be cast out of society because of what the highwayman didn’t do.” A brief pause before he added, “At least on that first night.” Mischief danced in his voice at his first reference to what he did in Blake’s book room last night.

  She struggled to focus not on what happened last night, but on his roguish alter ego. She finally turned her head to survey him, and was rather pleasantly surprised to learn that she could do so without turning into a pillar of salt.

  Instead she felt herself melting, every part of her softening, weakening, till she swore the only thing holding her up was, oddly enough, the very sight of him as he met her steady gaze.

  “Why do you keep referring to the highwayman as if he’s a separate entity, when he’s you? Why did you do it? It doesn’t appear as if your uncle has ever cut you off, so it’s not as if you must resort to such knavery to make your way. A gentleman like you could always marry an heiress if—”

  “I don’t need to marry an heiress, or I wouldn’t be marrying you. As for why I acted the highwayman…” He cast a glance at the sky and threw up his hands. “I’m not at all certain you’d believe me if I told you.”

  “Well, it can’t be worse than what I’ve already speculated.”

  “It isn’t,” he said with a rueful smile.

  “Am I right that it was the first time you’d ever done it?”

  The rueful smile gave way to a chuckle. “I’m afraid so. I was certain you’d figure out sooner than later that it was me. In fact, I’m amazed you didn’t.”

  “Oh, but I did. You gave yourself away only minutes after Lord Howland formally introduced us the next day.” She offered him a triumphant smile as dismay clouded his face, to her immense gratification.

  “Then you knew, almost from the outset?” he burst out.

  “You sound angry about that, when I’m the one who should be angry. And maybe I am.” But not at what he’d done in the highwayman’s guise. Oh, no. What irked Felicity was his regret, for what reason could he possibly have for regretting it, when the only consequence facing him was marriage to her?

  “You knew that was me last night?” He sounded so incredulous, she feared he might even be horrified, especially considering what they did. Perhaps he regretted that, too!

  “’Twas quite a stretch to expect anyone to believe my convoluted explanation for how the highwayman learned of Aunt Cordelia’s express. I should’ve let you try to come up with your own Banbury tale.” Except she hadn’t wanted to break the spell he’d cast with his wicked caresses. “If you wanted to help me find the express, then why didn’t you come as yourself?”

  “But then you might not have let me kiss you. And I wanted to kiss you again.” And do other things. “Had I come as myself, would you have let me kiss you?”

  And do those other things?

  “But I already knew it was you,” she replied. “So what does that tell you?”

  He looked flummoxed, as if he couldn’t believe she’d let him take liberties she might otherwise have allowed only the highwayman. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I thought it might spoil everything.” Was that his way of saying he didn’t want to break that magic spell that even now played havoc with Felicity’s heart? “For that matter, if you suspected all along that I was the highwayman, then why didn’t you say something back at Howland Hall?”

  “To whom? To you? Because if only I’d done so the mome
nt I guessed the truth, you might not be in the position of having to offer marriage to me now?” She turned and marched toward the oak tree with the bench under its thick branches.

  “To anyone,” he called after her.

  “Who would’ve believed me?” She plopped down on the bench and glared at him as if she were Queen Elizabeth on her throne, and he an offending subject now compelled to talk his way out of a well-deserved beheading. “I doubt it would’ve mitigated all the gossip.”

  “Howland and Rollo might’ve believed you, since they’re the ones who put me up to it.”

  So astonished was Felicity that all she could say was, “What?”

  “I knew you wouldn’t believe me if I told you why I did it.”

  “You did it as a prank?”

  He shrugged, his expression sheepish. “That’s all it was. Just a prank. Rollo wagered if we—or rather I—waylaid a carriage en route to the Howland house party, that the guests would talk of nothing else the next day.”

  “He won,” Felicity said flatly. “That’s the only reason you did it?”

  “That and nothing else,” he assured her.

  “I suppose you were chosen to play the lead because you’d been away from England for so many years, and thus wouldn’t be easily identified afterward?”

  “You seem to have deduced everything,” he said, smiling. “From our very first meeting, I was certain you would. I just wasn’t sure you’d realize it was only a prank.”

  A prank. She should have known. It was just the sort of thing her brothers might have done. As unbelievable as it was, she had to admit to herself that she’d rather Captain Jordan had done it as a lark, and not because penury had forced him to it, or out of a misplaced desire to help the less fortunate by playing some version of Robin Hood. And she was certainly glad he hadn’t done it because Renton paid him to do so, so as to get out of his betrothal to her. For that matter, she was grateful the highwayman hadn’t been Renton, and that he was Captain Jordan. No, it was only a prank.