The Impostors: Complete Collection

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  “Aye,” agreed another, “when my boy was six, she came tae stitch his head after ’e fell from the rooftop, and then she refused payment.”

  “Aye, well, she can tend me and mine any day,” chimed Angus.

  Christ on a pony, Merrick wouldn’t mind hearing these tales—in fact, he wanted to hear them—but the tone of their voices as they discussed Chloe made him feel entirely too possessive. Not to mention that he felt acutely out of place among these men; his life was nothing like the ones they described. “What the devil was your six-year-old doing on the roof?” he asked the man.

  “Fixing a leak,” the man replied, then added matter-of-factly, “Mary, my wife, woulda helped, but she was already gone, bless her soul.”

  “And he’d hae done it himself,” quipped Angus. “But, fat bastard that ’e is, he’d hae caved in his roof.”

  The men all laughed raucously, and Merrick felt instantly contrite for his snappish tone. It was obvious these people lived a difficult life.

  In her own way, Chloe tried to help them. So did Ian, it seemed. But there must be another way.

  As for the robbery, they’d chosen a spot on Glen Abbey Manor’s parkland that was shielded by trees on every side. The road curved sharply through the grove. He hoped the carriage was traveling slowly, because he didn’t want anyone to be hurt—most assuredly not Chloe.

  Tonight there were five men aside from himself, not six. Donald Lowson remained with his wife whilst she gave birth to their firstborn child.

  When he’d met these men, they’d all been nothing more than common, faceless thugs. Now they were men with lives and children and wives. It was obvious to Merrick that they held his brother in high esteem and would follow him blindly. Somehow, it didn’t seem right that he knew they would die for him and he didn’t even know their names.

  Contemplating that fact, he watched the road for some sign of the approaching vehicle, uncertain how to proceed. It was, after all, his first robbery.

  His heart flipped against his ribs once he spied the carriage coming around the bend. Nerves, he told himself. But he knew it was something more.

  The thought of seeing her tonight, dressed only to please him, made his blood burn like fire through his veins.

  He alerted the men.

  They gave him curious glances, but sat like warts on a frog, staring at him.

  “Well, let’s go get it,” he said.

  Still they sat, tilting their heads, regarding him with obvious confusion. He had the sense that they were waiting for him to do something, but for the life of Merrick, he didn’t know what that could be.

  The carriage was almost upon them.

  Blast it all. If they didn’t catch the vehicle in the grove, it would be much too risky to stop it out in the open field.

  “Well?” prompted Rusty. “Aren’t ye going to make the call?”

  Merrick furrowed his brow. He hadn’t a clue what the man was talking about. “Call?”

  Rusty raised both brows. “The bird call—ye told us never to act unless ye gave it.”

  The memory came back to Merrick in a rush and another piece of the puzzle fell into place—the saker’s call. Christ have mercy. He had heard it. It wasn’t simply a figment of his imagination.

  Ryo.

  It must have been Ryo who’d introduced the saker to Ian. As his father’s trusted servant, it made sense that Ryo would be a possible point of contact.

  The men were still staring… waiting.

  “Right,” Merrick said, and then added, more to himself than to his men, “Never act without the bird call.”

  He put his hands together and attempted an imitation of the saker, and his men responded at once, flying toward the road to block the vehicle’s path. They nearly trampled him in their haste. Stunned as he was, Merrick was the last to react.

  * * *

  Chloe was so deep in thought and so entranced by the rose left lying upon the seat that she didn’t even realize they’d come to a halt until the door burst open.

  She gave a startled little gasp at the sight of him.

  It was Hawk!

  For an instant she could only gape. So long she’d wanted to meet this man… and here he was, at last… flesh and blood… standing before her… robbing her.

  The realization made her wince.

  Her hand went to her throat, dreading what was to come. Oh, no! Lady Fiona had entrusted her with this precious necklace—Chloe shouldn’t have accepted. Now what was she going to say when she faced Fiona?

  Without a word Hawk offered her his hand, obviously intending for her to come out from the carriage, and realizing it was futile to resist, she gave him her hand and allowed him to assist her, all the while cursing herself for accepting the loan of Lady Fiona’s jewels.

  But as she alighted from the carriage, she felt a dizzying mixture of disappointment and excitement. This was, after all, the moment she’d been anticipating… to be able to tell Hawk in person how much she admired him, how great he was to take on this crusade in the name of the poor. In fact, if she could have, she would join his cause.

  But Lady Fiona had become so dear to her heart. She didn’t wish to disappoint her. She simply couldn’t allow Hawk to take the necklace.

  Dressed in black from head to his heels, his face concealed by a black hooded mask, he seemed to tower over her bigger than life. Behind the mask, only the curve of his lips and his eyes were visible, but it was enough to see that he was somehow pleased by the sight of her—or rather, by the sight of her necklace. His eyes glittered fiercely.

  Chloe bemoaned her luck.

  “Alas. These are treacherous times,” he advised her very ominously when she stood before him. “It isn’t wise for a beautiful young lady to travel alone at night.”

  Embarrassed by his veiled compliment, Chloe averted her gaze. Though she wasn’t traveling precisely—she was still on the property. She wanted him to comprehend the risk he was taking by coming here tonight. Surely he must already realize. She gave him a meaningful look, brows arched and countered, “Neither is it wise to trespass on private property. These are Lord Lindale’s parklands, sir.”

  “Am I trespassing?” He sounded completely unremorseful. He turned to his men. “Gentlemen, it seems we are trespassing.”

  The men all cackled at that, and Chloe felt her temper simmer beneath the surface.

  “Yes,” Chloe assured, trying to impress upon him the risk they were taking, “you are.” If she didn’t arrive soon, she was sorely afraid Lord Lindale would come searching for her and that would hardly be beneficial for anyone involved. “In fact, were I you,” she advised, “I would leave before anyone discovers you are here.”

  “If you were me?” he said glibly, looking far too amused by Chloe’s warning. “If she were me,” he repeated to his men, as though they were not standing directly atop them. His lips curved a little arrogantly.

  Chloe had to admit that it rankled a bit. She was, after all, only trying to save him from a round in gaol. She narrowed her gaze at him.

  He said, and quite flippantly, “I suppose, then, if I must go, I shall have to take you with me.”

  Chloe’s eyes went wide. “Surely you can’t mean to ransom me!” He’d never done such a thing before.

  He nodded. “If I must, then I must.”

  “That would gain you nothing!” Chloe assured. She shook her head adamantly. “I have no value! No one would pay for my return.”

  “What a pity,” he told her and forced a sigh. “Then I will simply have to keep you.”

  “Sir!” she objected. “You cannot… keep me! I have duties and responsibilities!”

  He sighed again, a long-suffering sigh. “Then I suppose I must make do with the lovely jewels adorning your beautiful throat. May I say they look ravishing tonight.” But he wasn’t looking at her jewels, she realized. He was looking straight into her eyes, and her heart skipped its normal beat.

  Zounds! Was he flirting with her?

 
; Well, of course he was flirting with her, she realized. He flirted with every woman he robbed—old and young, beautiful and hideous alike. That’s why they all adored him. He was a gentleman thief!

  At last, his eyes moved to her throat, or perhaps her bodice—Chloe wasn’t certain. Her hand fluttered nervously to her throat and then fell to her breast, unsure what to conceal from his too forward gaze.

  “Exquisite,” he remarked, his voice low and raspy and Chloe was suddenly afraid to look at him. She averted her gaze, staring uncomfortably at his feet… very expensive boots…freshly polished. Evidently he kept some of the bounty for himself.

  Annoyance flared once more.

  She dared to peer up at him, wondering about the face behind that mask. His eyes had yet to leave her and it seemed to Chloe as though they undressed her, so intimate was his glance.

  He bent closer and said, peering down at her bodice, “Do you, perchance… need assistance… removing them from your person?”

  Her clothing? The question sent a quiver of alarm through her. “Assistance?”

  “Do you need help,” he snapped, “removing the deuced necklace?”

  “Oh!” Chloe exclaimed, relief flowing through her. Her cheeks warmed with her chagrin. “No! You cannot have it, sir!” Her hand moved protectively to her throat, shielding the necklace from his greedy eyes. “I’m afraid it is not mine to give you! The necklace belongs to Lady Fiona, you see—a gift from her dear departed husband.”

  “Oh, really?” he said with a little more interest, and appeared somewhat moved by her plea. Perhaps she could persuade him to make an exception—just this once.

  “Oh, yes! I would never forgive myself if I lost it. It’s a rather precious necklace.”

  “Yes, I’m certain it is, but you haven’t lost it. Rather, I plan to take it.”

  “You cannot have it.” Chloe refused to remove her hand from her throat, unwilling to part with the jewels. It was a symbol of Lady Fiona’s trust for her and she could simply not bear to disappoint her benefactor, nor could she allow this man to abscond with such a precious heirloom.

  “Ah, but I’m not asking. ”

  A gun suddenly appeared between them and Chloe gulped at the sight of the barrel.

  She peered up at the masked man who’d introduced it. He, too, had concealed his face, but his eyes clearly showed amusement at her expense.

  Her temper fully ignited.

  “You cannot have it!” she told him stubbornly, despite the gun in her face. Hawk had never once hurt anyone before; she didn’t believe he would begin now, and she couldn’t go back to Lady Fiona empty-handed. She started to remove her own ring from her finger. “Here, you can have this instead. I’m afraid it’s not gold or silver, but the stone must be worth something.” She slid it off and offered it to Hawk.

  He examined it in her hand without touching it, as though it were a distasteful bug. He arched a brow and asked rudely, “What the devil is that?”

  Chloe straightened, wounded by his look. “It was my mother’s. Please take it instead.” It would ease her to know she had sacrificed the ring for a good cause.

  He made no move to accept the gift, though she offered it willingly. “That, I’m afraid, is little more than a cheap bauble,” he told her brutally.

  It was not a cheap bauble!

  His denigration chafed her. It was worth something—and to Chloe it meant a great deal more! “My mother gave that to me before she died,” she informed him tautly, annoyed that he would discard her gift so readily. “What sort of crusader are you, anyway? Any gesture, great or small, should be duly appreciated,” she lectured. Good night! He might be a savior to the townsfolk, but he was equally as rude as Lord Lindale!

  She narrowed her eyes at him, studying him closer. In fact, he was about the same height as Lord Lindale. But it couldn’t be.

  She dismissed the possibility entirely. She simply couldn’t imagine Lord Lindale resorting to something so low as to steal for money. He had money. Didn’t he? He certainly seemed to spend enough of it on himself.

  And besides, neither could she imagine him doing something so unselfish as to give it away to others.

  “I’m afraid this wouldn’t buy a mouse a scrap of cheese,” he said, his tone amused at her expense, and entirely too familiar. “No thank you. The necklace, please…”

  Chloe straightened to her full height, insulted by his outright refusal. She pushed the ring angrily back on her finger. “Well, I didn’t say it was worth a king’s ransom!”

  She took a deep breath to compose herself. “I was simply trying to make up for the unfortunate fact that I cannot give you the bloody necklace. As I told you, it is not mine to give and I will not give it to you!” She stood her ground, glaring at the thief, her hand once again going protectively to her throat.

  * * *

  Merrick wasn’t trying to insult her.

  The look on her face as she’d offered the ring was so full of dismay over the possibility of losing it that he couldn’t bring himself to accept it. But even if he had, he doubted any man present would allow him to do it. Standing before him now, her deep auburn hair shining under the moonlight, her cheeks a soft rose against her pale moonlit skin, she looked so adorably angry. He wondered what her hair would feel like gliding through his hands. He was sure it would be as soft as it looked… as must be her skin.

  He knew those lips were sweet and he longed to kiss her.

  And those velvety breasts… the rising curves beckoned to his mouth… and his hands. Good God, what must they feel like against his palm, the nipple pebbled against his flesh.

  He wanted to bury his face in her sweet scent. Roses. He knew she would smell faintly of roses… like the one he’d left for her in the carriage.

  Standing beneath the moonlight, her dress shimmering around her soft curves, the night fog swirling in delicate tendrils about her feet, she looked almost ethereal.

  She was, indeed, an angel… as he’d believed at first glance.

  A fiery angel.

  His loins tightened, heat rushing through them.

  Every encounter with her further enraptured him. She stood up to him in a way no woman—or man—ever dared. With the exception of Ryo. She offered him her own treasures, yet fought like a lioness to protect something that didn’t even belong to her.

  Damn, but she was beautiful tonight.

  Too bad this had to be done; he needed that bloody necklace. He took the pistol from Rusty’s hand and pointed it at her. “I’m afraid you have little choice in the matter, miss. Take the bloody necklace off, or I’ll do it for you. And if I must do it, I cannot promise my hands will not wander.”

  She gasped aloud as the cold metal touched the bare flesh revealed by her décolletage. “How utterly rude!” she exclaimed, though her eyes showed a trace of fear.

  He laughed softly, masking his regret. “Imagine that,” he quipped to his men, “a rude thief.”

  * * *

  Perhaps there were only a few, but it seemed a hundred, or more men, laughed at his jest.

  Chloe bristled over his unremorseful tone. Tears pricked at her eyes. It did appear she didn’t have a choice in the matter. The frigid barrel of his gun was a very rude reminder that this was entirely too real.

  She realized only belatedly… half a dozen shadowy figures with gleaming silver in their hands surrounded her. They stood at a distance, their weapons glistening by the light of the moon. In her quarter, the coachman sat with the reins still in his hands, not daring even to look in their direction.

  Och, but how could the evening have gone so wrong? Why, oh, why, had she agreed to this? What had she hoped to gain by accepting Lord Lindale’s invitation? And where the devil was he?

  Truly, even if she wanted Lindale—which she didn’t—he was hardly the sort of man who would ever lower himself to wed a commoner. He would dally with them, certainly, but he had nothing to gain by wedding someone without money or title, and he wasn’t the type to do a
nything lest it profit him.

  Chloe had stupidly allowed herself to be carried away by the moment, by Aggie’s enthusiasm, and her own vanity. At twenty-three, it had simply felt good to have a man notice her—even if it was Lord Lindale.

  This town scarcely had a man remaining who was yet unattached. And even if there were some suitable bachelor, there were none who were suitable for her. She didn’t wish to feel herself vain and trivial, because it wasn’t so much that she felt herself too good to lower herself to being a farmer’s wife, it was only that she couldn’t quite relate to them. Thanks to her father, she aspired to more than simply shucking peas.

  “The necklace,” Hawk prompted, reminding her of the gun’s presence with a cold kiss from its barrel against her cheek.

  She peered up at Hawk, slow to respond despite the chill of metal against her flesh.

  How had he known she would come this way? Somehow, he must have known. She cast the coachman a glance, studying his demeanor. He wouldn’t even look at her.

  Fear or guilt?

  Hawk’s gaze never left her as he waited for her to comply. Feeling utterly helpless, Chloe turned, giving him her back. “You’ll have to take it from me,” she told him, vowing not to aid him, though once she’d have leapt at the opportunity. “I won’t simply give it to you!”

  “Removing anything from your body would be my utmost pleasure,” he apprised her, handing his pistol to one of his men. Chloe swallowed as his hands worked to unclasp the necklace. Her heart beat a little faster as his warm fingers grazed her back. She swore she could feel the heat of his breath as he bent close to better see the clasp. And, once he removed the necklace from her neck, though she remained fully dressed, she felt completely vulnerable and exposed. With the weight of it relieved, she felt utterly stripped of her dignity and honor. Much to her dismay, she felt like weeping and she hadn’t wept since her father died—and before that, when her mother passed away. As horribly as she’d felt when little Ana died, she hadn’t even cried then.

  It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

  It wasn’t supposed to make her feel as though she’d been violated. She knew what Hawk did with the money, knew it went for a good cause. And it certainly wasn’t that she was so attached to that necklace that she couldn’t appreciate the good it might bring to others, but she was, without a doubt, attached to her pride and honor, and somehow he’d reduced that to slivers. And she realized in that instant that if she could feel this way about something that wasn’t even hers, how must others feel when he stripped them, unwillingly, of their personal possessions?