The Most Eligible Bachelor Romance Collection: Nine Historical Romances Celebrate Marrying for All the Right Reasons (29 page)

Amid the laughter of the others, Willie leaned toward her, leering under the hat brim pulled low to hide his identity. “My sin can begin finding me out here and now, then. Come, Tall Sally, just a kiss.”

“You, sir,” she gritted out, “may go to the devil.”

One of the ruffians lunged and tore the basket from her grasp. Two others shoved her back and forth between them, and despite her resolve not to, she cried out.

And then she fetched up hard against their leader, who gripped her upper arms. His breath was hot upon her cheek and smelled of strong drink.

“Unhand me! I don’t care who you are.” She kicked and fought, to no avail, as he laughed, landing rough kisses on her neck and shoulders.

God, forgive me, I should pray for his salvation, but—

“The lady said, ‘unhand her!’”

The voice boomed from the edge of the orchard. Willie Brown twitched but did not release Sally. “Begone, unless you wish for trouble this night.”

“’Tis you who begs trouble,” The unknown voice said, lower, but no less menacing, “if you do not release the lady and go on your way.”

“Indeed?”

Sally thought she’d use the moment to kick Willie in the shins, but he evaded her, keeping hold of her wrists while craning his neck to look. Curiosity got the better of her, and she, too, peeked. The shadowy figure of a man in a plumed, cocked hat, and a coat with skirts too long and full to be currently fashionable, was all she could make out.

“For the last time,” he said, “release her. Or pay the consequences.”

He lifted his arm and shook out—was that the lash of a whip?

One of Willie’s cronies swore and fumbled for his pistol, but faster than the eye, the mysterious man’s arm flicked. A length of braided leather wrapped around the other man’s wrist. Howling, he staggered away, divested of his weapon.

With a yell, the others leaped into action, but one terrible crack came after another, each accompanied by a cry or a flurry of curses.

“And now, you!”

Willie Brown growled and swung Sally about until she was pinned from behind to his chest, one arm around her waist and the other around her neck. “Will you have the lady suffer your lash?”

The shadowy figure did not move as Willie inched backward, taking Sally with him. In desperation, she sought purchase on his arms with her nails, her teeth—ugh, his fine linen tasted nasty—and again with the heel of her shoe. He cursed but held her more tightly. At their feet, someone moaned, “It’s the Highwayman!”

A second dragged himself from the ground. “Not here. He was last seen in Salem—”

The whip licked out again and, catching him by the leg, yanked him off his feet. “It is, and I am here,” the man said. “You! Brigands, all. How dare you prey on those weaker than yourselves. How can you call yourselves men?”

Still Sally was pulled backward. She could not breathe—

With another stroke, he pulled one of them off his feet, accompanied by yet another satisfying howl. Willie hauled her around and made a run for it, but with a terrible crack, they both went tumbling. For a moment the weight of his body crushed her to the earth, then was gone.

“Get out of here, serpent,” came that voice, no less terrible than his whip. “Go back to your den.”

A last fall of the lash and Willie fled, his breath coming in gasps like sobs.

Then there was only silence, filled by the pounding of Sally’s own heart as she huddled, half afraid to move.

He’d just rescued Sally. His Sally.

Sam dared not move at first, after the ruffians had scattered. “Lady, are you hurt?”

A motion—the shaking of her head?—and a tiny “Nay,” breathless. But she did not get up.

He took a step toward her, but with a gasp she scrambled away a length or two. The lantern lay on its side a few feet off, and she reached for it.

“Pray, do you leave it shuttered,” he said. “But set it upright. Best to not set the forest ablaze.”

Still seated, she gazed at him through the darkness. He could make nothing of her expression in the shadows. “Why? Are you also a brigand?”

A laugh forced its way up out of him. “Nay. Not a gentleman, but not a blackguard, either.”

“Are you truly the one they call the Highwayman?”

“That I am, lady.” Ah, Lord. What if she recognized his voice? But it was so easy talking to her like this.

He extended a hand. “Might I assist you in getting up?”

She hesitated then put her hand in his. Light and soft it was, but strong, as she gripped him and hoisted herself to her feet. The extra momentum he’d put into the motion brought her close to him, close enough to make out the cleft of her chin and the parting of her lips, to smell the marigold and rosemary that was part of her natural fragrance.

Close enough that she might recognize him as well, despite the black silk masking his upper face.

He released her and retreated a step. While she brushed out her skirts and rearranged her clothing, he rolled up the whip, still watching her.

“Have you seen my basket?” she asked, breathless again, not meeting his eye.

He scooped it from the ground and handed it to her. Thanking him, she accepted it and felt inside. With a huff, she turned her search to the ground. “Blasted, unmannerly, unprincipled…”

“Are they in the habit of this misbehavior?” he asked.

She paused to glance his way. “Aye. But it’ll do no good to register a complaint. Willie Brown, their leader, is the youngest son of the chief justice. Recently home from his education abroad and weary of life on the frontier, I expect. His father thinks him incapable of wrong. Word has it his father is under pay of the Crown to subvert what he feels is merely colonial justice.”

Unsurprising, that. It was the state of things all up and down the colonies. Worst in the Carolinas, perhaps, but even here—

He spied an item that must have come from her basket and bent to pick it up. She reached at the same time, and their hands met. They both froze before he let her take it. “My pardon,” he said, as she said, “Excuse me.”

They stood facing each other, her dark gaze regarding him with an intentness he was sure would penetrate his disguise. Did he care? Should he care?

“Who are you?” she asked softly.

He gave the breath of a laugh. “No one of consequence.”

Her lips pressed firm as she continued to eye him. “I doubt that heartily.”

Oh, my lady, if you only knew…

But he wasn’t yet willing to give up this glorious freedom. “And what of yourself, lady? Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing this fine evening?”

She snorted, but her mouth curved in a little smile. “I am Sarah—Sally—Brewster. My father is the keeper of Brewster’s Inn, just through the orchard.”

An answering grin tugged at his mouth at the slight quaver in her voice. He swept her a low bow. “It is an honor, Lady Sarah.”

“Oh. Psh.” She giggled. “I’m no lady, of a certain.”

Sally, reduced to simpering? He didn’t know whether to be ashamed or entranced. Perhaps both. “Fetchingly lovely, regardless.”

Her breath caught, and she swayed back a little. “Oh—nay. Not I. Too tall, I am, and too thin—”

“Who told you that?” he said. Too quickly. He suppressed a wince.

Absolutely still, she stared at him, eyes wide. “Wh–why, everyone.”

No. Not everyone. “Well.” He reached out a hand again, and hesitantly, she laid hers in it. His head went swimmy from the touch. “You should not pay attention to those who are only jealous of your radiance.” And he bent and brushed a kiss upon the back of her hand.

Sweet heaven. He could stand here all night, just breathing her in.

A tremor coursed through her, and what sounded suspiciously like another soft gasp. Could he truly affect her as deeply as she did him? She tried to tug her hand away, but he held on and straightened, meeting her gaze.

“I—must not detain you any longer,” she murmured.

“On the contrary. I should not keep
you
here.” But still he did not release her.

She was trembling in earnest now. Fear, or—

“You are still called the Highwayman,” she said, in a rush. “Do you mean to rob me as well, now that the others are gone?”

The first inkling of a mad idea seized him. “Nay. Aye. I will take a small token from you, sweet lady—”

And he reeled her toward him, savoring her lithe softness for just the moment as he swooped in to claim her lips. A heartbeat—two—three—

He released her and stepped back, sweeping another bow. “Adieu, fair maiden.”

Chapter 3

T
here was no way a girl could sleep after such a thing.

Snatching up the lantern, clutching her basket, Sally hitched her skirts and ran all the way back to the inn. Inside, she slipped off her shoes and tiptoed to her room on the upper floor, keeping to the sides of the stairs so they wouldn’t creak and give her away. A candle still burned in her brothers’ chamber, and a glance inside revealed Mama, hands folded and eyes closed, in the rocking chair at the bedside. Sally’s heart contracted. If Jacky perished of the fever, as her little sister had—

She pushed aside the thought and hurried upstairs. There, at last, she could catch her breath and let her mind unfurl the memory of the night’s adventure.

Adventure. Aye, Johnny would think it such. The Highwayman, indeed! Sally pressed her trembling fingertips to her mouth. Madness it was, that after Willie Brown’s rough ministrations, she couldn’t find the pluck to defend herself against her outlandishly attired rescuer. What was wrong with her? Disarmed by a courtly manner and pretty words—oh, she was no better than any other girl in town.

Even if he did soothe the fears Willie Brown and his gang had inspired.

With a huff, she flung her shawl across the foot of the bed then yanked off cap and handkerchief as if they offended her. The pins holding together the front of her gown came next—her fingers fumbled and she dropped one, which obligated her to kneel and feel about until she’d found it.

The angle of his head in the shadows, the slow, graceful way he’d offered his hand—the calloused strength of his grip as he helped her to her feet—the catch of his breath as he’d fetched her close—

She slapped the pile of pins down on her dressing table, ignoring the prick against her hand. Her throat clogged with senseless tears as she wiggled out of the gown then tugged petticoat ties loose.

God—oh God—

She could find no words to finish the prayer. She should be thankful, truly, that Willie and his boys had met their match tonight.

And I do thank You for that, I do, it is only—ah, Lord—

He’d kissed her, for heaven’s sake! Why on earth would he do such a thing? It wasn’t as if she were pretty, not like other girls—

“
Who told you that?
” came his rebuke, as clear as if he stood at her shoulder.

Her petticoat fell around her ankles, and she kicked it across the room. Why would he say such things, if not to take advantage of her? Were all men truly alike, seeking to have their way, either by force or by sweetness?

Because that kiss—and his arms around her for that moment—had left her near to swooning when he retreated into the darkness.

The knot in her stays laces defied her fevered tugging. Sally sank to the edge of the bed and covered her face in her hands. She needed to put this out of her mind. She was far too sensible to fall prey to the flattery of some shadowy, masked rescuer.

If only she could so easily forget the velvet press of his lips against hers.

There was no way a man could sleep after all that.

After leaving Sally, Sam hung back in the darkness as she finished gathering her things and hurried home. From the shelter of the orchard, he waited until she went inside, then lingered until the lantern flickered from the attic window he knew was hers. The next hour or so he spent circling the inn and slipping through the adjoining town, just in case the unruly gang decided to make a reappearance. The indignation over finding Sally in danger still burned in his veins, doubly fired by the elation of actually conversing with her.

Not to mention that stolen kiss.

He returned to the inn and for a long time just stood in shadow at the edge of the orchard, watching and listening. When the weariness swept in at last, he made his way to the wagon under cover of shadow and set about removing the disguise.