Come the Night (The Dangerous Delameres - Book 1) (2 page)

Blackwood shrugged. “There is so little spice left, my dear. Life becomes quite trying when one has tasted every vice and sampled every sin. You can have no idea.”

“In
that
you are right,” Silver said stiffly.

But as her breast was shoved against his arm while she spoke, her disapproving speech lost some of its sting. Flushing, she tried to squirm away, only to feel her hip lodge against the saddle of his thighs.

None of which escaped the notorious highwayman’s notice.

He shifted beneath her, bringing her lower still, until she came into full and heated contact with his exceedingly aroused male anatomy.

Silver gasped. Her cheeks red, she struggled to sit up but it was like fighting a Channel wind. She thought of shouting for help, but who was there to hear?

“Let me go, you — you brute!”

“I think not, beauty.” Amber eyes blazed through the slitted silk. “Not until I have your name. And perhaps even more than that…”

“You shall have nothing from me this night!” Silver shoved her pistol downward, somewhere in the vicinity of his shoulder. “I know how to fire this weapon. And use it I shall!”

“By all means,” came the bored answer. “Fire away.”

Silver’s eyes snapped, a fury of green and gold. “You damnable creature! I
will
fire, I warn you!”

“Of course you will,” the highwayman observed calmly. “As soon as your fingers stop shaking. Do get it right the first time, won’t you? It would be very bad form to leave me lying bloody and only
half
dead out here.”

“I could hardly miss at
this distance!”

“You think not? I fear that your aim seems rather in question. Never done this sort of thing before, have you?” His tone was utterly sympathetic.

Silver looked down, furious to see that her hand was shaking. He was right, of course. “Oh, bloody hell!”

But the rakish highwayman who had faced death with utter equanimity suddenly froze. His fingers tightened on Silver’s waist. “Be still.”

“Why should I even consider—”

“Silence, I said!” This time the urgency in his voice silenced her.

The man known as the Black Lord eased back into the shadows. Turning his mount, he studied the strip of road glimmering in the moonlight to the north.

And then Silver heard it, the quick
clip-clop
of horse hooves coming fast.

In the blink of an eye her pistol was wrested from her fingers. Sputtering furiously, she tried to regain it, only to feel a hard hand clamped across her mouth.

“Quiet now, love. It appears my domain is to be breached a second time this night. And I’d advise you not to move. You are very delectable, and you might not care for the consequences.”

Silver gasped as she felt his thigh drive against her hip.

“Exactly,” her captor said grimly.

Don’t listen to him,
Silver told herself
wildly.
Above all don’t look into his eyes.

But it was too late. She turned and was lost.

Those strange, sharp eyes…

Silver felt a hammering in her chest as she was drawn down into their shadowed depths. The color of finest amber they were, flecked with hot veins of gold.

Brightness within shadow. Not at
all
what she had expected.

Heat swept her cheeks. The night became a thing of mystery. Of storm and fury.

The highwayman’s full lips curved in a knowing smile. “A grave mistake, little one. You have looked into my eyes and that makes you mine. For ‘tis all true, my beauty, every grim tale and ruthless deed that legend assigns me. The Lord of Blackwood has done them all, I assure you, so do not think to trifle with me.” As if to strengthen this warning, his fingers slid to her waist.

A moment later three riders broke from the wooded vale. Their faces were muffled in dark wool and each one wielded a pistol.

“Damn it, where’d the wench go? I could have sworn—”

“Her horse! It’s over there!”

“I don’t want the horse, I want the bloody female! She’s got to be here somewhere. He swore she’d be coming this way tonight!”

Fear blocked Silver’s throat. She watched in horror as the riders pulled her mare to a halt and jumped down to paw through her saddlebags. What were they doing? She had nothing of value with her. Nothing except—

Her face paled as one of the men slit her leather bag with a knife. She tried to move, but the highwayman’s fingers tightened warningly on her waist.

“Aye, she’s a bold piece, that St. Clair bitch. But even
she’d
not venture onto the devil’s heath this late. She must be down the hill. Maybe her horse threw her.”

His companion laughed roughly. “And her with her skirts tossed up over her rump? That’d be a rare sight, lads. Let’s go and enjoy it!”

As the trio galloped off, Silver’s horror grew. They knew her name. They had followed her here! But
why?

“Friends of yours?”

She shook her head, trying to avoid the highwayman’s keen eyes. “I h-have no idea who they are.”

“Unfortunate. It appears that
they
knew exactly what they were looking for. Do you carry some treasure that has escaped my notice?”

With a quick thrust he lifted his leg over the saddle and slid to the ground, with Silver still locked against his chest.

They landed upon the heath with a thump. She was up and struggling even before she could catch her breath. Thrusting her russet curls from her face, she scrambled toward the road.

And then she felt a prick, the very lightest of pricks, just at her shoulder.

She turned slowly — and stared down the gleaming length of a polished silver blade.

The rapier rose and gently lifted a strand of hair from her shoulder. Silver shivered, feeling the man’s perfect control as he brushed the lace at her neck and skimmed the cameo pinned there.

“A nice enough bobble, but hardly worth the interest of those ruffians. You see, I know all the men who work these roads. That particular trio will perform any task for a fee, but they are singularly expensive. Which means that someone of substantial means thought the job worth doing and doing
well.”

With that his rapier slid lower, into the lace clustered at Silver’s bodice.

The next second his steel sliced off two buttons, leaving her riding jacket and underbodice to fall open over creamy skin.

“Stop! You cannot—”

He ignored her, moving with lightning skill and a grace that left Silver breathless, feeling only the barest kiss of air upon her skin.

This time her chemise was slit. And then the velvet ribbon beneath.

With one quick twist he found the small linen bag she wore and captured it on his blade.

“Noooo!
Give it back. You can’t take
that
!”

The highwayman’s eyes narrowed. “Do continue, my dear. You interest me vastly. What do you have in this bag that is so terribly valuable?”

“N-nothing.” Silver’s lips clenched. “Nothing at all, blast you.”

Blackwood frowned, fingering the unimpressive square of linen. His nose curled as he brought the bag close and sniffed. “Lavender? An elegant scent, but hardly worth—”

“Give it back to me!” Silver launched out, her fingers flying wildly for his masked face. “It’s
mine!”

In her fury Silver knocked the bag from his fingers. She watched in shock, her face bleeding white as the precious seeds, the outcome of years of planting and careful selection, spilled over the dark ground. “Oh, no! They cannot be lost. They
must
not!”

The Virginia planter she’d seen tonight in King’s Lynn had been so impressed with the seeds that he’d arranged to come to Lavender Close with an offer. That money could have bought her several months of freedom from the creditors who had been swarming like bees ever since her father’s death. Silver had managed to pay off one and then another, but each month it was growing harder.

Now it was too late. The seeds were lost. She was ruined.

A single tear spilled from her green-gold eyes.

“They were of such value then?” Her captor frowned. “A memento from a lover, perhaps? Some family token?”

Silver rounded on him angrily. “Of course they were valuable! But what would a villain like yourself know about hard work? About days spent in the blazing sun or a chill Norfolk drizzle?”

There was a glint in the highwayman’s eyes. “You might be surprised, my dear.”

“Well, now it’s gone, do you hear? All of it gone. Without those seeds I can never hope to—” Silver caught herself with a sob and swung her head away from those piercing eyes.

“Come, it can hardly be so bad as that.”

Oh, but it was. It was all that bad and more,
Silver thought wildly. Now she would have to put off her creditors yet again. She would have to make her workers wait for their wages and deny her brother the tools he needed for his experiments.

Of course she could always ask Sir Charles Millbank for help. He had made that clear on his several visits to Lavender Close. He had also made his price clear — the possession of her body.

No, she would
never
ask for that cur’s help. Nor for a highwayman’s!

Silver wrenched away, shoving a line of tears from her cheek. Abruptly hard fingers slid over her chin and forced her face upward. She closed her eyes, trying to block out his strange, keen stare.

And then she gasped as Blackwood seized her hands and studied the sturdy, work-roughened palms. “Yet again, you astound me, little beauty,” her captor whispered. “So you truly
have
done all those things you spoke of.” His lips brushed her palm. Heat seemed to flow wherever he touched.

“You work for the St. Clairs, do you? They must drive you hard that you wear such calluses. Did you borrow your mistress’s riding costume tonight? Is that why you were hurrying home, to return it before she discovers your theft — and her seeds along with it?”

“It was
no
theft!”

“Of course not.” The man’s full lips curved slightly. “Merely a loan.” His mouth touched the sensitive skin at the base of one finger.

Silver shuddered. What was
wrong
with her? Why were her knees shaking so strangely?

Her captor drew her closer. His hand slid deep into her wild auburn hair.

She had to get away! She had to get home before—

“Give me your name,” the highwayman demanded hoarsely. “I must know to whom I’ve lost my heart.” He spoke softly, but there was an edge of dark hunger in his voice that made Silver’s heart spin oddly in her chest.

“Silver.”

“
Pardon
?”

Her eyes widened at his accented question. “You are French?”

The scar gleamed at his full lips. “I am — many things, little one. But why this word,
silver?”

“It is my name.” She told him no more. It would be far safer if he believed her only a lowly servant.

“Silver.” He repeated the name slowly, measuringly. “I should have expected nothing less. An exceptional name for an exceptional creature. Something tells me you’ve eyes to match your name.”

For a moment Susannah St. Clair forgot about her vicious brother-in-law, forgot about the poverty that had dogged her since her father’s death. She even forgot about the precious lavender seeds that lay scattered upon the dark earth.

Such was the power of the man’s charm. Now she understood exactly how the masked Lord of Blackwood had acquired his legendary reputation for seduction. Though she knew she should be fighting to escape, Silver couldn’t seem to pull away from the warm brush of his lips against her hand.

Not that she could have escaped him anyway. At that moment her legs felt like a mound of orange trifle. And a melting one at that.

“What if I could restore those lavender seeds you place such high value upon?”

Hope surged through her. “Could you? Oh, would you?”

“I might be persuaded. For a small token, that is.”

“What manner of token?” Her voice, usually low, now fell even lower. She knew the risk in opening any sort of negotiation with a hardened criminal such as this. But she was desperate.

The catch in her voice made her captor’s eyes glitter dangerously. It made his body go tense and his fingers tighten, sheathed deep in her warm, brandy-red hair. It made him yearn to tug that silly little riding hat from her head and push her down beneath him on the dark heathland while he bared her silken body to his hot gaze.

But he did not. For all her fire she was clearly an innocent. Norfolk’s most notorious highwayman told himself that he had not yet stooped so low as that.

“Token? Not your brooch, certainly. You can ill afford to lose that, since it, too, must belong to your mistress.” His lips curled. “Not that it’s worth much, for it is an inferior copy.”