The Highwayman's Bride

by Beckenham Jane

  Tess turned from the view of the misty dawn. “You are awake.”

  “I am, Miss Stanhope, though quite difficult not to be when one lies on a mattress I’m quite sure is made of the hardest materials known to God and man alike. Then, of course, there is the fact I froze for lack of coverings.”

  “That is of no consequence to me. I gave you a choice.”

  “Ah, yes, I remember. The floor or freezing.”

  “At least I gave you a choice, while you simply suggested I share your bed.”

  “It was a nice idea, you have to admit.”

  “Pah!”

  Ignoring her annoyance, Aiden levered himself from the bed with ease, reached for his boots and slipped them on as a tap sounded on the door.

  “The doctor?”

  “You sound hopeful.”

  “I have other places to go.”

  “Rather than tending to a man in his sick bed, I presume.”

  Tess rolled her eyes, shaking her head at his attempt at humor and crossed their small room to the door. A gasp choked her airways the moment she opened it, followed by sour bile rushing up her throat. She clamped a hand over her mouth.

  It was all over. Finished. Freedom evaporated.

  Three men stood in the doorway, a myriad of expressions playing across their faces. Two of them she did not recognize. Unfortunately, that could not be said of the third.

  “You’ve surpassed yourself this time, missy.” Luther Gibbs, cheeks ruddy, his brow dotted with perspiration, shoved past the other men to enter the room. “You’ve led me a right merry dance.”

  “How did you find me?”

  His mouth curled into a supercilious sneer, and his chest heaved, puffing his bullfrog cheeks. He leaned into her and Tess braced herself, the familiar shiver of fear revisiting as she waited for the pinch, or the surreptitious dig of his fingers into her flesh.

  She stemmed the automatic plea on her tongue and edged back, trying to shift out of his reach.

  “I got lucky, if that’s what you can call it,” he harrumphed. “Bloody horse threw a shoe. I spied that old nag you stole from me at the stables. You’ll pay for this, missy. You’ve cost me a pretty penny having to chase you across the damned countryside. Your aunt is sick with worry, and won’t stop her sniveling and Percy…” He swiped at his brow with a crumpled handkerchief.

  Suddenly his attention shifted to Aiden standing at the end of the bed, and in one blatant gaze he summed up Aiden’s fine attire. Tess knew he’d be calculating the cost and what he could garner from Aiden. A smile played across his fleshy lips. “You, sir. Who are you?”

  Her partner in crime stood to his full height and held out his hand. “Aiden Masters,” he affirmed.

  At the sound of a choking cough, Aiden turned slightly to the open door where the other men stood. His brow furrowed. “Morley, glad you could make it.”

  “Aye, sorry about the delay, m’l—sir.”

  The man Morley entered, followed by the third man.

  “I believe a doctor is required.”

  “Wait a moment. What about my niece? You’ve sullied her reputation.”

  “Uncle, please don’t.” Tess reached for his arm, and tugged at his coat sleeve, recognizing her mistake in an instant, as he shucked her off with a vicious snarl.

  “Don’t say another word, you hussy. I’ll deal with you when I get you home. What Percy will say to this turn of events, I have no idea. A trollop, that’s what you are. A trollop. Somehow we’ll have to keep this secret. If Percy knew you’d dallied like some—”

  “I have not.”

  Luther’s hand fisted and Tess jerked backward. Please don’t hit me. Please.

  “Enough!” Aiden’s command silenced the room though Luther’s lips smacked several times before he tempered his haranguing. “Miss Stanhope helped me when I fell and took a grave knock to my head.”

  “And I’ll be certain I knows what kind of help that may be.”

  “Now look here.” Morley, Aiden’s friend, stepped forward, but Aiden waved him back.

  “Leave this to me.” Mouth grim, Aiden’s brows knitted and his gaze darkened. For a minute they were the eyes of a man who could see—see her uncle for what he was. A sadistic bully and a blustering, money-grubbing sycophant who, as sure as the sun would rise tomorrow, would try to make money from this encounter.

  For years, he’d dipped into her inheritance, but now it had been whittled away to virtually nothing. Tess knew exactly where it had gone. On fripperies, and food and wine. On journeys to take the waters of Bath. And on his businesses that never eventuated to anything.

  Now she was being forced to marry a man who had a twin persona to her uncle.

  Tess cast a quick glance at the brutal man.

  Marry she may do, but it would be on her terms and to a man she could at least respect. Percy Harrow would never earn that.

  “Miss Stanhope has acted exactly as a young lady should, sir.”

  “Really.” Luther’s piggy eyes trailed down her length, his mouth switching into a derisive sneer. “A lady, sir, does not steal from her family, or wear the trews of a man. Shameless is what you are, missy.” Cheeks blazing scarlet, he snapped his attention back to Aiden. “The girl is uncontrollable. Needs a firm hand and a husband.”

  Tess witnessed the knowing glint in his eyes.

  “Uncle. No. Let us leave, please,” she interrupted in desperation.

  “Not now, girl.” He cast off her arm. “I intend to protect your good name. You, sir, owe me some funds for my trouble. It’ll take a while to convince old Harrow to marry the chit, and funds to ah…convince him, of course.”

  “Of course,” Aiden scoffed.

  Her uncle’s audacity should have shocked her. It didn’t. She’d seen it all before. “Uncle, please. You can’t do this.”

  He fisted a hand in her face and she shrank from his threat. She knew the damage that fist could do. Luther was a bully at best, a brute at his worst.

  “I can do what I bloody well like. I’ll sell you to the poorhouse if needs be.”

  Dear God, why was she always his bartering tool?

  “Aunt Tulip will be wondering what has taken you so long, surely,” she said, desperate to divert him.

  “Tulip does as she is told,” he countered with a savage snarl. “And so should you.” His clenched fist closed in, barely an inch from her face.

  The world silenced, the only sound to be heard was the click of Aiden’s pistol.

  “Touch her, sir, and you will have to deal with me.”

  With sickening horror Tess looked over her uncle’s shoulder toward Aiden. His pistol was pointed directly at Luther’s back. Morley stood quietly to Aiden’s side as backup. Aiden held the gun without the wavering lurch of a blind man unsure of the direction of his target. Her highwayman could see at last.

  “Your sight is back.”

  A slight tug at the corners of his mouth was all the confirmation she needed.

  “How long?”

  True to the intent of a man who lived his life on the knife-edge of the criminal world, he never took his gaze off his target. “Sometime during the night the headaches abated, the flashes seemingly clearing my vision.”

  Despite his profession, Tess couldn’t have been happier. She rather liked Aiden Masters. He had not judged her, as did most who wanted her to fit into their preconceived perceptions, and for that she was grateful.

  “So it seems my services are no longer needed.”

  In unison, Tess and her uncle turned to face the doctor.

  “No, sir, I’m sorry, but your services are no longer required. Perhaps it best you go,” Aiden said, his attention unwavering.

  Obviously grateful to be leaving the heated discussion, the doctor quickly retreated, leaving her uncle facing Aiden and his friend Morley…and their pistols.

  It was over. She’d failed.

  Tears threatened and she blinked several times, willing them to abate. She would not cry in front
of Aiden or her uncle. Crying was for private. For the life she once had and for the life she could not find. “All right, Uncle, you have won.” Her chance of freedom had evaporated the moment her uncle had walked in. Holding herself rigid, she stepped up to her highwayman. “Good-bye, Aiden. I am very pleased you have your sight back.” She tucked her hair back under her cap and strode to the door. She didn’t care if her uncle followed or not, she simply had to get out. Away from Aiden’s blatant scrutiny, uncertain what those eyes, that mere hours ago had looked so hollow and lost, actually saw now.

  “You’ve forgotten your reward.”

  Tess halted. Slowly turning to Aiden. He held out the sack holding her booty from her single foray into the world of crime.

  “This is yours, I believe.”

  Cheeks burning, her attention darted briefly toward Luther, then back to Aiden. She swallowed hard and shifted from foot to foot. “I cannot take it.”

  “That wasn’t what you thought yesterday. You need it.” His voice was a mere whisper and Tess realized he was trying to conceal her crime from her uncle. God alone knew what would happen if Luther learnt of her sins.

  “Yesterday I had a chance to make my own life, now those baubles are of no use. My chance is lost.” For a moment she stared resolutely at Aiden, willing him to understand.

  Let me go. It’s over.

  “What have we here?”

  Luther snatched the sack from Aiden’s grasp, eyes widening with glittering anticipation as he delved into its depths.

  Her stomach heaved with a heavy sickness as he brought out a gold pocket watch, the face encrusted with the glint of jewels.

  “You wanted recompense, I believe, sir,” Aiden said, covering her sins.

  Luther held up a gold ring and beamed his excitement.

  “Aye. ’Tis deserved after all the trouble the bloody hussy has put me to. This lot will fetch a tidy sum.” He tossed the ring back in the sack and switched his gaze to her. “Right, me girl, I think I have what I’ve come for.”

  Aiden’s top lip curled into a sneer. “I was under the impression you came for your niece.”

  Luther spluttered his embarrassment. “Of course,” he said, rectifying his mistake. “Get going, missy.” Fleshy fingers roughly grabbed at her arm, digging bitingly into her as he frog-marched her from the room. Like a lamb to the slaughter. At the top of the stairs she glanced over her shoulder one last time at Aiden. At freedom.

  Mouth grim, he offered her a curt nod. “Stay strong, Miss Stanhope.”

  “Do you think it possible I can?”

  “I know you can.”

  Chapter Four

  ’Tis the season for parties

  But beware, word is that a dashing and wealthy young Lord is not what he seems.

  Mirabelle’s Musings

  November 1813

  London

  “Get yeself ready, young woman, you’ve been invited to the Bancroft’s for their seasonal dance and damned lucky at that. Can’t find a husband cooped up in your bedroom with those dashed books you bury your nose in.” In her lap Luther spied The Ladies’ Magazine open to Mirabelle’s Musings. “That drivel. The woman is scandalous. ’Tis not decent for a female to write.”

  The second her bedroom door slammed shut, Tess sagged back against the chaise, the musings of that scandalous woman Mirabelle falling to the floor. How she envied Mirabelle. Able to say what she liked. Able to earn an income. Oh, the freedom it would give her.

  Staring at the closed door, Tess wondered whatever had possessed her Aunt Tulip to marry a man such as Luther Gibbs. The man was odious, yet when he entered a room her aunt’s face blossomed.

  She couldn’t imagine being so enamored with a man that she would lose all track of thought and common sense.

  Yes, you can. You’ve already met him.

  Aiden Masters.

  A sudden heat took hold and permeated her cheeks at the unbidden thought.

  Shame on her, but she couldn’t help it. Ever since her highwayman had interrupted her that night she had daydreamed about him.

  A sad sigh escaped from her lungs. Such whimsy was useless. The man was a rogue. Oh, he may have had fine manners and even finer clothes, but his occupation was definitely not that of a gentleman.

  From outside her door, Tess heard the chaotic commotion that was Tulip. She shook her head. Poor Aunt Tulip. She lived in a fantasy world, choosing to ignore the distasteful origin of her husband’s newfound wealth.

  Back firmly under Luther’s thumb, Tess had no choice but to do as he bid. Dear Uncle Luther wanted her firmly back in the marriage market. That her stolen goods had funded their journey to London and paid the rent on their house in St James for the coming festive parties shamed Tess even more.

  Crossing the room, she stood by her dressing table and trailed her fingers over her silver-backed mirror and brush set. Once it had belonged to her mother, now it was the only reminder of her past life.

  Her parents were gone, as was everything else, leaving her a penniless past-her-prime orphan about to be foisted on the ton. She shrugged. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered any more. What was the use?

  “Are you ready, child?” Tulip didn’t bother knocking and opened the door. “’Tis such a night, I am so excited. Oh, it may not be where the earls and dukes of society will be in attendance,” she sighed, “but ’tis still Society of a sorts.” She crossed the room, her gaze lowering to the finely crafted hand mirror and then refocusing on Tess. “Your parents would be so proud of you, my dear.”

  “Would they? I very much doubt it. Using ill-gotten gains to fund something I do not want.”

  “Don’t be silly. We’ve discussed this. You need to marry, otherwise you will be a spinster, and what life is that?”

  “A life I choose,” she countered.

  “Oh, Tess.” Tulip wrung her hands, her voice tainted with disquiet. “Marriage is a life that befalls us all, whether we want it or not. It is our womanly duty in life. Surely you understand that?”

  Tess clenched her fists at her side as the now familiar coil of nerves churned deep down in her stomach. “My parents left me an inheritance to use for the life I chose. Yet it has been squandered.”

  Tulip’s smile faded. “It was not our fault.”

  “Perhaps not yours, Aunt, but definitely Luther’s.”

  “His businesses—” her aunt began to protest.

  “Yes. Yes, I know.” She drew away from her aunt. “Every one of them failed. Was it any use tossing good money after bad? Now, I’m a side of beef to be hawked to the highest bidder.” It wasn’t marriage that Tess refused, but being forced to marry someone not of her choosing. Of not having control over her own life.

  “You are a beautiful woman,” Tulip smiled indulgently. “And sure to find a man of means.”

  “Ah…yes, means. The all-important factor.” Tulip would never understand. Tess reached for her reticule with a suddenly shaking hand.

  “Good girl. Put a smile on your face.” She reached over and pinched Tess’s cheeks. “There. Much better. A lady always needs to look healthy and fresh to attract a man, and given your…” Her voice trailed off.

  “My advanced age?” Tess prompted. “Too old to attract a husband at twenty-three?”

  Tulip’s lips smacked her displeasure. “Well, you have had ample opportunity, my girl. You gave up a good man in Percy Harrow. I do not know what you were thinking running away like that.”

  An icy shiver skittered down her spine, her arms instantly dotted as if she were a plucked goose. She kept her own counsel, however.

  Her aunt reached for her hand and clutched it as if she thought Tess were about to bolt. “You are very lucky your uncle managed to extricate you from the…ah…delicate situation he found you in. The least you can do is do as he bids and be grateful.”

  “And find a rich husband to support you both.” Receiving a blank look from her aunt, Tess shook her head at the futility. “I believe we have a dance to attend,�
�� she said.

  “Yes. Yes. Come now, straighten up, don’t slouch, and don’t babble. A man does not want to hear a woman speak too often. And none of your talk of independence, my girl.” Tulip hustled her from the room, down the staircase. Tess felt as if she were walking into hell.

  Circling the foyer, the staff waited to send her off.

  “You’ll do us proud,” Mrs. Horshall, their housekeeper, said, offering Tess a beaming smile. The homely woman had been a comfort to Tess these last few weeks. Widowed young, she had never remarried, and yet she seemed to understand Tess far better than her aunt.

  Tess returned the smile, all the while hurried by Tulip at her side.

  Tulip Gibbs had once been a beautiful woman, and though age and worry had taken their toll, of late there had been a renewed vigor in the older woman’s step. Reading Ackerman’s Periodicals voraciously and more concerned with the latest ruffle and what gossip the ton had to offer, Tulip reveled in reestablishing her social position amongst the ton, albeit to the disgruntled criticism from Luther that it was not high society enough. It seemed Luther had fantasies of grandeur amidst the country’s peerage.

  Tess watched her aunt’s enjoyment. How could she disappoint her?

  When Luther had dragged Tess back home, Tulip had been so wrought she had taken to her bed for days. Wracked by guilt at causing her aunt such distress and constantly watched by Luther’s servants, her failure to get away had killed her spirit, and firmly squashed any thought of another escape. Until tonight. Tonight she was determined she would find a way. Somehow.

  …

  The clatter of the carriage wheels over the cobbles lulled Tess into a state of flux until the moment they turned into a long tree-lined drive bordered by a blaze of candles.

  “Now girl, do as your aunt has told you and you’re sure to snare a husband.”

  “Sell the bride and gain an income, is that it, Luther?” she countered.

  “See!” Luther turned to Tulip. “That is exactly what is wrong with her. Too much liberty. You, young lady,” he said shaking a fist in front of her, “would benefit from a sound beating.”

  Tess stifled a gasp and pushed back into the cushioned seat. “Touch me and you’ll never see me again. Then where will your precious money-grubbing plans be, Uncle Luther?” Her voice dripped ice, yet inside she burned with a gnawing fury and the ever-present fear. She turned away from the odious man and stared balefully out the window. “Oh, Aiden.” Her highwayman’s name came softly unbidden to her lips. Only a memory now, though he haunted her dreams.