The Highwayman (Rakes and Rogues of the Restoration Book 3) (18 page)

“Oh, my lady!” Her maid was clutching Arabella’s arm so hard it was sure to leave bruises. In her excitement, the painstakingly veneer of accent and poise Caroline had cultivated for months dissolved in girlish excitement. “It’s him! It’s Swift Nick!”

Arabella managed a strained breath as the coach pulled to a stop. The next one was easier, and so was the one after that. Before the cursing coachman could descend from the box, she rapped on the window.

“Coachman, drive on!”

As the coach lumbered forward, Jack settled back comfortably in the far corner next to Caroline and across from Arabella. “What a happy accident to catch you just before you left! How kind of you to stop. At first, I feared you wouldn’t.”

“This is a private hire,” Arabella snapped. “You had no business stopping us and are lucky we didn’t run you down.” Even as she glared at him she had to hold her hands tight in her lap lest they betray her by straightening her jacket and combing out her hair.

After months of silence he had the effrontery to leap back into her life unannounced, dressed like a London courtier, while she was travel-worn and disheveled and dressed like Caroline’s idea of somebody’s unmarriageable elder relative. She wished she had listened to the girl. She wished she was dressed to dazzle so he might regret what he would never have.

“Isn’t it exciting, ma’am,” Caroline pressed her. “’Tis by far the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me. He’s famous! We were just talking about him yesterday as we marveled at the jump he made and here he is in our coach. You
are
him, aren’t you, sir? Swift Nick Nevison?”

“The very same,” Jack said with a wink.

Caroline beamed and wiggled on her seat like an enthralled puppy.

Arabella, her back as straight and rigid as the swaying of the coach allowed, interrupted, her voice as frigid as her posture. “Infamous…is the proper word, Caroline. And if I am not mistaken, it is the horse that made the jump, and to her the credit due.”

“Caroline, is it?” Jack answered genially. “What a lovely name for such a pretty girl. Your mistress is quite right, of course. It
was
a foolhardy thing to do, but I was closely harried and it was the only way clear. It was that or capture. Better jump from a cliff than jump from the scaffold, thought I, but I swear, Bess grew wings and then she soared.”

He had a spellbinding voice and was clearly a skilled raconteur, but Arabella refused to be beguiled. “Really, Caroline. The man is a criminal. What would your father think to see you fawning all over him?”

Caroline gave her a bewildered look. “But he is not a criminal, my lady. The king pardoned him. And my dad will be pleased to know I met somebody famous. You did meet the king, didn’t you, Mr. Nevison?”

“That I did, lass. What might surprise you more is that I have also met your mistress.”

“I think not!” Arabella bit out the words.

“Yet I am certain of it. Arabella Hamilton, Lady Saye, is it not?” The look he gave her was a dare.

Arabella tilted her chin and replied in an icy tone. “While I
am
aware of what great esteem you are held in throughout the length and breadth of Britain, contrary to what you might think, my world does not revolve around the doings of highwaymen and other such ruffians. If by chance we
have
met, perhaps I was not so impressed with you as you seem to be with yourself.”

“Perhaps so, my lady. But I can assure you that
I
was impressed by
you.”

That statement was met by a frozen silence that seemed endless in the close confines of the coach.

“My lady was robbed by Gentleman Jack on Shooter’s Hill,” Caroline burst out, as if by way of explanation.

“Caroline. I am sure I don’t need to remind you that the utmost virtues in a lady’s maid are the same as those in a friend, loyalty and discretion.”

Before Caroline could respond, Jack broke in. “Ah! Gentleman Jack, you say. That explains a great deal. I know the man well. Was it a great ordeal for you then, Lady Saye?”

“No, Mr. Nevison. That is
not
how I would describe it. I would say, rather, that it was a great disappointment.”

The tension in their conversation was palpable, the undercurrents so strong that Caroline kept looking from one to the other uncomfortably. She cleared her throat. “The chapbooks say your horse breathes fire and her hooves spark on the cobblestones, Mr. Nevison. They say she’s as black as coal.”

“She is that. And at times her hooves do spark, depending on how she’s shod, but even after she’s had her ale I’ve yet to catch her belching fire.”

“But she is not with you?”

“No. She is rolling in a field somewhere right now. She is retired, as am I.”

“Since you won His Majesty’s pardon?”

“Since he won His Majesty’s pardon, Swift Nick has been as honest as he can be. You are a devotee of the chapbooks, Miss Caroline?”

“Oh, yes! My lady says I give them too much credence, but I enjoy reading all about your adventures and I know she does too.”

“Does, she? That’s very enlightened for a countess, I should think.” Jack glanced in Arabella’s direction, but though her cheeks were flushed, she studiously ignored him. “I could sign one for you later, if you like, if some stout landlord will loan us a pen. It will be worth a great deal if ever I should hang.”

Caroline grinned at him. “You are jesting! No one can hang you with the king’s pardon.”

“Quite so.” He sat closer to her so they were shoulder to shoulder as she pulled several chapbooks from her bag. He thumbed through them nodding, and pulled one from the pile. “Ahhh! Now
this
is one of my favorites.”

Arabella listened as he recounted the ‘
true
’ details of several stories, including the ride that had made him a folk hero and his subsequent interview with King Charles. She was intrigued to hear it happened in His Majesty’s bedchamber, which he employed much as Lady Ferrar did her salon. As she listened to the rise and fall of his voice and Caroline’s delighted laughter, she wondered where he had been, and why he should seek her now. She also remembered how they first met, and the first time that he kissed her.

She leaned back, bracing her shoulders against the carriage wall. When she closed her eyes she could still feel it. Tender, careful, yet firm...and heated. She could still feel how the bristle on his chin and jaw had rubbed her tender cheek, and where his palm had burned her through her clothing when he held her. Whatever grievance she had against him, she could not complain of his kisses. They had been gentle, seductive, enticing. He had made her first kiss, and those that followed after, memorable. No…he’d made them unforgettable. If she had any grievance it was that.

An image came to her from a painting at Burghley, a woman with lush rosy skin, her diaphanous gown draped in such a way that it wound around her thighs and barely kissed the mound between her legs. An ache pulsed between her own, and her nipples hardened against her bodice. She opened her eyes and watched him as he laughed and joked with a clearly smitten Caroline. She watched, fascinated by the steady rise and fall of his chest, hypnotized by the fullness and firmness of his lips, and mesmerized by the dark sweep of his lashes. She felt no jealously.
He could have any woman he wants, yet he keeps returning to me.
Somehow it seemed, she had the power to call him to her.
If only I knew how to keep him.

His leg touched hers, by accident or on purpose she couldn’t tell, but the thrill that accompanied it suffused her skin and traveled down her spine. He looked up suddenly, his eyes catching hers. She didn’t know who was shocked most when he spoke, herself, him, or Caroline.

“Bella, we need to talk.”

The astonished maid looked up, open-mouthed.

“Caroline? Would you like some fresh air? If you would, I am sure we can settle you comfortably with the coachman in the box.”

“Yes of course, my lady.”

Since he’d vaulted into the coach Caroline had hardly stopped gaping at Jack, but when she looked at her mistress now it was with awe and intense curiosity, as if she were seeing her in a whole new light. Arabella could not help but feel a little flattered to be of such interest to them both.

Once the maid was settled, they set off again, but without Caroline as a buffer an uncomfortable silence ruled once more.

“I feared she would never leave. Do you trust her?” It was Jack who broke the silence.

“I have little choice now you have revealed yourself. More than I trust you.”

“And what are you doing, accompanied only by a slip of a girl, so far from home? Did your last coaching trip not teach you anything?”

“As it happens, I am traveling for my health. Not that it is any concern of yours.”

“For your health!” He snorted. “You are as healthy as a horse.”

“And for my nerves.”

“You forget how I met you. Your nerves are as delicate as steel.”

“I also have property in Ireland, which I am informed might be productive in copper and silver. I am doing a tour of some mines in the peaks.”

“Surely there are mines you might visit closer to home.”

“As you know so much,” she said, exasperated, “why don’t
you
tell me why I am here, Jack.”

“I think you came to find me.”

Now it was her turn to snort. “That is laughable. But your finding me was no accident. How did you know where I’d be?”

“Not a happy accident, then?”

“There is no such thing. What do you want, Jack, after all this time?”

He stood up, half crouching because of his height, with one hand on the doorframe, and dropped smoothly onto the seat beside her. She moved to the far side but he filled the space she left him with folded arms and stretched legs, pressing close against her every time the carriage swayed. He nudged her foot. “You?”

“Try again.” Arabella was angry. Mistrustful. She had every right and reason to be. But for all of that, her skin pricked to feel him so close. Her lips ached to feel his pressed against them, and her body longed to relax and sink, warm against his.

“Very well. Keeping you safe has become something of a hobby. Rather like fishing...or gardening...or playing at bowls.”

“I thought your hobby was robbing coaches.”

He nodded amiably. “It is one of them, certainly. Have you no fear of highwaymen?”

“I have not been bothered so far. Except of course, by you.” She realized his arm was pressed closed against hers. She thought about shoving him away but she was enjoying his warmth.

“That’s because I’ve put out word you are not to be molested, and promised to bring hell down upon anyone who dared. You heard your girl with her talk of fire-breathing horses. There are those who believe that I can.”

She recalled the two rough looking fellows who had helped to right her coach. They had both been very well armed. She let herself relax against him a little, too happy to see him to pretend that she was not. There would be time enough for regrets tomorrow. He was sitting close beside her, alive and healthy, today. “It has been four months, Jack. Without a word. I have been terribly worried. Why come now, after all this time, when I had almost managed to convince myself it was better that way?”

“Has it been that long?” He sounded surprised. “I am sorry, Bella. I didn’t want to worry you. A brief sojourn in one of His Majesty’s prisons. It seems I lost track of time.”

“What?” She sat up straight and took a closer look at him, noting for the first time how pale he was.

“It is a hazard of the trade, love. Particularly when one leaves witnesses behind.”

Her mouth open and closed. She had no idea what to say. A part of her warmed to him, knowing he hadn’t abandoned her on purpose—a part of her froze with the realization that living as he did, any day might be his last—and a part of her recoiled as she faced the fact that she, a respectable woman, was in love with a man who wasn’t a tame wolf, but a wild one who followed no laws but his own.

“You are now an escaped felon, then?”

“Oh, hardly that. Well, Gentleman Jack is, I suppose. But as you can see, I am Swift Nick.”

“You think you can just change your clothes and turn from one man into another?”

“Yes, of course. I do it all the time. When one takes the trouble to wear a scarf or visor and change one’s clothes and hunting grounds, it’s not that hard. Most in England, yourself a notable exception, never travel more than twenty miles from where they were born. The only likeness they may have seen is from a broadsheet, the only description from tales told round the hearth. Everyone knows that Gentleman Jack wears dark clothing and stays to the North Road, while Nevison carries a Spanish rapier and is now retired. Besides, we all look somewhat the same in the dark.”

She looked at him thoughtfully. “You said much the same the day you helped me escape my cousin, but I have trouble believing that anyone who’d met you could ever be confused as to who you are. You took a great risk as Jack, by coming to London.”

He shrugged. “The risk is always greater, the greater the prize.”

She glanced at him, momentarily disarmed. “How did you escape? I wager you climbed up walls and leapt from towers and risked your neck every step of the way. I feared you might be dead, and so you might have been.”

He put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close and though she elbowed him it wasn’t very hard.

“It was nothing so dramatic as climbing walls and towers, though the enterprise that begat it was foolish, I’ll admit. But I am a careful man withal, my love. I would not have engaged in it, if it were not to keep a promise and repay a favor to friends who have recently aided me.

“As for my escape, the poor fellow next to me was a debtor, with none to come and redeem him and no one who cared. I saw him fed, but the heart had left him. Not long after, he died in his sleep. I seized the opportunity to take his name and had a friend come and release me by paying his debt. We drank to him at the tavern, paid for a nice memorial service, and had the bells rung in his name. I should be pleased were someone to do the same for me. By then, you had left on your journey. I thought it better to meet you on the road than trust a letter to the post. If I had done so it might not have gotten to you anyway. How is it you never told me you are Countess of Saye? ”