The Highwayman's Bride

by Beckenham Jane

  “I’d be quite content to take one of the other rooms. There’s no need to call for a maid. I’m capable of attending to myself.”

  “I’m sure you are. You’re a remarkable woman.”

  “A compliment? So why is it that I feel it’s not quite so?”

  His mouth curved slightly, causing a flock of butterflies to tumble over and over in her stomach and take flight.

  “You are my new wife Tess, and this is supposed to be our wedding night. We need to at least sleep in the same room. The staff may whisper and whispers spread.”

  “Then you should have better control over your staff, my lord,” she countered with a sniff. But she knew what he said was true.

  “We have a marriage of convenience, albeit your convenience. You said you did not want to be cuckolded. I, too, would prefer the outside world think this marriage is one of true love and lust.”

  …

  If the moment weren’t so serious, Aiden would have laughed. A sense of joy had taken hold of him. A strange emotion, foreign even. Joy that Tess was at his side. That she was his wife.

  Definitely strange, since the woman had blackmailed him to this point and there was still the suspicion about her motives.

  A marriage of convenience.

  His convenience—because it gave him respite to observe Gibbs and Nash. Dig deeper. The thought that Tess may know of Gibbs and the smuggler’s business arrangement caused something akin to disappointment to sour in his gut.

  For months as he’d traversed battlefields, listening for oncoming enemies, wondering if this would be his last breath, Aiden had relied on his gut instinct. It had come to his rescue on more than one occasion and yet here he was alive, breathing, and married to a woman he wasn’t sure he could trust.

  He didn’t want to believe Tess was in cahoots with Nash and her uncle, but…

  But…what if he was wrong? What if Tess was in the thick of it?

  She turned from the window overlooking the garden, her expression pensive. Something in Aiden’s chest tightened, an overwhelming sense of protectiveness taking hold.

  Fool. Caring leads to being vulnerable.

  “I’ll go so you can prepare for bed.”

  “No, don’t.”

  His breath snagged in his chest. “I thought you would want your privacy.”

  “I do, but…”

  He saw her visibly swallow.

  “I realize this is difficult Tess, and you are nervous. You have no need to be frightened, ’tis not as if we have not already spent the night together.”

  Color stained her cheeks scarlet. “That was different.”

  “How so?”

  “We were passing strangers then.”

  “Thrown together by fate.”

  “Or our own stupidity,” she countered.

  His mouth stretched in a sudden smile, laughter rumbling from deep down in his chest. It felt good. He felt good. Relaxed—almost.

  “This is not a wedding night, Aiden,” she said, folding her arms in front of her.

  He recognized her action as her talisman. An action of protection.

  “I’m aware of that. What do you want, Tess?”

  Her gaze dropped suddenly to the floor and for a single heartbeat he wanted to say no, don’t do that. Look at me. He wanted to continue to gaze into her eyes that reminded him of the forests at Charnley, a place where he used to feel relaxed and free.

  Used to.

  Aiden cut back such waffling emotions and cursed himself silently. Tess talked of their moment of stupidity. This was his moment—for allowing such sentimental claptrap to weaken his defenses, allowing vulnerability a look in. Again.

  What about lust?

  Aiden gasped for oxygen.

  “I know I said I did not need a maid, but the buttons, they are…I need your help to undress.” She turned her back to him.

  Lust spiraled.

  Her gown was affixed with ties at the neck, easily tugged undone, but a series of tiny buttons followed the length of her spine. She said nothing, simply stood still and waited for him.

  It took him a few tries to take command of the task, fumbling repeatedly. “Why do they make women’s clothing so fiddly?”

  “To cause the male population frustration.”

  “Then your seamstress has been supremely successful.”

  “That’s nice to hear.”

  “Nice!” Aiden cocked his head, concentrating solely on reaching the halfway mark. “The woman who designed this dress should be shot at dawn.”

  The tinkling sound of her laughter echoed around him as he reached the last three buttons.

  Lust!

  The dress loosened and with a shockwave of pleasure, he realized exactly what he was doing—undressing his wife. His groin tightened, expectancy running rampant.

  Forget it. Ignore it. Ignore her.

  Except for the two fingers he used to untangle the last of the confounded buttons, he curled the others into his palms, not wanting to touch her.

  Oh he wanted to—but he dared not.

  The second to last button undone, his pulse accelerated.

  Do the task and walk away.

  But he couldn’t. Instead, his breath held as the last button came away and the gown slipped down her shoulders, exposing the alabaster purity of her skin.

  “So delicate.” The words whispered across his lips, from his soul. He brushed his knuckles across her nape and into her hairline, fingers threading through her hair. She’d worn her hair up in an almost Grecian style, reminding him of the statues of that ancient land. Soft tendrils framed her face, their silken texture tugging at something primal in him. A need. A want. Desperation.

  “So luscious.”

  A soft sigh fluttered from her and her head tilted to one side.

  Leaning forward, Aiden’s lips sought the delicate curve of her neck. Once. Twice. He reached around her waist and drew her to him so that she rested against his length. With one hand splayed across her middle, the other caressed her bare arm as he continued to kiss along her shoulder and back to just beneath her earlobe. He nipped at it.

  “Ouch, you—” She spun around, shocking him with the intensity in her eyes.

  Desire. Heated. Potent. Urgent.

  Her lips parted, her face flushed a gentle shade of pink.

  A slow smile took hold of Aiden, building from the inside out, burning brighter by the second. Every part of him wanted to touch her. Hold her.

  A sharp knock resounded on the door, cauterizing the moment. “M’lord, if you please. ’Tis urgent.”

  Morley’s anxious voice reached from the other side of the closed door.

  Tess clamped her dress to her and jerked away from him, taking several steps backward.

  Frustration at the untimely interruption overridden by the knowledge his butler would not interrupt unless it was vital, Aiden wrenched the door open.

  The man’s eyes darted toward Tess, then sharply back to Aiden. He leaned forward and whispered in Aiden’s ear.

  “Damn it. Now?”

  Morley drew back and Aiden offered a curt nod. “Saddle up Phantom immediately.” He closed the door and turned to Tess. “It seems, my dear sweet Tess, we’ve been interrupted.”

  “In the nick of time.”

  His mouth twitched. “Fate, it seems, has again intervened in our lives.” Rubbing both hands across his face in an effort to clear his head of the other emotions crowding in, he reached for his woolen tailcoat and from a secret drawer within his wardrobe withdrew a pistol.

  On turning, he caught her gasp as she focused on the weapon. “So you go out tonight.”

  “Word has come. ’Tis important.”

  Her brow creased, eyes darkening, the heat of anger coloring her cheeks. “Go if you feel you must, but do not expect me to approve.”

  Aiden tucked his pistol into a pocket on the inside of his tailcoat. “A bit hypocritical, do you not think, since thievery is the way we met.”

  “You ar
e a lord. You have money, a beautiful home, and a family estate in Charnley. Why do you need to rob people? Is it excitement you seek?”

  “This is a different kind of battle, Tess.”

  “War? You were on the Peninsula?”

  “I was. War is not exciting, nor is this battle, but it is one I am not prepared to lose.” He reached for her, surprising her so that she had no time to react, his mouth covering hers.

  God, she tasted so sweet.

  He deepened their kiss, demanding more, taking succor from her beautiful mouth, his tongue sliding along the length of her lips.

  She opened to him, surprising him, but with reluctance he pushed her away. “Good-night, sweet Tess, and remember this,” he said as he drew the pad of his thumb down her cheek and across lips still glistening from their kiss, “life is often an illusion.” That he had not told her the truth of his occupation niggled. But tonight he had no time. The truth must wait.

  Spinning away from temptation, he strode from the one person in this life who it seemed had the ability to seep beneath his skin—if he let her.

  …

  That was not meant to happen. Aiden kissing her. And for goodness sake, she had kissed him right back. Wanted more. Offered more.

  Still clasping her gown to her nakedness, Tess sank down on the bed, only to jump right back up again as she heard the sound of voices from outside. She raced to the window and gazed down into the garden.

  To one side was a brick wall, partially visible beneath the filtered rays of a cloud-covered moon. Aiden stood talking to another, their voices muffled by the distance. From a stable door Morley led a large horse and in one swift lift, her husband seated himself in the saddle.

  Tess pressed herself against the French doors and her fingers clutched at the latch. She opened the door and listened.

  “Are you sure the goods will be there?”

  “Aye, m’lord. Our informant said there’d be four. Tonight is the first.”

  Four what? Did Aiden intend to hold up four carriages?

  “And is everything in place?”

  “Aye.”

  Aiden reached inside his jacket and withdrew the pistol.

  “Oh, Aiden.” Her white breath spread across the icy window. “Why?”

  Though her words were whispered, it was as if he’d heard her and he glanced up toward their room. She shrank from view, allowing the curtains to drop back into place.

  With a tug of the reins, Aiden directed his horse through the archway that led out to the streets of London.

  He’d gone thieving again.

  Tess pushed away from the window and eyed the doorway to the bedchamber. If Aiden Masters, Earl of Charnley, thought he could come and go from her bedroom, he had better think again. Quickly she slipped off her gown, fingering the tiny satin-covered buttons, remembering Aiden’s touch and what it had aroused in her.

  As if burned, the dress fell from her fingertips and she scooped up her linen nightgown, slipping it over her head.

  Standing in the middle of the room, she assessed each piece of furniture. She needed to be able to move it and for it to hold in place because Aiden would not be a happy man to be shut out of his own bedchamber on his return.

  “See if I care, my lord,” she whispered into the silence.

  The only piece easy to move was the chaise. Tess dragged it across the room, tipping the ornately carved backrest beneath the door handle to prevent the door from being opened. After testing it several times she stepped back with a satisfied smile.

  Her gaze lit on the dress still draped over the chaise. “How appropriate.” Her husband may have helped remove her dress, but he would not reenter the marital chamber.

  …

  Grateful for the cloak of darkness, Aiden followed the winding roads out of London, taking the country turnpike and then heading eastward.

  Underfoot, the frozen land proved perilous and made his progress slow, the icy wind cutting him to the quick. He should be grateful, for at least it kept his heated thoughts of Tess at bay.

  According to his informant, Nash intended to transport the shipment of Veuve Clicquot up the Thames under darkness. The swap was meant to happen at five a.m. before the roads and river traffic awoke.

  With Britain long at war with the French, smuggling Madame Clicquot’s champagne had become big business, one at which Nash appeared to be quite successful. Why, even at the Bancroft’s soiree there’d been a few bottles discreetly passed around.

  God, how he wished he’d never set eyes on Nash, and more importantly that his sister Mary had never encountered the bastard.

  Charming and quite the ladies’ man, Nash had been present at several galas Mary had attended three summers ago just before Aiden had been deployed a second time to the Peninsula.

  Mary and Nash had married by special license, as he had married Tess. But there the similarity between the marriages ended.

  Mary had been in the flush of love until Nash’s fist had slammed into her jaw the first time.

  Nash apologized. The first time. The second, and the third. Then he’d stopped apologizing and had disappeared, taking the jewels Mary had inherited after their mother’s death.

  Florian Nash had charmed Mary, married her, brutalized her, and walked out as if nothing had happened, taking everything she owned except for her destroyed soul. That, he had left behind.

  As Aiden neared the village of Hornbrow on the Thames estuary, he reined in Phantom and eyed the small wharf ahead. He counted off the number of moored schooners—six in all. But which one was Nash’s?

  Two hours later, as dawn cast its appearance in the east and the gray churning waters of the Thames were on the wane, Aiden shifted from his hiding place.

  Harland Proctor, one of his contacts, strode toward him. “I’m sorry, m’lord,” the wiry old seaman said, doffing his cap as he came alongside, “but Nash must’ve got wind something was up. I played me part like a drunk rolling home late and tried to gain access to each boat. There’s no sight of ’im.”

  Disappointment and disbelief swelled in Aiden’s chest. “None?”

  Proctor shook his head. “Angus, the bosun on the Lanyard, the schooner at the end,” he said thumbing toward the jetty, “he said there’d been another alongside ’em, but they upped anchor not long after midnight and skedaddled downriver.”

  “Did he know the cargo they carried?”

  “Afraid not.”

  “Hell and damnation, this is the second time in a week, Proctor. How is word getting through to him? It seems Nash has an informant who is more reliable than ours.”

  “Or they be working both camps.”

  From behind him, Phantom whinnied and nudged at Aiden’s back. He turned to the horse, rubbing a hand down his long black nose. “Yes, I know you’ve had enough of waiting.” The feeling was definitely mutual.

  Aiden squeezed his eyes closed, wishing he were elsewhere. In a warm bed with Tess.

  His eyes flew open.

  Lust. Simply lust.

  Disheartened, he headed for home. After hours in the saddle and barely able to keep upright, he arrived back at Cadogan Square.

  He tossed the reins to a stable hand and headed indoors. Ignoring a fussing Morley, he dragged his aching body up the stairs, teased by memories of the last few moments he’d shared with Tess. The sensual curve of her neck. The glide of her lustrous hair as he’d tangled his fingers in its silken curls. Kissing her.

  Despite an all-encompassing exhaustion, his nether regions stirred.

  He went to open the door to his bedchamber. The handle didn’t budge.

  His brows furrowed and he stared at the door as if he’d made a mistake. He tried again and again and again, shouldering the door to no avail.

  “Tess, open up.”

  Nothing.

  He hammered at the door, fist connecting with wood until it rattled in its hinges.

  Still nothing.

  “M’lord?”

  Aiden twisted to see M
orley standing at the top of the landing. “Might I suggest you use another room for now?”

  Aiden tried the door again.

  “Get some sleep, m’lord. You’ve had a long night.”

  “And a bloody unsuccessful one.” Aiden shot a frustrated glare toward the still closed door. Unless he kicked it in, it was fruitless. Spinning from the physical rejection, he strode down the hallway, entered the room farthest away and slammed it closed behind him.

  Hours earlier he’d felt joy at being with Tess. Something he hadn’t felt…ever. And it had scared him.

  His wife was not like other women he’d met, and certainly nothing like Lillian. And now she’d locked him out.

  …

  “Good morning, Tess, I hope you slept well.”

  Aiden’s curt tone interrupted her tightly controlled calm, sending her nerves skyrocketing in an instant.

  Dark circles shadowed his bloodshot eyes. The normally fine lines at their edges deepened. He’d changed from the dark trousers and jacket he’d worn last eve into a soft brown morning suit, his snowy white neckcloth tied to perfection.

  She offered him a tempered smile. “Of course,” she answered, determined to keep her voice level and curtail her guilt. “Did you not?”

  His mouth thinned. “You know damned well I didn’t. There seems to be a problem with the door to our bedchamber.”

  “None that I know of.” She took a bite of her buttered toast. A few minutes ago she had chewed the fresh crusty bread with relish. Now it tasted as delectable as parchment.

  His eyes narrowed, the color morphing into the darkest of storms. Tess forked a mouthful of the smoked fish kedgeree and nodded toward the still steaming dish on the buffet. “Do try some; it’s delicious.”

  “Did you not hear me knocking, or did your overindulgence of the cherry wine cause a bout of sudden deafness on your part?”

  With precise efficiency she placed her fork on the plate, then using the linen napkin she dabbed at her mouth. “No, my lord, I heard you.”

  Aiden stopped serving himself and the spoon clattered back onto the dish. He snatched at a napkin, shook it out and took a seat opposite her. “So why did you block it? Or is this another one of your games?”