by Eva Devon
She was out for Robert Deverall, Duke of Blackstone.
In fact, she was going to corner him and find out what the devil was going on in his mad head.
Peering above the superbly and sometimes wildly coifed heads of the ton, both male and female, she looked for the austere yet deliciously handsome figure of the duke.
“Whatever are you doing, my dear?” her mother asked.
“Nothing, Mama,” she said with the practiced lightness of a second child with a vast many siblings.
“Well, do stop,” her mother said. “You are bouncing about like a rabbit.”
“Hardly.”
Her mother waved her fan slowly, undeterred. “You seem surprisingly nervous.”
Without acknowledging the accusations that she was unduly agitated, she replied, “I think I shall just go find Eglantine.”
Her mother swung her gaze towards her. “You do not have an assignation, do you?”
“Mama!” she exclaimed, horrified.
Her mother pinned her with an assessing and loving stare. “You are acting most strangely.”
She sniffed. “I have no intention of being caught in an inconvenient moment like Julia Grenville.”
“Glad to hear it, my dear.” Her mother whipped her fan shut. “Your brother will kill the fellow who tries.”
Harry rolled her eyes. George was a marvel, but he did have a surprising temper when it came to the protection of his family.
“Off you go then,” her mother encouraged. “If any old rake tries to stop you, tread upon him.”
“Yes, Mama. I’ll remember.”
As she sashayed through the thick crowd of heavily-perfumed people, she kept in mind the training that both her mother and brother had drilled in her. Smiling at rakes would do nothing. Niceness was tragically taken as an invitation.
No. One had to be quite clear. And usually only a good bashing of some sort could achieve such a thing. Apparently a well-placed heel was the best option. She’d been very lucky that over the years, her mother had encouraged her to be kind. Not nice.
She paused by the long, linen-covered refreshment table and searched for him. He was here. She knew he was for she’d heard his name called when he’d entered not a quarter of an hour before. But he’d slipped away somewhere.
His sister, Mary, a very pleasant young woman, was dancing with the Baron of Wright.
She frowned and suddenly her heart began to hammer as she decided to search the veranda. Was she being mad?
If she was right, Rob was a highwayman. Dare she trust him?
But this was Rob!
He’d stolen her ribbons only to braid them into bracelets. And he’d taught her naughty rhymes and danced with her through the great hall, whirling about until she couldn’t touch the ground.
How could she ever be afraid of him?
She couldn’t.
But if she was right, there was a side to him that all of London did not know.
And to her shock, she found that a voice deep inside her was urging her to meet it.
The air cooled as she neared the hall that led to the stone steps which trailed into the back garden.
She headed out onto the paving stones and placed her hands on the balustrade that was entwined with wisteria. She scanned the dusky evening, looking for some sight of him. But he was nowhere to be found.
With a sigh, she turned then nearly tripped on her own gown as she spotted him sitting on the very balustrade she’d braced herself on, tucked away in shadows more than a dozen feet away.
He was staring at her.
How had she not felt it?
For now that she’d faced him, the intensity of that cobalt gaze burned. Deliciously.
There was no denying it.
Her breath caught in her throat and the entire world vanished about them.
It had to be him. He had to be the Gentleman Highwayman both of her dreams and reality the other night.
Those eyes could not lie. No mask could trick her. Not when she felt as if she simply had to gaze into those mischievous eyes and she’d know his every secret.
Slowly, she took a step forward, her thin, ivory silk gown sliding over her thigh.
He did not move, nor did he smile in welcome.
“Contemplating your nightly pursuits?” she asked playfully, hoping to set him off guard, to let him know she knew without saying it.
His eyes narrowed imperceptibly. “It’s best you go inside, Lady Harriet.”
“I suppose it is,” she agreed merrily. “You are a man after all.”
His massive chest rose and fell in slow breaths. “And we are alone.”
She glanced about playfully, though she felt as if her entire body was tingling at his very nearness. “So we are. And I did promise my mother there would be no assignations.”
“This is not an assignation,” he rumbled.
“Of course not,” she agreed. “You had no idea I was looking for you.”
“You were looking for me? Bloody hell, Harry.” He swung his long, black-clad legs down and he stood, unfolding to his full height which left him towering over her. She craned her neck to meet his gaze.
She blinked innocently. “Whatever is amiss?”
“You know,” he growled in soft warning. “You are deucedly intelligent, so don’t play coy. You know we can’t be alone together out here. No matter that we have known each other forever. You’re on the mart for a husband.” He sighed and drove a hand through his thick, dark hair, leaving it beautifully disheveled. “And it so happens I’m on the market for a wife myself. So, I won’t be accused of despoiling an innocent, thank you very much, when I have to find a reputable lady to—”
“I beg your pardon?” she cut in, half-feeling like he’d shoved her backwards with that one declaration.
“To wed,” he finished as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
She scowled, taking in what he was saying. “How can you?”
He arched a brow. “Well, my mother chooses a reputable lady, with a fortune, tolerable looks, and I set a date. We meet at St. Paul’s or Westminster before a bishop. I don’t really care about the details.”
“No. Not that,” she rushed, waving his contrary comments aside, feeling flustered and angry. “How can you marry? Or even look your sister or mother in the face when you take such chances? With your honor? With your reputation? With your life?”
Ever so slowly, he tilted his head to the side. His breathing grew agonizingly drawn out and he stared at her, waiting, as a muscle tensed in his jaw.
Suddenly, the cheeky boyish fellow she’d known was gone, replaced by a far more serious, thrilling man.
“Do you deny it?” she challenged, stunned by her own tactic even as she felt on edge. She’d barreled in. No finesse at all. But his declaration that he was to marry had done the strangest thing to her sense of reason. It had driven it completely away.
Shadows played across his face as he arced his head towards her and whispered, “Deny what?”
“That- that you are he,” she whispered back.
“He, who?” he demanded softly.
She folded her arms beneath her breasts, which drew his gaze downward, roaming over her curves.
She blushed but did not relent, knowing she wasn’t mistaken. Yet she felt foolish. Much to her sadness, she realized they weren’t friends. Not now. What had compelled her to seek him out? To thank him? To castigate him?
No. None of those things. She’d had to know. To be sure. And she had to understand the strange feelings he’d awoken in her.
She nibbled her lower lip. “You know of what I speak.”
“I do not,” he said, his voice low and rough as gravel. “You’re going to have to declare it. Whatever this is about.”
Frowning, she said tightly, “The Gentleman Highwayman.”
He stared at her for a long moment, those stunning eyes flashing and then he grinned and laughed. A low, slow rumble. “Oh, Harry. Your imagination is de
lightful.”
“Do not lie to me,” she bit out.
“Harry—”
And to her absolute shock, she reached forward and grabbed his arm.
His face went white as he repressed a groan.
She dropped her hand and folded her arms back under her breasts. “Gentleman. Highwayman.”
His gaze narrowed. “You’d best leave this alone.”
“You won’t even allow me to thank you?”
“You weren’t thanking me,” he countered coldly. “You were berating me.”
“Because you are being ridiculously foolish,” she replied. “How can you take so much risk? Are you so very bored with life?”
The last bit of humor that had lit his gaze for a moment vanished. “You know so damned little about this life that, of course, you think the only reason that someone like me would take to the roads was out of boredom.”
The coldness of those words astonished her. They were laced with pain. It was so tempting to be engaged by his accusations of her naïveté. But point of fact, her experience was rather limited. So instead, she urged, “Then tell me.”
“Why in God’s name would I confide in you?” he asked, not with contempt but with surprise.
She stood straight, eyeing him before she said softly, “Because, once, a very long time ago, we were friends.”
“But we are not friends now,” he countered.
She lifted her chin. “We could be.”
“Is that what you wish, Harry?” He cocked his head to the side, his dark hair falling over his brow. “To be friends.”
“I think so.” She nodded. “Yes. It is what I wish.”
His gaze searched over her face. “How is it that you are exactly the same and so very different?”
“I don’t know. I feel the same about you.”
“Do you?” he murmured. “Feel the same?”
The air around them crackled as she realized that he was speaking of something else. That thing which she understood in theory, but not reality. For though she had exchanged numerous kisses over the years, she’d never truly understood desire. Not until this moment. With him.
Her lips parted and she found herself tilting her head back.
His gaze trailed over her face until, at last, it came to rest upon her lips.
“This is madness,” he breathed.
“Yes,” she agreed. “Marvelous, inexplicable madness.”
But then a dark shadow fell over his face. “Is this what you want then? A kiss from a highwayman?”
She blinked. And before she could reply, his lips were on hers.
Her retort that it didn’t really matter since he and the highwayman were one and the same remained unspoken as she clasped his shoulders.
He pulled her up onto her toes, kissing her with the sort of wildness that she’d only ever imagined. And the imagination stumbled far short of the reality as she fell under his spell.
The feel of his hard shoulders beneath her hands was as seductive as the lips upon hers and she gave in to it, knowing deep in her heart that he was the one she’d been waiting for. All this time, it had been him. The boy she’d known and, now, the man he was.
He broke the kiss abruptly, his breath ragged, and his blue gaze stunned.
“There,” he said, his voice rough. “You have what you no doubt came for.”
“Rob?” she questioned, dazed.
“I’m not going to hurt the sister of my friend,” he said raggedly. “So, I advise you now, do not foster concern for me. I thank you for it. But I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
As he stormed down the stone steps into the dark garden, she wondered. Rob had never seemed like a selfish person. No, she’d always liked him. Very much. And when she’d suggested he’d taken to the road for a lark? His anger had filled the air around them. What trouble could he be in?
Perhaps, the Gentleman Highwayman needed some saving of his own.
Chapter 12
“Good God, old boy.” Drake arched a brow and sprawled in his chair, requisite glass of brandy in hand. “You really do have a list.”
Rob scowled at Drake, the parchment scrawled with names grasped firmly in his hand. “And thank God for it.”
Drake’s lips twisted in a smirk. “You and I have very different ideas about what we should be thanking God for.”
“Perhaps.” Rob strode further into their sanctuary at the top of Number 79. “But you’re as wealthy as Croesus.”
“Money is marvelous,” Drake agreed easily, hooking a knee over the chair arm. “But it doesn’t solve problems or melancholia.”
Rob snorted at this sop.
“Come now, Rob.” Drake stared at him with surprisingly unyielding icy, eyes. “Admit it. Some of the most miserable people are rich.”
Rob turned away, rankling. “True. But it’s hard to be happy in a gutter.”
Drake was silent for a moment then inquired, “Are you suggesting you’re about to be thrown in a gutter?”
“No,” Rob admitted, feeling uncomfortably on edge. He had not slept since that encounter with Harry. My God, she’d shocked him. Shocked him to his very depths. And not just by her accusation but in the way he wanted her. Wanted her so much he felt scorched by it and willing to risk everything to have her. “I have not fallen so far and I still have prospects.”
“Indeed,” Drake said merrily. “You’re a very handsome fellow and I hear you play the harp to perfection.”
He shot his friend a ball-crushing stare.
“Badly done of me,” Drake admitted. “But you do look so terribly at a loss.”
Rob leaned against the fireplace mantel and shrugged. “I never thought to marry for money.”
“Come now. Let’s see the list.” Drake held out his hand with all too much eagerness. “Perhaps the love of your life is upon it.”
“Careful now,” Rob replied, gritting his teeth. “I’d hate to have to call you out.”
“I’d hate for one of us to die. And by one of us, I mean you.” Drake sat up straight. “Now, hand it over.”
Rob extended the folded, crisp, cream-colored parchment that he had not yet dared open. He’d planned on getting three sheets to the wind and then picking a name at random. Perhaps he still would.
As he headed for the grog tray beside the billiards table, he eyed Drake carefully, trying to read his reaction to the list.
Suddenly, the other duke’s lips curled in that dangerous smile of his. “This is too rich, old man. Too rich by far.”
“Dare I ask?” Rob asked, his innards as tight as a man about to be run through.
“Oh, I think you do,” Drake drawled.
“Who then?” Rob forced himself to ask.
There was a long, delighted pause. “Harley’s sister?”
“What?” he sputtered as brandy suddenly sprayed from his lips.
Drake tapped the page. “Lady Harriet Cornwall.”
“My mother must be mad,” Rob said, splashing more brandy into his snifter. He was going to need it if that was the first name on the list.
Drake frowned. “I’ve always quite liked your mother and, aside from marrying your father, I’ve always rather admired her reason.”
“Well, she can’t be in earnest.”
Drake folded the parchment and set it down on the bookshelf behind him before standing and picking up a billiards stick. “Why ever do you say so? I’ve heard Harley’s sister is the toast of the ton. Some say she’s the jewel of the Season.”
Rob stared at Drake as if he’d lost his mind. “She’s Harley’s sister.”
Drake shrugged. “She has to marry someone.”
“One doesn’t marry one’s friend’s sister. Especially for her funds.” He arched a brow. “It’s not done.”
“I’m still amazed by what’s considered done and not done for the eyes of propriety when everyone in London is behaving as if Sodom and Gomorrah were but a mere Sunday tea.”
Rob closed his eyes as the
idea of Harry as his wife dared to whisper through his mind. “Harley would kill me.”
Drake walked about the billiards table, studying the myriad of balls upon the felt. “So, the idea of her doesn’t bother you.”
Rob held his glass aloft. “I beg your pardon?”
“You don’t seem to have any issue with the lady in question,” Drake replied without looking up.
He stilled, thinking of Harry. Of the way she’d boldly strode up to him and bluntly demanded how he dared do what he did. He’d thought her utterly marvelous in that moment. How many women had the courage to do such a thing? Not many. Not many men either, for that matter.
She’d been splendid.
“Harry is. . .” He could not think of the words.
Drake lowered his stick and stared before he let out a laugh. “Good God, fellow, you’re already in love.”
“I am not,” Rob cut in. “That’s absurd.”
Drake pointed the billiards stick at him. “You look like a moon calf.”
“I am incapable of such a thing.”
Drake grinned. “Your eyes have gone all round and dreamy.”
“I am going to have to brain you with that stick.”
“Alas, that will have no effect.” Drake gave him a sly, sardonic look. “I am an obstinate fellow.”
Rob sighed. “I am aware. I could never marry her.”
“Since this is all just senseless wondering, may I ask why?”
“No, you may not. I’m allowed a few secrets.”
“Why?” Drake rested against the billiards table. “I have none from you.”
Rob scowled “That makes this damned difficult.”
“Who told you that any of this would be easy?”
“A valid point, my friend.”
Drake nodded then shrugged as if the discussion about his reservations was, indeed, over. “Well, if you will have none of Lady Harriet, should we survey the other names?”
Rob wiped a hand over his face. “I suppose we must.”
“Let’s get on with it then,” Drake said, taking aim. “Option one: Lady Aurora Apesbury.”
“Oh dear God,” Rob bit out, a wave of horror crashing over him.
Drake bore his teeth in a mischievous grin. “Oh, the fun has only begun. And if she is the one, I look forward to avoiding the numerous musicales hosted in your home.”
