The Highwayman's Bride

by Beckenham Jane

  “Then what caused you, a young woman of…” He hesitated, allowing his gaze to skim her length, imagining her dressed again in the trews. He lifted his gaze slowly with the knowledge his inspection rankled. “You are a passable beauty, Tess. Why would you rush to the highway of ruin, and later, accost me and demand I marry you, post haste?”

  She hitched her chin up a fraction and Aiden found himself quite enamored with her determination.

  “Because the man Luther has in mind is in his own image.”

  For a moment, Aiden didn’t understand. Then he remembered her uncle’s none-too-subtle threats. “Your uncle beats you.”

  Tess disconnected her gaze from him and looked away.

  “Tess?”

  Even in their dimly lit grove, Aiden witnessed the telltale threat of her tears. “Tess?”

  Finally, she lifted her gaze back to his. Her mouth trembled slightly, but there was a determination in her eyes. And desperation. “His fists may not have connected as yet, but that is only because he prefers…other ways. A pinch here, his fingers digging into my arm. Things no one would see, but vicious nevertheless.” She straightened and pushed her shoulders back. “The man my uncle deemed I should marry is no better. He is a violent man and drinks too much. His first wife died. I saw her bruises and it was not once.” She offered a tentative and sad smile. “I have lived the last eight years in a violent household, Aiden. I will not subject myself to such a life in a marriage.”

  “And you want to marry me instead?”

  Long lashes glistened, tipped with the hint of tears, then lifted, revealing her steadfast forest green gaze. It pierced the tiniest of holes into his hardened heart.

  “Are you agreeing, Aiden?”

  Was he?

  Lillian’s beauty had bewitched him and they’d wed barely a week before he had been shipped out to the Peninsula. For months he had trailed through the mud and mire of battle, dreaming of returning to her, only to come home to find her pregnant. She had died in childbirth days later. The child had survived.

  His son, who wasn’t of his loins, but who carried his name.

  Warm fingers tapped at his sleeve and snapped him to attention.

  “Aiden?”

  Her soft voice dispersed the cloak of bitterness long worn and he drew in one jagged breath after another. He stared into her eyes.

  A mistake. They hypnotized him, and throwing caution on the scented breeze, he found himself unable to break the connection.

  Her mouth. Kissing her. So sweet. She tasted of…

  Fool! Do not be trapped. Be vigilant.

  Aiden pulled backward as if stung by a bee.

  Marry her?

  “Tomorrow, Miss Stanhope, I will visit your uncle at noon to discuss the matter.”

  What the hell am I doing?

  Spinning on his heels, Aiden stormed down the path, barging through the wide-open French doors and across the ballroom.

  Marriage? Dear God, he had to be a fool for considering it—and a fool for not walking away from such temptation.

  Escaping the urge to go back and kiss her, he headed out the main doors, nodding toward his waiting driver, noting the man’s surprise.

  “My carriage please, Harry.”

  He understood his driver’s surprise. It was rare he left these affairs before the early hours of the morning, his intention to garner as much information about Nash “on the ground” as he could. Tonight the clock hadn’t even chimed midnight.

  Perhaps he was turning into the male version of Cinderella, he mused. Quite possible! Cinderella married her prince and here he was contemplating marriage—again!

  His jaw clenched and he scuffed a boot back and forth across the driveway.

  Why marriage? He had to be mad. Had to be.

  But—

  The carriage drew up, and before Harry could hop down from his seat, Aiden clambered in and slammed the door behind him. He drew the curtain across the carriage window. He had no desire to view the world. Tonight his own demons were enough to contend with.

  …

  Aware of curious onlookers, Tess gathered her skirts and hurriedly made her way back into the ballroom. At the entrance, her breath hitched.

  Where was he?

  She scanned the room, ignoring the sly glance of an overly dressed and inebriated young man sidling up to her.

  Aiden had left.

  “How rude.” Propriety dictated that he at least have the decency to walk her back indoors. But you are a rogue of the road, Aiden Masters. So what had she expected?

  Tentatively, her fingers slid along the outline of her mouth. She felt his lips still there.

  She had not expected his kiss—but in truth she had wanted it. Had imagined it for weeks.

  Percy had tried to kiss her once and she had felt nothing but revulsion.

  But this? This was different and even now she felt unknown sensations careering through her body, twining into her soul and taking up residence there. And she would marry him. He just had to realize there was no way out.

  After searching the entire room to no avail, Tess decided it was time for her to leave this tedious event. She had what she wanted. Hopefully.

  Tulip and Luther were seated with Thelma and Freddie Thomas, who had come up from their Malvern estate. Their expressions bore a distinct resemblance to caged lions. Tess offered them a gentle smile of sympathy. “I…ah, have a megrim, Aunt,” she said with added inference as she massaged her temple. “I would like to leave.”

  The couple stood up immediately. “Oh, my dear,” Thelma Thomas sighed, “how awful, but of course you must go home straightaway.”

  Tess offered her an appreciative smile. At least she understood. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for Tulip, whose lips were pressed tight with disapproval, and Luther’s cheeks reddened by the second.

  “Take her home, Mrs. Gibbs,” the woman added, championing Tess. “She needs her bed, I’m sure.” She turned to her husband. “Come along, Freddie. I saw Marjorie Fallsworth talking to Arthur Dunhoven. Time to go and say hello.” And with that she dragged her husband away who offered no protest whatsoever.

  “Stupid girl,” Luther hissed, his alcohol-soaked sour breath assaulting her nostrils. “I had nearly succeeded.”

  Delight that she’d ruined his plans couldn’t be squashed, though she offered a meekly innocent smile. “In doing what, Uncle?”

  “In making a business connection. Thomas has made a fortune in wool. I could have wangled a way in.”

  “Don’t fret, Luther,” said Tess’s aunt. “There’ll be another time.”

  “Be quiet, woman.” Luther scowled. “It’s your fault.” He grabbed Tess’s left arm, nails digging into her flesh as he wrenched her up close. “You’ve left us no option now. If we do not take you home we’ll look—”

  “Uncaring.” Tess tried to smile, but flagrant fear tightened a cord of steel across her chest. Luther snorted, tipped his head back and guzzled the remains of his drink in one long gulp, belching as he placed his glass on a nearby table.

  Tess shook her head, buoyed by a growing sense of purpose. She wrenched herself from his hold and turned swiftly away, catching Thelma’s wink. At least she had one person in her corner. Soon it would be two—hopefully.

  She could do this.

  She was strong—stronger than Luther realized, and if she were truthful, stronger than she herself had believed possible. She would not let Luther destroy her soul as he had done to Tulip, or wither her will to survive. She would not let him win. Time. It was all about choosing the right time. The time was now and she’d realized the perfect plan.

  The journey home proved strained. Luther sat moodily silent while Tulip prattled on about who had attended the gathering, denouncing the worst dressed and offering high praise for the most fashionable.

  Just as they rounded the corner into St. James Square and drew up outside the house, Tess spoke up. “I have an announcement.”

  Tulip’s monologue
ceased, a wave of concern washing across her eyes.

  Luther simply harrumphed, but shifted to face her. “Are you going into a nunnery? The papists and their endless praying would surely staunch your willful ways.”

  Tess pushed her shoulders back, linking her fingers in front of her, aware of their slight shake.

  Remember you’re strong, Tess. You can do this.

  “No, Uncle,” she said, determined not to offer a hint of uncertainty in her tone. “I’m not, but if I did I wouldn’t be of any use to you. You need my money—what there is left of it.” Tess almost believed that her mother was on her shoulder, offering a silent cheer. She straightened and refused to weaken. “In a few days, you will no longer have to worry about me for I have found a man I intend to marry.”

  Luther slapped a podgy hand on his thigh. “About bloody time. Does he have money?”

  Only stolen.

  “I have no idea.”

  “What?” His hands fisted. “You stupid girl. You’re meant to find a wealthy husband, not some pauper who has not a farthing to his name.”

  “That is too bad, Uncle, because I have made my decision. It is this man or no one. I would have thought you would prefer I was out of your sight.”

  “Oh, my dear.” Tulip beamed, reached forward and took Tess’s hands in her icy ones. “I’m so excited. We shall have a wonderful time planning it all. Who is it? You must tell.”

  Tess stared at her aunt. Had the woman not heard a word of her conversation with Luther? She took several breaths to steady her nerves. “Tomorrow Aiden Masters will come to speak to you.”

  “Him!” Luther gawped, his fleshy jowls wobbling. “You will not marry him. Not on my bloody life will he step into my home. The man is a cad.”

  “That is none of your concern.” As she said the words Tess grabbed hold of her revived sense of inner strength and didn’t let go.

  Yes, she had struck out on the highway, thinking it would be like the stories she had read.

  How wrong that had been. That was purely fantasy. But right now, she knew this was her chance and she would not let it slip away. “My trust account is virtually empty and I am no longer of any use to you, Luther, but you and I both know the truth is that you’ve wasted it all. A fact I’m sure my father’s lawyer Mr. Steinhart would be interested to know.”

  “Why you ungrateful little…” His fist shot into the air, ready to swing at her.

  Tess refused to flinch or bat an eyelid. “Hit me and I’ll ensure you never see the little that is left of my trust money. I should have stood up to you years ago, but to my shame I did not, believing I had no other options. But no more. I will marry Mr. Masters.”

  For several long seconds, the only sound was Luther’s wheezing breath. Not one word was spoken, his fury explosive.

  Tulip reached a hand out to her husband. “Leave it be, Luther.”

  He flicked her off and his fist remained airborne.

  Tess waited. Prepared for it.

  Uttering a brutal curse, he dropped his arm to his side and shoved the carriage door open. Cursing profusely, he didn’t bother helping Tulip or Tess and stormed into the house.

  Tess stared after him, aware of Tulip shaking at her side. “That went well.”

  “He is upset. That is all.”

  Tess turned to her aunt, seeking some sort of understanding. “Oh, Aunt Tulip, how can you live like this? Why do you stay?”

  Her aunt’s brow creased, incomprehension blatant. “Because…because I am his wife and I love him.”

  Tess would never understand her aunt. “You love a bully.”

  “He was not always so. It is the business—”

  “A bully, no matter.” Exiting the carriage, Tess turned to help Tulip down to the pavement.

  “You’ll understand once you’re married, child.”

  “Never.” Brutality was never excusable.

  And highway robbery is?

  She didn’t have an answer for that except that desperation made people do things they normally wouldn’t.

  Thrilled that she had at last found a way to shed the mantle of Luther’s bullying, she headed upstairs, ignoring the vociferous rants echoing from the library. Once tucked up in bed, she experienced a renewed sense of hope. Her last thought before sleep took over was of Aiden, her future husband.

  Morning came all too soon, and she woke to the chatter of a robin outside her window. It huddled on a heavy oak branch, taking shelter from the incessant drizzle. While the sun’s rays barely threaded through the heavy clouds, sunshine glowed in her heart. Freedom was within her reach.

  A knock sounded at her door.

  “Come in.”

  Millie, the young maid who’d been with her for several years, walked in carrying a tray of hot chocolate. “You’re already up, m’lady.”

  “I am.”

  “Ain’t really surprised. The master hasn’t stopped ranting all night long. Even Thomas the footman got a clip around the ear when he went to stoke the fire in the library.”

  Tess took the steaming hot drink from Millie’s tray, warming her fingers around the stoneware cup. “I’m sorry. It is entirely my fault. I’ve disrupted his plans.” She sipped her drink, enjoying the creamy chocolate as it swirled across her tongue. “A Mr. Masters is visiting at noon, Millie, and,” she said, aware of the excitement skimming around her stomach and a lightness in her chest. “I intend to marry him.”

  The maid’s hands stilled their fussing. “Oh, Miss Tess. Is that why Mr. Gibbs is…”

  “Enraged,” Tess finished for her. “Yes, he’s definitely not happy. Mr. Masters is…well, not of the financial echelon my uncle would aspire to.”

  “Well, if you’ll pardon my saying so, it sure is nice to see him get his comeuppance for a change.” She shot Tess a cheeky smile and Tess winked back in return, both of them stifling a fit of giggles.

  “Today, Millie, is the beginning of a new adventure.”

  Chapter Six

  ’Tis the season for courting.

  For pretty girls and handsome boys to play.

  Mirabelle’s Musings

  November 1813

  Dawn fully broken and with his leaden feet dragging, Aiden took the steps into White’s two at a time. After leaving the Bancroft’s before midnight he’d been intent on heading home, only to receive word from Mickey Cocroft that Nash’s delivery would arrive in a matter of hours.

  Sleep had beckoned, but his grim determination to hunt out the bastard and catch him in the act overrode everything else and he’d headed out on the road again.

  But again he’d failed.

  With a nod to the doorman, he handed the man his hat and topcoat and made his way to the library, refusing eye contact with a soul. To do so would entail having to stop and talk, and right now he wanted neither.

  A long sigh ruffled from his chest. Thankfully, the room was empty.

  Sinking into a luxurious leather chair, he stretched out, reveling in the warmth of the nearby fire as it succored his chilled bones. He rested his head, eyelids slowly lowering.

  Marriage?

  What fool idea had gotten into his head to even consider such a prospect?

  “Your Lordship?”

  Reluctantly, Aiden opened his eyes. A waiter stood nearby and proffered a tray of drinks.

  Aiden reached for a whiskey, relishing the fiery burn that traveled down his throat as he simply sat and stared at the fire.

  “Hello, old fellow. Where the devil did you charge off to? One minute you were at Bancroft’s discussing this bloody Nash business, and the next there’s no sign of you.” Carson Humphries, the Earl of Beswick, who had been Aiden’s best friend for more years than he could remember, sank into the chair opposite him.

  “I thought we were going to keep an eye on Nash. Happy to help and all that, but if you’re going to do the disappearing act, how about letting me know in advance.”

  Aiden offered a wry half smile. “Sorry, Beswick, but ah…something came
up and I went home.”

  “A woman, no doubt,” Beswick chuckled.

  Aiden chose not to confirm his friend’s assumption and sipped at his drink for a silent moment. “Unfortunately I got word Nash’s delivery time had moved forward.” Aiden knew what they talked of was confidential, but they’d served alongside each other in the Peninsula, attended Eaton together, and Aiden would trust his friend with his life.

  Beswick raised a brow. “And?”

  “And nothing. Just another bloody red herring!”

  “The best way to get back at Nash, my dear friend, is to foil his enterprise.”

  “Aye, you’re right. I need to catch him in the midst of his illegal shenanigans so the law can punish him.”

  “It seems unlikely to me that Nash would head out on the road after last night’s soiree. By the way, I saw him talking to another man at Bancroft’s. Do you know who it was?”

  “Gibbs,” Aiden confirmed, mouth clicking his disgust. “The man’s a dealer of sorts, though from my inquiries everything he’s touched has failed dismally.”

  “Which could be a reason why he’s talking to Nash. Easy money. Desperate.”

  “Aye. I had wondered. So why the hell was Nash at the Bancroft’s? My informant assured me the swap was going to happen.”

  “Showing his face could have been a way to deflect suspicion.”

  “Probably.” Aiden shut his eyes briefly. “Instinct pushed me to rout the bastard then and there.”

  “So why didn’t you?”

  “Fortunately, or unfortunately, common sense prevailed.” Aiden exhaled long and slow and his fist tightened around his glass. “I keep chasing every damned lead and still nothing.”

  “Somebody has to be warning him.”

  “But who?” He scraped a hand across his jaw, fingers crawling up to massage his temple. “God, how my head pounds.”

  “Lack of sleep does that to a man.”

  His friend was right. Too many nights trawling the dank and darkened roads from London to the coast had brought him to the depths of despair and exhaustion. But he had to keep going. He had no choice. The memory of his sister’s face distorted by silent tears haunted Aiden’s nights.

  “Are you sure you want to continue? No one would judge you if you simply left Nash for others to deal with.”