The Highwayman (Rakes and Rogues of the Restoration Book 3) (34 page)

He came to her every night after that, making her gasp and moan with each new caress. Growing bolder each time, she explored him too, running her hands across his smooth muscled flesh and the tight ridges of his stomach, the taut curves of his buttocks, and the rampant arousal that swelled, hard and thrusting in her hands. She thrilled to the power to make him shudder, and yearned to feel him deep inside, though he was always careful to withdraw from her before his own release. She felt connected to him in a way that was deep and primal. She loved him, and she never wanted to leave.

For the sake of propriety, she had Caroline came to join her shortly after her arrival, though in truth there was little for the girl to do. Arabella dressed herself, except for dinner, and insisted her maid have a room of her own, on a different floor and at the far end of the hall. Still, Caroline was a cheerful companion and if she suspected that her mistress and Jack were lovers she gave no hint of it by word or deed. She had proven in York that she could be trusted with a confidence, and relied upon to be discrete.

~

Over the course of the next two weeks, the Talbot began to feel like the home Arabella had always longed for. Though her father had loved her, of that, she had no doubt, he had retreated to a life of seclusion on their country estate. The Talbot, presided over by the gregarious and motherly Mrs. Winslow and her taciturn spouse was a rollicking rogue’s gallery by comparison, and she loved it more each day.

She was introduced to all of Jack’s friends—the flashy and flirtatious Seven String Ned with his brilliantly colored ribbons and his charmer’s smile—the dour, one-eyed Billy Wise with his sardonic humor and pithy observations—Captain Richard Dudley, who was better born than she was...and of course the handsome redheaded youth Allen, who made Caroline turn a bright shade of pink whenever he entered the room. She wasn’t certain if Jack truly knew it, but he had a family here that loved him, captured as surely as she was by his good-natured ways and easy charm.

One night she joined them all at a large table in a backroom generally reserved for ‘regulars.’ Jack tipped a fellow from his seat with a well-aimed kick, catching a chair leg one-handed, and then setting it back on the floor for her to use. She smiled graciously, accepting it as though she were a queen taking her throne. There was much good-natured laughter, including from the fellow who had been so rudely dislodged. Several other men joined them, none of whom she knew, but they all seemed well acquainted with Jack. It was soon apparent that they all were rogues of some sort, and they vied for her attention with thrilling, sometimes chilling tales of life and death and the road.

It was Will Butcher who informed her that ‘a leap into the dark’ meant a hanging. She turned to look at Jack with alarm, remembering his words the first time they had made love. She had thought he was referring to embarking on an adventure. This new meaning sent a shiver down her spine. “Is Allen the only one among you who has not gone to prison and is not in imminent danger of being hung?”

Her question provoked howls of laughter and a bashful look from a red-faced Allen.

“Tell her, Jack!” Captain Dudley was laughing so hard he was wheezing, but several others took up the refrain.

“Aye, tell her.”

“Tell her, Jack! Someone give him a pint to wet his whistle.”

“It’s really not my story to tell.”

“Go ahead, Jack. You tell it better than I do,” Allen said with a grin.

Jack shrugged and downed the pint, banging his glass on the table, and they all quieted to hear his tale.

“Well, Miss Hamilton, ’tis true what you imply, we are all wild rogues and bad lads here, but none so wicked, nor started so young as the fresh-faced Allen the Sparrow.”

They all leaned forward to listen, as Jack told the story with his customary flair.

“As most of you will know, there’s many a wee lad or lass has fallen on hard times in this cruel and pitiless land. Most of them starve, some have worse things befall them, and some are trained up from children to thieve gold or silver buttons off of coats, dip into pockets, creep through shop windows, or pilfer goods for their masters in any number of ways. But none before or since our Allen has ever done it with no accomplice other than a singing bird.

Young Allen here has a way with beasts. You’ve all seen him with Bess, but scarce before he learned to speak, he was also skilled at thieving. He trained a bird to fly through the windows of likely houses and followed after, begging permission to retrieve it. Few were so heartless as to refuse such an innocent request, and out he’d come with his little bird, and all the silver he could conceal upon his person. He became so good at taking what wasn’t his that by the age of seven he’d been inside Clerkenwell and the Gatehouse, and not long after Newgate. A rough place that, for a handsome boy of tender years. A riot broke out and he tried to make a run for it. One of the guards was murdered, and all the lads who’d been there were sentenced to hang, including young Allen, who was all of nine-years-old.”

Arabella gasped in horror, and those who hadn’t heard the story before, looked at Allen with newfound respect. Caroline, clearly enthralled, watched the lad from her seat by the hearth with rapt attention. Arabella pursed her lips.
Is there trouble brewing here?

“Tell them what happened next, Jack,” Allen prompted.

“Aye, well…as it happened, I was visiting my old friend Nate there at the time. Being a tenderhearted fellow, he felt very sorry for the lad, and he told me the boy was to hang the next day. So gents…for the first and only time in my life, I broke
in
to prison, and then quick as you please, we both scampered out.”

Cheers and laughter erupted from around the table, and Allen received several friendly slaps on the back and cuffs to the head.

Arabella shook her head with a rueful smile, but her eyes shone with tenderness and pride and she laughed with all the rest.

“He’s an honest lad now,” Jack added, suddenly serious. “I made him swear to it. I didn’t steal him from the hangman just to give him back. So those of you whispering sweet nothings to him will have me as an enemy if you try to lead him down the wrong path.”

“Understood, Jack. But he needs to learn his weapons. Pistol and sword. You’ve no objection if I help him with that?” It was Will Butcher who spoke.

“I’ll teach him myself, Will. At least to start. But thank you for the offer.”

“I would very much like to take sword lessons, too.” The laughter was deafening and Arabella was somewhat offended. What was so amusing about a woman learning how to defend herself?

“Never mind them, Miss Hamilton” Jack said, quelling them with a look. She didn’t understand the joke and just as well. “I will teach you and Allen together. We will start tomorrow if you wish.”

Though Robert Hammond had gone to ground for now, Jack had eyes and ears in London, and he knew Arabella’s cousin blamed her for what happened to him and wanted her dead. Hammond expected to find her helpless and alone––a grave miscalculation. As he tried to puzzle out her whereabouts, Jack had men hunting him. The time for a reckoning was coming, and this time they wouldn’t find him trussed and waiting by the side of the road. In the meantime, it wouldn’t hurt for the lass to practice with a rapier. Besides, it was an excuse to spend more time together during the day.

~

A few minutes later, drawn by the laughter, their hosts came in to join them. Somebody picked up a fiddle, another a lute, and soon instruments were everywhere as more people trickled in and some began to play. Captain Dudley led them off in a rich baritone with a thrilling song about Barbary pirates
and the entire room joined him enthusiastically in the chorus
.

Jack picked up a lute and followed with another crowd pleaser, and even though Arabella was staunchly for the rule of men over kings rather than the reverse, tears welled in her eyes along with everyone else when his fingers flowed over the strings, picking, plucking and snapping as he sang the heartfelt refrain in a voice that sent chills up and down her spine.

“Let rogues and cheats prognosticate

Concerning king's or kingdom's fate

I think myself to be as wise

As he that gazeth on the skies

My sight goes beyond

The depth of a pond

Or rivers in the greatest rain

Whereby I can tell

That all will be well

When the King enjoys his own again

Yes, this I can tell

That all will be well

When the King enjoys his own again.”

The music and singing went on deep into the night, with tragic stories of love and loss, adventures on the highways and on the high sea, and jolly tales well known to all where everyone joined in the chorus. The pull at Arabella’s heart was extraordinary. She felt part of something beyond herself. In that company––ruthless, jaded, and worldly-wise, they were all eager and awed and innocent again. They laughed and cheered as the passed the jug, and Arabella coughed and choked so hard Jack had to pat her on the back when they passed her the pipe of tobacco.

She was not unskilled herself. Most folk of even modest means played some instrument or another at least passably well, but this was wild and jolly, unscripted and unconstrained. She was content just to listen, humming along, until her head began to nod against Jack’s shoulder, but as benches and tables were cleared away and the music picked up, he gave her a nudge and held out his hand.

“Miss Hamilton, will you do me the honor?”

Suddenly wide-awake, she gifted him with a brilliant smile and let him lead her in the dance. This was real country dancing. Wild and rollicking with jumps and whirls that often found Jack’s hands pressed tight against her waist. Her hair came loose and she lost her shoes and starry-eyed and breathless, she danced until the morning.

The next day, a little past noon, she stood next to Allen. She had caught him from the corner of her eye, dancing with Caroline last night. It was clear the girl was taken with him. Arabella could understand why. He was a handsome youth, good-natured and polite, and of course, the story recounted about him last night would hold great romantic appeal in Caroline’s eyes. Doubtless, it was a harmless flirtation but she had promised the reverend to watch over his daughter and she doubted he would approve.

Jack handed her a finely made silver rapier. Light and nimble, it was made for stabbing, and she enjoyed the heft and feel of it in her hand. Eager to try it she made a few practice swipes but Jack shook his head and clucked his tongue.

“Before one learns to attack, one needs to know how to stand and defend.”

The rest of the lesson was taken up learning to stand just so. Arabella felt a little sorry for Allen who seemed rather disappointed. No doubt, he wanted to slash and stab and dance about. At first, she had, too. But she recognized Jack’s expertise and besides, there was no doubt the lesson was a great deal more enjoyable for her than it was for Allen. As she made deliberate mistakes—Jack stood behind her making constant small adjustments. A hand guiding her elbow, steadying her shoulder, straightening her hips, his cheek pressed close against hers as he gave encouragement and instruction—it was the most fun she’d had in broad daylight since visiting the well outside York. She didn’t realize how much work it was until her muscles started to stiffen hours after they were done.

~

That evening, exhausted from her efforts and still tired from the late night the day before, Arabella found her bed almost immediately after supper. Deprived of her company, Jack was dealing a hand of cards down in the common room, though he really wasn’t in the mood for a game. He was growing increasingly impatient with the ruse he and Arabella were forced to play to maintain her respectability. He was tired of calling her Miss Hamilton. She was his woman.... His Bella. He was tired of waiting until late at night to join her in her bed, and tired of leaving before the inn stirred to life in the morning to go and find his own cold one. He was tired of keeping company with his bachelor friends, when he could be riding or walking, talking or teasing, or making love with her.

~

“Your lady friend…she’s special,” a half-drunk Ned said with a pronounced leer.

Jack’s hands stilled, with one card poised between his fingers, waiting to be dealt. The look he gave Ned would have frozen a lesser man’s blood.

“How go the sword lessons? If she were mine, I’d not be leaving her in her room alone. When you tire of her—”

Mid-speech a tankard hit him in the head and dropped him to the floor.

“Jesus, man!” Captain Dudley exclaimed, looking down at the unconscious body. “You might have killed him.”

“Next time I will, and all men should know it. I’ll not have her disrespected.”

If Jack thought his response to Ned’s remarks would quell speculation about him and Arabella, he was mistaken. All it did was reinforce what people were already thinking. Only a handful knew how Jack had met her or who she really was, but behind his back and hers, she was referred to as Jack’s girl. He realized what a problem it was becoming while talking the next day with Allen, who was laboring to clean an array of pistols laid out on the table.

“How do you know if you like a girl, Jack?” he asked, seemingly out of the blue.

“Ah! Well, the first sign is the most obvious, of course, when little Davey takes an interest.”

Allen’s fair features flushed red. “It’s not like that!”

“Yes it is,” Jack answered with a grin. “It always is, and it will be all your life. That’s one of the ways you know. But it’s not the most reliable. It doesn’t tend to discriminate. It’ll stand and salute most any girl that catches your eye, so never trust it to do your thinking for you.”