by Eva Devon
Rob replied dryly, “Black has always been my color.”
“Not your clothes, man.”
“What can I say?” Rob shrugged, determined to keep the truth at bay, for as long as he could. “I’m not a boy anymore.”
“You haven’t been a boy since we went to war,” Harley pointed out. “None of us have been.”
“True.” They’d all been through hell and come back, in various degrees of damage. But how did he explain that he was even more jaded now than when he’d first returned? More despondent? He couldn’t. It was as simple as that. He swallowed the rest of his brandy. “Until our meeting.”
He did not miss the strange look that Harley gave him as he ventured out into the thick ballroom, wondering if two o’clock in the morning was too early to leave. He hoped to God it wasn’t. For he was ready to leave the scene of people dancing in golden rooms, as the rest of the world burned.
Chapter 8
Harry leaned back against the soft squabs in the dark coach. The small, yet elegant space was illuminated only by a small lantern which bathed herself and her mother in a light, amber glow. The moon danced in through the window, allowing her to see a good deal further than usual outside of the coach. What a glorious evening it was.
She let out a happy sigh. Three days of parties, routes, dances, and riding every day in the park had left her exhausted but thrilled. Her toes ached. For in the two balls she’d attended in three days, she’d danced every dance.
The dull ache throbbing through her feet was worth it. For she had enjoyed every moment that had passed.
There was something truly to be said for the excitement of the Season. When she looked at her brother, his head high, broad shoulders back, eyes barely concealing their resignation at being surrounded every evening by a passel of people eager for his attention, she could understand his relative dislike of the social whirl.
She’d seen how hard he worked, how many dinners he hosted, how wherever he went, people needed something from him. Still, he bore it with remarkable good humor and ease. Well, at least it seemed like ease to her. Many seemed to be in awe of her brother which, once upon a time, to her was quite silly. But over the last year, she’d begun to understand. He was a man of power. A man of danger. A man who knew how to get what he wanted and change the course of history.
By contrast, she had few cares. The decisions which faced her were largely consumed by what frock she’d adorn next. And she had to make such a decision four times a day. Oh the difficulty of it! Ha!
Her lack of care did not add to her happiness. It was, in fact, the one thing that contracted from it and her general contentment. She was ready to take her place in the world. And not as a chooser of millinery.
She snuck a glance at her mother who had folded her gloved hands in her lap over her sapphire cloak. Her face was relaxed, but animated. Her beautiful, intelligent mother was always planning something or solving some problem or the other, even if she looked reposed.
It was Harry’s dearest wish to be as successful as her mother had been. And still was, really.
“Did you enjoy yourself this evening,” her mother inquired at last.
“Oh yes.” Harry laughed, thinking back to the look of sheer astonishment on Lord Broadland’s face as she’d fleeced him. “I’ve discovered I’m rather good at cards.”
“You always have been,” her mother said proudly. “Just like me.”
“But with friends and family,” Harry countered. “I had no real idea if I’d measure up.” She waggled her brows. “It seems I’m quite good at a party.”
“Given your head for numbers, I am not at all surprised. And your memory could make an Oxford dean quake with admiration.”
It was true. She had an eye for detail and could recollect minutiae that others seemed to always forget. And so, when at games, she could recall what cards had been played and who held them. The use of such a skill at a party was indescribable and thrilling.
Still, it had not been a perfect evening. She nibbled her lower lip and admitted, “The conversation was rather dull.”
Her mother smiled knowingly. “You cannot expect discourse as excellent as Mr. Fox or Mr. Burke.”
She nodded. As a girl, she’d met many great men in the various houses belonging to the Harley dukedom. It was one of the most remarkable parts of being the child of a duke. There had always been great artists, writers, and politicians visiting them throughout the winter months at Harley House.
It had been most thrilling to talk with the Irishman, Edmund Burke. He held the most fascinating of views and she quite liked them.
“One day, you shall attend more parties and meet more informed people,” her mother added.
Harry waggled her brows. “One day, I shall host them. It is my absolute wish to hold the most sought after salon in the city.”
To her credit, her mother did not laugh. Rather, she smiled. “I’m sure you shall. You’re very good with people and that helps immeasurably.”
She didn’t know why but she’d always had a knack at putting people at ease. Her whole family was very easy. Perhaps that was why. She’d never feared recriminations or punishments. Her mother was far too clever and painfully patient for that.
“I do have concerns in one regard,” she finally said.
“Oh?”
She leaned forward and whispered dramatically, “Where are all the intelligent gentlemen?”
Her mother’s eyes suddenly danced. “Oh, my dear. You are in for a bit of a disappointment, I dare say.”
Harry threw up her hands. “Well, they all seem only capable of talking about dogs.”
Her mother’s lips twitched. “The English have always been rather strange conversationalists.”
“Not all of them,” Harry said, determined that she wasn’t doomed to a man who was obsessed with his horses. “So where are they?”
“Sadly, a vast many of them are not particularly interested in sharing an evening with mamas and their daughters.”
“Then how am I to find him!” she exclaimed with more flair than she had intended. But if the men she’d met recently were all she’d have to choose from, she really did have every right to be alarmed.
“Who?” her mother queried.
“My husband,” Harry stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Her mother’s face tensed and she said with more than a little warning, “You must not be in a hurry.”
“It is difficult to wait when I know the possibilities that marriage brings.”
“You have been most fortunate in that you have not been exposed to any terrible marriages.” Her mother drew in a deep breath then shook her head. “But they exist. Why, look at Caroline Lamb and Lord Melbourne.”
Harry tsked. “She ran off with Lord Byron. You don’t think I shall do such a thing.”
“I cannot imagine you being as foolish as Caroline Lamb,” her mother admitted. “But that is but one of many. The Devonshires have a most unfortunate marriage. I would not wish such a marriage upon anyone. And there are worse. Do you wish to have as happy a union as I did with your papa?”
Harry leaned back, wishing her mother wasn’t making such sense. So few mamas would truly care if a marriage was a happy one. Advantage was usually the rule of the day. But her family had always been different. “Of course I wish for a happy union. I do but—”
“Then you must be patient,” her mother cut in amicably with a serious glint to her gaze. Then gently, she touched her hand to Harry’s. “You will find him.”
Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Harry replied, “Patience has never been a particular virtue of mine.”
“I am aware, Harriet, but all the more reason to practice it.”
Harry sighed again and plunked her elbow on the window ledge. “I suppose so.”
As she turned to glance out the window, she spotted the tall grass of the park and the surrounding oak trees made silver by moonlight. And just as she was about to rest her
chin upon her fist, her eyes caught sight of a fast moving figure.
A masked man riding upon a horse dashed towards their coach.
Her throat tightened as she tensed. “Mama, I think we are about to be accosted.”
“I beg your pardon?” her mother demanded, leaning forward.
And that was when she spotted the second man in the shadows of the trees and fear curled in her heart.
Rob rode into the park with Sir Valiant well groomed, fed, and sprightly considering all of the events. This night, he’d attended not one but two rousing, decadent gambling parties and he was assured that at least two coaches with purses of a hundred guineas or more would make their way through the park. Fortunately, their owners were both rather odious lords. So, tonight’s work would be a pleasure.
The moon danced high above, bathing the park with it’s rare but beautiful pure glow. Summer meant that there were fewer fires. Fewer fires meant a great deal less coal smoke. It was also decently warm and he adjusted his mask, ensuring it covered his face.
Again.
It was an undeniable habit driven by the fact that he did happen to steal from his own class. Therefore, it was possible that he might know them and therefore be recognized. It did rather put an awkwardness and increased danger to the whole affair.
As he headed into the deepest part of the park, he heard the rumble of coach wheels and frowned.
He didn’t plan on robbing a coach in which he did not have prior knowledge of the contents again. He wasn’t about to risk another round of paste jewels.
But in the distance, he spotted the vehicle.
And another highwayman.
His eyes flared. Bloody hell.
He was not in the habit of hunting the same field as another brigand.
For two reasons. It was not productive and, in truth, most highwaymen were unscrupulous criminals. Some with a vicious, violent streak.
As he considered retreating, he drew in a fortifying breath. Better to see what was transpiring and if anyone was about to be in jeopardy. He still had a scrap of honor after all.
He urged Sir Valiant into a gallop to catch up and then he spotted the crest of arms on the coach.
It was a Harley coach with a unicorn rampant with three fleur-de-lis surrounding it.
If Harley was in the coach, the man could handle himself. Of that, Rob was certain. Still, he wasn’t about to stand by and chance his friend be injured in some mad moment.
But what if. . .
His gut clenched and his mouth dried as a singularly harrowing thought occurred to him.
The coach rolled to a slow halt. The highwayman, dressed in brown leather from head to toe, waved his pistol at the coachman and two footmen.
Immediately, the men put up their hands.
Rob was going to have to talk to Harley about his servants going out unprepared at night.
But that didn’t matter. What mattered right now was who occupied the vulnerable coach.
The highwayman drew his cutlass and pounded the hilt on the door.
It opened slowly, exposing a porcelain white arm. And that was all Rob needed to see. The feeling of pure protectiveness and fury that laced through him fairly burned.
He raced forward, without pause. The thunder of his horse’s hooves drove the highwayman’s attention away from the coach and towards him.
He could see the whites of the other man’s eyes behind his brown leather mask. The highwayman lifted his pistol and cocked it.
Rob didn’t flinch nor rein Sir Valiant in.
The man fired and the lead ball whizzed past his arm.
Rob grit his teeth, riding in fast and hard. Now that the man had wasted his shot, he swept up to the coach, drew his saber and brought it down on the hand that held the pistol.
The highwayman let out a yelp of surprise then cursed. He dropped the weapon and attempted to parry but Rob blocked it. Given the man’s surprise, Rob was able to hook the sword and disarm his opponent. The saber fell to the earth.
Rob circled the ruffian and the other man’s horse danced nervously.
“This lots mine,” the other man hissed.
“Not anymore,” Rob growled coldly.
“I caught ’em.”
“And I’m relieving you of them.” Rob cocked his head to the side, appearing careless but deadly. “Now, best you go or I’ll have your guts for my horse’s new reins.”
The highwayman winced as Rob let the silver of his blade dance close to his body but not close enough that he could attempt to seize it.
Finally, the other man nodded tightly. “I’ll be back.”
Rob gave him a cold smile. “How clever of you to warn me.”
“I know who you are.”
“How astute,” Rob drawled.
The other man’s face screwed up with disgust and a hint of fear. “You’re that Gentleman Highwayman.”
Rob gave him a mocking bow. “Indeed, now hie off.”
“I’ll be coming for you,” he warned.
“Dear sir, you’ll have to get in a very long line,” Rob replied. “Now, unless you wish me to test the sharpness of my sword?”
The highwayman cursed then whipped his reins against his horse’s flank and thundered off into the night.
Rob lowered his blade slowly then wheeled around to face the coach door. This was going to be trouble he didn’t need. But he had no choice.
“Thank you,” a strong female voice said from the coach.
Both Harry and her mother were staring at him, agog.
Everlasting hell.
He tipped his hat, praying he could get away without speaking.
“Do you wish our jewels?” Harriet had the audacity to ask him. Was she always so bloody bold? Knowing Harry, the answer was yes. “You certainly deserve them.”
He both admired and was appalled by her bravery. He should shake her and warn her. But truth be told, it was good to see that she wasn’t shaking or cowering. The best thing in life, in his opinion, was to simply get on with things.
Perhaps if he’d been a different sort of man he would have taken them but he also had no intention of risking recognition. So, instead, desperate to make his escape, he said in a voice that was a rough command, “Go now.”
And then he reared Sir Valiant up onto his hindquarters, gave them a sweeping bow then raced off to the trees to wait and watch, then follow them at a distance until they’d made their way safely home.
The door to the coach remained open for a long moment as Lady Harriet leaned out and stared into the dark forested area of the park.
He observed from the safety of the trees as she glanced about.
Her curiosity was palpable. But then she slammed the door shut with a solid thud and the coach rolled across the bumpy road. Following from a goodly pace away, he tightened his fists on the reins, wondering what the hell the fates were about. Had he not already suffered enough without such a meeting to complicate his life?
No. All would be well. For surely, not even curiosity would lead Harry to consider that a duke could be a highwayman. No one, not even she, would give credence to such a thing.
Chapter 9
“Get your hat!” Harriet all but bellowed the moment she spotted her friend skipping down the stairs.
Eglantine stopped mid-skip and grabbed the banister. She stared at Harry as if all her wits had tumbled out of her head. But being a good friend, she nodded without question and pivoted.
Quickly, Eglantine rushed back up the way she had come, leaving Harry to stand in the circular foyer and pace the inlaid wood floor, the ribbons of her bonnet all but flapping given the speed of her walk.
The butler, Fortescue, who she had known all her life, was following her with his gaze. He was unfazed largely because he had known her for her whole life.
She kept pacing, despite his attention, along a floor so polished with wax, one might have skated upon it if one had a mind to.
Fidgeting with the long, pink strings of her reticu
le, she kept gazing at the stairs, willing her friend’s return. She had not slept a wink. Oh no. She had spent the night envisioning the events in the park again and again. She had not been able to close her eyes without seeing the moment in which he had raced up and come to their aid.
And since she had not bothered to attempt sleep, driven by a deep instinct rioting within her, she had rifled through the special box of newspapers she kept under her bed. She’d reread every line ever written about the Gentleman Highwayman because her stomach had been in perfect tumult since the moment she had locked gazes with him. In fact, she had not been able to drive his blazing, blue gaze from her mind.
For in all her life, she’d ever only seen eyes so blue in one man which could affect her so deeply.
Just one.
“Would you care to sit while you wait, my lady?” Fortescue suddenly asked as he bounced lightly on his polished heels.
“No, thank you,” she said. “Such a thing would be impossible.”
“You seem most agitated, my lady.” Fortescue pursed his lips. “Would you care for a restorative?”
Given that it was not yet noon, she was not about to take him up on the offer and, really, why did ladies need to calm themselves? She had very good reason to be agitated!
She forced herself to stop pacing and smoothed her hands down the front of her white cotton gown, embroidered with strawberries. “That is unnecessary. Thank you, Fortescue.”
“If my lady should change your mind—”
Before he could finish, Eglantine bounded down the stairs, her bright yellow spencer flashing in the morning light and her bonnet propped jauntily on her curled hair.
“Shall we?” Eglantine asked.
“Indeed,” Harry declared, half-afraid Fortescue would begin plying her with potions for nervous complaints if she did not make her immediate escape.
Linking arms, they rushed out of the arched door, down the steps and out towards Park Lane. They made a quick right, both of them being fond of Speaker’s Corner.
As if sensing that the conversion would not truly begin until they found themselves in a rather isolated leafy spot, they bustled on in companionable but determined steps.
