Captain Rakehell (12 page)

“I demand you set me down this instant,” she said imperiously, not trusting herself to look at him.

“I beg my lady’s pardon,” he replied, the chuckle in his voice stirring a delicious shiver and the curls at the nape of her neck, “but you are hardly in a position to demand anything.”

“A gentleman would not point that out.”

“And a lady would not pursue a thief in the  dark. Not without a very good reason.”

“My reason is private. And exclusively my concern.”

“Did you, perhaps, wish to be proclaimed a hero?”

“If you must know, yes,” she snapped at him over her shoulder. “But thanks to you, I’ve failed.”

“At least you are unharmed.”

“Unharmed!” Amanda shrilled at him. “You clothhead! Don’t you realize what you’ve done?”

“I believe,” Lesley replied mildly, “that I may have saved your life.”

“No! You—you idiot!” Amanda sputtered furiously. “You’ve compromised me! Which a gentleman would have realized before he swooped me up!”

“I hardly think your virtue is more important than your life.”

“I’ll have no life after this, you fool! Not unless you wish to marry me!”

“My lady,” Lesley grinned wickedly, thoroughly enjoying himself and her fit of temper, “this is so sudden.”

“But for you I’d have caught Smythe! I could have made him say he hadn’t kissed me—”

“Did he?” Lesley cut in, clasping her shoulder in his free hand and turning her to face him.

“Of course not, you clunch, you did!” Amanda roughly pushed his hand away. “But Smythe would have said he didn’t—because he didn’t—and then I wouldn’t be ruined!’’

“What has Smythe to do with ruining you? You just said I ruined you.”

“No, I said you compromised me. Smythe didn’t ruin me—I ruined myself!”

“My lady,” Lesley said slowly, striving for patience, “that’s impossible. It doesn’t come anywhere near sense.”

“Oh, of course it does! It’s as simple as you are!”

And in her outrage, Amanda proceeded to tell him the whole tale. She told him everything, the Baroness Blumfield overhearing her confession, Lord Hampton decreeing that she would marry Captain Lord Earnshaw—everything—in a furious outpouring.

Listening to her tell of the baroness falling through the saloon door, and of blacking her teeth, Lesley wanted to laugh. But by the time her narrative reached Lady Cottingham’s ball, his giving himself away by limping on the wrong foot, and the conversation she’d overheard between Lady Ingram and the Countess Featherston, he wanted to climb down from Lucifer’s back, yank his tail, and receive the swift kick in the war wound he so richly deserved.

“So you can see it’s imperative I apprehend Smythe, can’t you? He’s my only hope of redemption.” Amanda shifted on the front of the saddle to eye him appraisingly. “It occurs to me, since you and he are in the same line of work—and you’ll want to do whatever you can to restore my reputation, since you helped destroy it—that you could be of assistance. Perhaps you and Smythe frequent the same establishments, have acquaintances in common—”

“I repeat, my lady,” Lesley interrupted, “I know no one named Smythe. Or Jack. Or Harry.”

“I didn’t say you did, sir. I merely said—”

“I heard what you said,” Lesley cut her off, the calculating gleam in her eyes reminding him of Mr. Fisk. “And I am telling you I am not a thief. I am, as you are, merely a victim of circumstance.”

“Indeed? And what circumstance is it that requires a mask?”

“One I am not at liberty to divulge.”

“How convenient. And how interesting that both times we’ve met you’ve been in Smythe’s proximity—if not his company.”

“And that proves I’m a thief?”

“It hardly disproves it.”

“Then pray tell me, my lady, what have I stolen?”

My heart, Amanda realized, with a clarity that stunned her. Dark as it was, she could just see the outline of his face, his square jaw, the firm jut of his chin, and the tumble of his windswept hair above his mask. As it had in her dreams, her attention fixed on his mouth, the shape of it, the fullness of his lower lip, and she could almost feel him kissing her again.

It shook her so that she turned hastily away and saw Andrew, facing their direction on the Cottingham terrace with a torch raised above his head. He couldn’t possibly see them, it was far too dark and they were too far away, yet Amanda shrank as he made a slow sweep with the torch and the flame guttered and sparked.

“Quickly! You must set me down and go! It’s Andy—my brother—he’s looking for me!”

“I cannot do that, my lady.”

“Don’t be a fool!” She cried over her shoulder. “Why not?”

“Because I do not wish to.”

For the first time in her life, Amanda genuinely thought she might swoon. The words were by far the six most beautiful anyone had ever spoken to her, and like a healing balm closed the wound Captain Lord Earnshaw had inflicted on her pride.

“What do you wish to do?”

Kiss you, Lesley wanted to say, but instead replied, “Only see you safely home, if you’ll give me your direction. Having compromised you, it seems the least I can do.”

Amanda couldn’t see the smile on his face, but she heard it in his voice. And she heard something else she couldn’t identify. It wasn’t familiarity, for beyond the few moments they’d spent beneath the beech tree, this man was a stranger to her. It was liken to intimacy, which was impossible, yet it was there, almost palpable between them. Because she couldn’t put a name to it, Amanda knew it should frighten her, but it didn’t. Nor did the man who held her in his arms.

Briefly, she glanced at Andrew, who was still peering into the darkness. He must be frantic with worry, but apparently only he had witnessed her being taken up. He wouldn’t give her away and would do his best to give a plausible account of her absence, yet she wasn’t at all sure she could trust him not to cry an alarm if she called out to assure him of her safety.

“My father’s house is in Hanover Square,” Amanda replied, deciding that if she was to be ruined, she would have at least one pleasant memory to sustain her in spinsterhood.

“We are as good as there,” Lesley replied, wheeling Lucifer at a canter across the lawn beyond the hedge.

There was a fortuitously unlocked gate in the fence at the back of the property, which he was able to negotiate without dismounting. He then set Lucifer at a walk along a circuitous path of back streets and alleyways that would take them to Hanover Square. Eventually.

In the meantime he intended to enjoy Amanda’s nearness, and to think of a way to turn her up sweet, else this might well be his only chance to hold her in his arms. If it were merely a question of Mr. Fisk, he’d rip off his mask and Bow Street be damned. But Amanda already despised him for his duplicity, and he shuddered to think of her reaction to discovering Captain Lord Lesley Earnshaw had deceived her again.

“You are not seriously considering another attempt to capture Smythe, are you, my lady?”

“I must,” she answered resolutely. “It’s my only hope.”

“But if marriage will save your reputation, and you are already betrothed—”

“To the most odious man in England,” she put in acidly. “And I wouldn’t have Lesley Earnshaw now if he were the last odious man in England.”

“Are you so certain your father will release you from your pledge?”

“If he doesn’t, I’ll—” Amanda faltered. She could hardly bear to think on it, but what if he did refuse? Her bag of tricks was nearly empty. “I’ll think of something,” she finished, managing to sound braver than she felt.

But she was trembling, and there was a slight tremor in her voice. Lesley hoped it was attributable to the nearness of his strong, manly self, but suspected it was more in anticipation of Lord Hampton’s judgment. He was in a position to influence that decision, and he would, if it came to that, but he wanted Amanda to want him, to yearn for his touch, to love him as much as he loved her.

He wasn’t sure when he’d fallen heels over ears for her. Perhaps when he’d discovered the bruise on his jaw, or when she’d looked at him so openly in his curricle and asked about his wound, mayhap not until tonight, when he’d realized she’d abandoned him, and it had struck him then that without her beside him his life—and his heart—would always be empty.

If he’d thought he could trust himself he would have held her closer, but the rub of her shoulder blades against his chest in rhythm with Lucifer’s gait was driving him wild. Her hair smelled of lavender soap, and beneath his forearm, the span of her waist felt no larger than his wrist. He would have to go slowly with her, Lesley thought, and very tenderly on their wedding night.

Old cavalry horse that he was, Lucifer snorted and laid back his ears as he drew near the mouth of the narrow alleyway he’d been following under a loose rein. (It really was more to his credit than Lesley’s that the damned Frenchie who’d shot him out of his stirrups had only made it painful to sit down for several weeks.) The voluntary stop he made alerted Lesley to the fact that they’d reached Hanover Square, and Amanda still thought he was the most odious man in England.

“That’s the house.” Amanda pointed. “The one with the capped brick wall and the oak tree overhanging it.”

With the possible exception of the old beech in his mother’s garden, trees as large as the oak soaring above the roof of Lord Hampton’s house were uncommon in the city. It was a gargantuan thing, several of its larger limbs running parallel and broad as flagways to the balconies hung on the back of the house.

“See how the branches grow right up to the windows?” Amanda asked, pointing again. “I think it best if I go in that way.”

“You mean up the tree? In a ball gown?”

“I’ve done it before, if you’ll recall.”

“As you wish, my lady.”

Amanda, Lesley decided, as he goaded Lucifer into a walk, would definitely be the one to teach their children—two boys, he thought, and a girl with mahogany hair and sapphire eyes—the finer points of tree climbing.

The wall was high enough to hide Lucifer from any Nosey Parker servants who might be awake, and enough leaves still clung to the branches of the oak to screen Amanda as she climbed. It was a long, dizzying way up, thought Lesley, feeling a bit queasy as he eased Lucifer to a halt beside the wall and tipped back his head to look.

“You’ve climbed this gnarly old monster before, I trust?”

“Hundreds of times. Will your horse allow me to stand a moment on the saddle so I may reach the top of the wall?”

“Lucifer will allow a beautiful woman anything.”

“Spanish coin, sir,” Amanda rebuked, but smiled as she ducked her head to make sure her cape was fastened and her reticule securely looped over her wrist.

“I’ve been thinking, my lady. If you do end up being ruined, perhaps you could take up thievery.”

Amanda raised just her eyes to his face. “That is a jest in very poor taste, sir.”

“It’s not a jest. I’m perfectly serious. You were born for the work.”

“Is that a professional appraisal?”

“No. Merely the opinion of one of your victims.”

“But I’ve taken nothing from you!”

“Oh, but you have, my lady,” Lesley replied tenderly and cradled her cheek in his free hand. “You’ve taken my heart.”

The graze of his fingertips raised gooseflesh and stirred a shiver at the base of her spine. Savoring the caress, Amanda closed her eyes and leaned her cheek into the curve of his palm, striving to memorize the sensations his touch elicited.

“Oh, Am—my lady,” Lesley groaned, loosing Lucifer’s rein to take her face in both his hands.

She made a sound in her throat as his mouth descended upon hers, more a mewl of protest than a moan of pleasure, but it served just as well to part her lips. The exquisite sweetness of her mouth made Lesley groan and sweep his arms around her, his embrace so fierce and sudden that Lucifer snorted and shifted beneath them, his movement doing more than Lesley’s to displace the rapier sheathed and belted to his waist.

“Oh!” Amanda gasped, springing stiff and wide-eyed away from him.

“Your pardon, my lady.” Reclaiming the leathers, Lesley fumbled to soothe Lucifer and at the same time readjust his scabbard. “‘Tis only my rapier.”

“Ohhh,” Amanda responded, but it was more a moan than a sigh. “I must go!”

“My lady, please—” Lesley begged, but she was already scrambling onto her knees and reaching for the wall.

He had no choice then but to use both hands to keep Lucifer calm and steady so she didn’t break her neck in the process. From the top of the wall she looked back at him, her tumbled hair gleaming from a light burning in a second-story window.

“I thank you for seeing me home,” she said, her voice small and quavering. “And I wish you well, sir.”

“‘Tis a pity you are a lady, my lady,” Lesley replied softly, “for I think the two of us would deal very well together.”

“You must not say such things!” Amanda cried, a catch in her voice. “It is most unseemly!”

“The truth is never unseemly.”

“In this case it is.” Biting her lower lip, she drew a deep but shaky breath. “And we must never see each other again. It’s far too dangerous!”

“My lady …” Lesley implored, but Amanda was already scrambling up the oak tree.

Swift and sure as a monkey she climbed, yet Lesley’s palms went clammy and damp on the leathers watching her shinny the length of a broad limb. When she caught a thick branch above her and used it to swing herself into mid-air, he held his breath until she’d dropped nimbly onto a third-floor balcony. The far upper left, he noted, wiping first his left and then his right hand on his shirt front.

For a moment she stood in the thin pool of light thrown by the candles burning in the window beneath her and tentatively raised one hand. Lesley thought she meant to wave, but suddenly she pressed her fingertips to her lips, then whirled and fled inside through the French doors.

By God, she loves me, he realized, grinning at the faint click of the latch behind her. She loves me, she loves me! Amanda Gilbertson loves— A thought so horrifying it struck him like a blow caused Lesley to jerk bolt upright in his saddle. She loved him, all right, but she loved the wrong him.