by Darcy Burke
His words sunk into Fox’s furious brain. They held a note of truth. Why else would she have kissed a stranger—a highwayman to boot? She’d been shipped to the country and at the first chance she rebelled by flirting with a highwayman, something guaranteed to shock those around her. Was it possible she’d never felt anything for him at all? That every moment they’d shared, even the night at the brothel were mere episodes of a girl playing at being a woman?
Saxton interrupted his thoughts. “I’m surprised she defended you tonight. Usually when pushed to choose propriety over her lapses in judgment, she chooses the former, but then I suppose in the end she did. You didn’t really come here to see her, as she suggested.” Though not a question, uncertainty tinged the words. Fox’s ire pounced on it.
“Would that be so hard to believe? As you pointed out, she’s beautiful and wealthy. God knows I need the money. And she does have a penchant for this highwayman, so why not sneak in wearing a mask and seduce a fanciful young girl? You said yourself she seeks such adventure so it seems a perfect plan—”
Saxton’s fist cut short Fox’s speech. He staggered backward but didn’t fall. His face throbbed. Christ, the man had a vicious swing.
Saxton moved forward again, and Fox gave in to his anger, swiping at the other man’s face. His knuckles slammed into Saxton’s cheek, just below his eye. He fell back. Both men stood glaring at each other, fists raised.
Much as Fox would appreciate an exhilarating brawl to expel his emotion, he needed to think. “I haven’t seduced her.”
Flexing his hands, Saxton paused. Even in the semi-darkness, the man’s eyes glimmered like the hard, impenetrable ice that covered the lake at Bassett Manor in January. “If I believe otherwise, we’ll finish this. I’ll call you out, and either run you through or shoot you dead. I’m equally proficient with either method.” Saxton straightened his coat. “It’s a shame, really. I rather liked you. I gather you lack funds, but to steal?” He shook his head.
Fox’s fury renewed. He wanted to pummel Saxton into oblivion. “Someone like you would never understand.”
Fox could tell him he hadn’t stolen from Norris, could tell him Norris was even now setting him up for the crime. But he doubted Saxton would believe it. Especially not now when the man clearly wanted to thrash him.
Saxton turned Fox’s words back on him. “By ‘someone like me’ you mean someone who has money?”
“And opportunity and security. Tell me, Lord Saxton, would you be able to provide for over a hundred tenants? Forty orphans? Two staffs? Do you have a legacy that requires you to work your hands to their very bones with little or no personal comfort? Do you have responsibilities that all but ensure you will never be able to pursue the things you might like to do? When was the last time you didn’t put yourself before all others? Better still, when was the last time you deprived yourself in order to serve another—and not because you had to, but because you wanted to? Make no mistake I choose this life, as difficult and capricious as it might be. What life do you choose, Lord Saxton?” Fox’s chest heaved. He took deep gulps of air to calm his thundering heart.
Saxton said nothing.
Suddenly weary, Fox sat in a rickety wooden chair set in the corner. “Just go. Please.”
Saxton stood a moment longer and then exited, pulling the door shut behind him. This time, Fox heard the lock click.
Saxton had left the lantern. Shadows danced on walls covered with saddles, reins, and all manner of tack supplies. Fox gazed into the flame, his pulse finally slowing to a moderate pace for the first time since Miranda had opened the office door.
His mind worked, frantically searching for a way out of this disaster. He had to ensure Carmody didn’t identify him as the highwayman. Not that it mattered. Norris would plant money—maybe already had—in Fox’s cloak as proof he’d stolen from him tonight. That evidence along with the mask would be difficult to discount, especially when an earl would be giving testimony. If only he had something on Norris!
Fox nurtured a small hope Freddie would be able to help him. A hope that faltered when no one came to the door, and diminished with the dark silence of each passing hour. Still, he clung to it, because he had nothing else.
Chapter Seventeen
MIRANDA suffered through the remainder of the evening knowing Fox was locked in the stable. So close, but absolutely untouchable.
When Jasper rejoined the party, he glowered at her across the room. She did her best to avoid him, but now as the festivities drew to a close, he caged her in a corner of the drawing room. “I’m not comfortable with you staying here tonight.”
Lord Septon had asked for Miranda to stay at Cosgrove so they could have breakfast in the morning and perhaps go for a ride afterward. Jasper frowned at her. “You should come with me to Stratham Hall.”
Miranda shook her head. “No, I have plans in the morning with Septon. We’re to go riding. I haven’t been riding all summer, Jasper.”
“That better be the only thing you do in the stables.” He gave her his most obnoxious brotherly glare. “I’m warning you, Miranda, stay away from Foxcroft.”
“What am I going to do? Let him out and run away to Scotland with him?” The idea gave her a thrilling jolt.
His mouth pressed into a disapproving line. “This is not a situation to make light of. The man’s future is at risk. And from what I can tell, you’ve done enough to falsely encourage him. Leave him be.”
Falsely encourage him? Had Fox told him about the marriage proposal? She hadn’t encouraged that! “I haven’t done anything wrong. Fox and I are friends. Nothing more.”
His lip curled in a half-smile lacking actual amusement. “Friends don’t look at friends the way you two look at each other. You’ll keep your distance, or I’ll ship you back to Holborn in the morning.”
His observation made her flesh tingle. How did they look at each other? Fox had told her not to look at him as if she wanted to eat him. Was it her fault he’d looked so devastatingly handsome at the benefit?
“I’m going to bed.” She turned to leave but Jasper placed a staying hand on her arm.
“Maybe I should have a maid sleep on a pallet in your room.”
She swung back to face him and pulled from his touch. “Stop! I’ll stay in my room. Go away.” She fled the drawing room before he could say another word. By the time she got to the staircase, she’d calculated the time she’d need to wait while everyone settled in their rooms for the night. As she ascended, she plotted her path to the stables. When she entered her room, she could scarcely wait to leave.
An interminable two hours later, Miranda crept into the hallway. She’d pulled her riding skirt over her nightdress—which she’d donned to avoid arousing the maid’s curiosity—and topped it with the matching spencer. She didn’t look terribly appropriate, but she didn’t plan to meet anyone who would care.
Making her way down the faintly lit corridor, she wondered if Fox would be easy to find. There couldn’t be many rooms in the stable in which to lock him. Was he comfortable? Maybe she should bring him some food or water. Her half boots tapped softly against the stairs as she descended. She couldn’t risk meeting anyone in the kitchen. Sticking to her original plan, she looked around the foyer for the footman on duty. Hopefully he slept in a cupboard under the stairs.
Luckily, she saw no one. She eased open the front door and slipped outside into the cool night, pulling her spencer more tightly about her. The stables were to the left. Thankfully the drive appeared as vacant as the foyer had been. She made her way quickly along the side of the house to the end of the building. Turning, she saw the stable and doubled her pace.
By the time she reached her destination, her breath came in short gasps. Stopping outside, she pressed herself against the exterior wall and gulped air. After a moment, she peered into the doorway, careful to keep herself out of sight. Two grooms sat at a table drinking. Behind them marched a line of stalls. Had they stashed him in one of those for the night?
She craned her neck, trying to see the other side of the building. She glanced back at the table. One of the grooms stared straight at her! She flattened herself against the wall once more, panic shortening her breath again.
Reason told her to run back to the house, but she couldn’t abandon Fox when she’d come this far. His imprisonment was her fault! But if the groom caught her, what would she say? Her mind worked for explanations of why she might be there—
A hand closed around her arm and dragged her away from the door. The groom held his finger to his lips. “I’ve only got a moment. You’re here to see Fox?”
She blinked up at him. “You know him?”
He nodded and released his grip. “I’m Freddie. And if I’m right, you’re Lady Miranda.”
“How do you know that?”
A smile flitted across his lips. “My brother Philip told me all about you.”
Could she be this fortunate? “Philip? From the orphanage?”
“Yes. I used to live there, too.” He looked back over his shoulder. “Are you here to help Fox?”
Hope swirled through her chest. “If I can. Where is he?”
“In the tack room.” He jerked a thumb in the direction of the building. “I’ve been trying to get rid of Tom all night, but he thinks we both need to stand guard. So I started giving him whisky, and I’d say he’s about ready to knock over. Just be patient, and I’ll come get you when he’s out.”
Miranda shivered. “Thank you.”
He twisted his mouth, appearing regretful. “Sorry I can’t let you inside where it’s warmer. Will you be all right?”
She hadn’t come this far to give up to the cold. “I’ll be fine.”
Miranda huddled in the shadows next to the building and waited. She wrinkled her nose at the prevalent scent of horse manure. While she loved to ride, she never spent much time in the actual stable.
When her fingers tingled with the onset of numbness, Freddie finally came back out. “Follow me.”
The groom led her into the barn. The figure slumped over the table had to be Tom. Freddie unlocked a door partway down the left row of stalls. Miranda hurried into the tack room. A tallow candle burned low, barely illuminating Fox stretched out along the far wall on a makeshift pallet of horse blankets.
“Fox!”
He jumped to his feet and her heart tightened at the sight of him in his rumpled clothes and mussed hair. “What the hell are you doing here?”
She stopped abruptly at his angry tone. Had she expected him to welcome her with enthusiasm? Foolishly, she’d hoped he might.
Fox turned his glare on the groom just inside the door. “Freddie, why did you let her in?”
“Keep your voices down. The other groom is sleeping out there. She said she came to help you.”
Fox nodded but then returned his attention to Miranda. “Do you have a plan?”
Seeing him here, consigned to sleeping on the floor in the rank darkness, made her heart ache. Accommodations on a ship to a penal colony would be far worse. She swallowed her emotion as best as she could. “Can we talk about this privately?”
Fox clenched and unclenched his fists. “Fine. Freddie, you’ll let us know if anyone comes?”
The lad nodded. “I hope you’ll let me know how I can help.” He frowned sadly. “I wish I could just let you go, but I don’t dare.”
“Certainly not, Freddie. I understand. Do not concern yourself.” Fox quirked a brow at her. “Miranda apparently has a plan.”
“I’ll be out here if you need me.” Freddie closed the door, but didn’t lock it.
Now alone with Fox, Miranda’s nerves spiked, and she couldn’t think of what to say.
He sauntered toward her, stopping an arm’s length away. “So what’s your plan, Miranda? Or like everything else, have you not quite thought this through?”
Now that pricked her anger. “Would you rather I leave?”
They stared at each other, the tension palpable in the small, dark room. Though shadow cloaked his face, the hard glimmer of his eyes pierced straight to her soul. “No.”
And with that simple word, relief pulsed through her veins and her knees wobbled. “I’ve considered this, Fox, and I’m sure Carmody won’t identify you. I’m going to tell him I know you can’t be the highwayman. He knows I kissed the highwayman and will have to believe me.”
“How do you figure? Unless you plan to kiss me too?” He leaned forward and she shivered.
She glanced at his mouth. “I have kissed you.”
“As the highwayman, but you can’t tell them that.” The ice in his voice made her cold. “Obviously.”
“Obviously.” Fear he wouldn’t let her help him stole a bit of her resolve. “I’ve never seen you like this.”
“I’ve never faced hanging before.” The words were clipped, raw.
“You aren’t going to hang!” Fear he might made her voice shrill. “Without Mr. Carmody’s testimony, there’s nothing to convict you of this crime.”
“Nothing except the money Norris planted in my cloak.”
Miranda gasped. The room tilted a bit. She shook, as much from emotion as from the cold.
Fox took her hand and stroked her fingers. For the first time since she arrived he seemed like himself. Like the Fox she knew.
“Are you all right? You’re freezing.”
He guided her to the blankets and sat down with her on the soft pile of wool. Grasping both of her hands, he warmed them between his own.
Her teeth started to chatter. Fox sat back against a saddle and pulled her between his legs. He grabbed a blanket and threw it over them, wrapping his arms around her. The heat of his chest warmed her back, and she tucked her head under his chin.
She held the blanket up. “It’s cold. Put your arms under here.”
He hesitated but ultimately complied. He crossed his arms over her chest, settling his hands on her elbows. They sat quietly for a moment, while her body absorbed warmth and her shaking subsided. Slowly she became aware of his breath tickling her hairline, of the hardness of his frame around the softness of hers.
Sitting against him like this reminded her of the brothel. Her heart beat faster again, but not with fright. It pounded steadily, mounting in its speed along with her yearning. Her yearning for him.
She turned in his arms. He gazed down at her, the gold of his eyes glowing in the sputtering candlelight. She ran her fingers along his jaw, prickly with the growth of his faint beard, but tantalizing. His pulse beat in his throat and she traced along the vein to the edge of his opened shirt, staring at the flesh bared to her gaze.
He smelled of rosemary and hay and man. He never smelled like the men she knew in London with their carefully crafted perfumes. No, his scent was real and impossible to duplicate. She rested her fingers in the hollow at the base of his throat and raised her gaze to his. He didn’t move and she took his lack of response as acquiescence.
Coming up on her knees, she pushed his coat from his shoulders, running her hands over the muscles of his upper arms and then back up again as he shrugged out of the garment. He didn’t touch her, but rested his hands at his sides on the blanket.
She massaged the backs of his shoulders, his neck. His muscles relaxed as she worked, and his eyes lost a bit of their ferocity. She skimmed her palms over his collarbones and down the front of his shirt. His chest shuddered as he took a particularly deep breath. Without pause, she continued her journey downward and tugged the linen out of his waistband. Keeping her gaze locked with his, she ran her hands up, bunching the fabric as she traversed his heated flesh. His eyes widened slightly, but not with surprise. With pleasure.
When he didn’t move to take off the garment, she clutched the hem. He grabbed her hands. “I won’t let you start something you don’t intend to finish.”
Raw desire raced along her flesh. She offered him what she hoped to be her most seductive smile. “I intend to finish.”
He gripped her hands more firmly. �
��I’m quite serious. I will not be trifled with, Miranda. I’ve offered myself to you before and you turned me down.”
The smile fell from her face at the intensity in his gaze. “I won’t turn you down.” She squeezed his hands in return. “I want you.”
“Your brother told me there were others.” The muscles around his mouth tensed, his gaze hooded. “In London.”
What had Jasper revealed? Any games she’d played with Darleigh were mere shadows of what she felt for this man. “No. Never. At least, not like this. You’re…you’re different.”
His features relaxed slightly. “I would still marry you.” His voice dipped low, until he sounded hoarse.
“I know.” She pulled her hands free and he let them go. Grasping the hem of his shirt, she whisked it up over his head, and he helped toss it away.
Bare-chested, he was magnificent. His muscles were clearly defined, with a light covering of pale brown hair trailing downward until it disappeared into his waistband. Intrigued, she wanted to follow where it led, but first she must explore that which lay exposed to her hungry gaze.
“You’re staring at me like I’m food again.” His words heightened her arousal and further emboldened her.
She feasted on his male beauty. “I’ve never seen anything as delicious as you.”
“Christ, Miranda. Ladies don’t talk like that.”
She traced her fingers around his nipples and watched them tighten. Her own hardened in response. “You don’t like it?”
He swallowed audibly. “I like it fine.” The pulse in his throat quickened, and Miranda felt a surge of pleasure.
She flattened her palms against him and glided them down to the alluring path of hair leading into his pantaloons. He sucked in a breath as her fingers found the buttons of his fall. The fabric fell away with her ministrations and her knuckles brushed against the swell of his penis, hidden from her gaze by his drawers. He flinched, but still didn’t move to touch or assist her in any way. She looked back to his face as she stroked her fingertips along the length of his erection. His tongue darted out and wetted his lips.
