Too Wicked to Love (13 page)

There’s nothing anyone can do about it.

The food turned to ash in his mouth, and he took a gulp of the water by his plate, wishing for something stronger.

Twelve and seven, Timmons had said. Two little girls whose father had just died, whose mothers—they had each had different ones—had died before their father, leaving them orphans now. Their fates would be at the whim of their new guardian, and from the sound of things, Uncle had left their guardianship to whomever inherited the title.

Which, as things stood right now, would be Randall.

Could John, in good conscience, leave two innocent children to such a fate?

There’s nothing anyone can do about it.

There was something
he
could do about it.

He stood up from the table, ignoring the stares as his chair scraped against the floor, and headed for the exit, silence following him.

Seven years ago, he had allowed his uncle to talk him into running from a false accusation. He had been young and impressionable and completely cowed by his uncle’s power. But now that power was his, should he choose to claim it. Had Randall been inclined to treat the title with some respect rather than as his personal gold mine, John would have been content to let his cousin declare him dead and to disappear quietly in America.

But now, knowing how Randall planned to abuse his position and put at risk the well-being of a couple of orphaned girls. . .

He could not allow that to happen.

He knew as soon as he came forward and announced his true identity, the speculation would begin again. The investigation would begin again. But the authorities would move more cautiously before accusing a duke of murder—much more so than if he had still been plain Mr. John St. Giles—which would allow him enough time to scuttle any betrothals that might have been made and assign a proper guardian to look after his young cousins.

It would also allow him enough time to review his father’s notes and perhaps find a way to prove his innocence.

In the end, though, it was about protecting the innocent. He had always taken his place in the family seriously, and while he had never expected to inherit—at least not so soon—he would not shirk his responsibilities. Not when his family needed him.

He
was
Evermayne. And soon, everyone would know it.

G
enny was pleased that they took the same carriages in which they had arrived. It meant that John would be their outrider, that he would be nearby.

She was
not
pleased that he had somehow avoided her the entire evening.

She pondered the situation as the landau pulled out of the Statons’ drive and turned toward Nevarton Chase. Annabelle chattered about fashion and social connections with her mother—frequently using words like “free” and “unhindered” and “unfettered”
—
until Dolly finally snapped, “I understand, Annabelle. You don’t like being stuck at the estate. But we have no choice, and that is
the end
of it! Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mama.” Annabelle’s stunned expression gave Genny the impression that Dolly hardly ever spoke harshly to her daughter. Annabelle’s ensuing silence spoke louder than any words about her feelings on the matter.

The silence in the coach was broken only by the rasp of the wheels on the road and the occasional soft snore from Virgil, who had drifted off to sleep.

And the comforting sound of horses’ hooves outside the window.

John was out there, riding his gelding Veritas, watching over them. She admired his diligence. With John Ready riding guard, no brigand would dare attack them.

While she did wish he was inside the coach with them—the better to continue her flirtation—she would not let the separate modes of transportation stop her. Twice, she had managed to catch his eye and send him a smile, and twice he had urged his mount to a faster pace.

A thump reached their ears, coming from the back of the carriage.

“What!” Virgil jerked awake. “What was that?”

Scrabbling came from above them, then a much bigger whack followed by a human cry of alarm.

The coach shot down the road for a few more minutes, then jolted to a halt.

Genny peered out the window. The moonlit night looked peaceful enough.

“Why have we stopped?” Virgil asked.

“I don’t like this,” Dolly whispered.

Annabelle reached across and squeezed her mother’s hand. “Don’t fret, Mama. John is right outside.”

They sat for long moments in total silence.

“Everyone, please get out of the carriage,” John called from outside.

“I can’t get out,” Dolly protested. “My leg!”

There was a pause, followed by the low murmur of voices. Then John opened the door to the carriage. “Everyone except Mrs. Bailey, please step out.”

“What is this nonsense?” Virgil demanded. “Did we break a wheel?”

“Something like that. Miss Wallington-Willis, please take my hand.”

Genny took John’s hand, hearing the strain in his tone. Something was very wrong. He helped her down from the carriage, and once she moved away from the vehicle, she saw the problem.

“Do not look so dismayed, Miss Wallington-Willis” said the masked man seated on top of the collapsible roof of their landau. Moonlight gleamed off two pistols in his hand. “I just want to talk.”

“Who was that?” Annabelle asked as John helped her down. She looked around and gasped as she saw the outlaw.

“It is only I,” said the brigand. “Good evening, Miss Bailey. You do look stunning this evening.”

“Black Bill,” she murmured, as her father disembarked.

“Black Bill? Where?” Virgil looked around, then spotted the highwayman.

“Right here,” the thief said in his ever-cheerful tone. “I am so flattered you remember me, Miss Bailey.”

“How could I not?” she said. “You saved me from being forced into marriage with Richard. You saved my life.”

“Well, he shot
me
, in case no one else recalls.” John folded his arms, his entire body stiff with what Genny knew had to be fury. How could he remain so calm? Her own hands were shaking, and she twisted them into her shawl, edging closer to John. She refused to show fear to this villain.

“Now, do not be so cross, Mr. Ready. Or shall I call you John? After all, once blood has been shed between men, formality seems rather silly, do you not agree? Besides, you lent me this wonderful pistol.” The thief held it up to the moonlight, turning it this way and that.

“How did he steal your pistol?” Genny whispered.

John gave her a tight look of frustration, then called out, “I could shed some of your blood, Billy Boy. Return the favor.”

Black Bill laughed, and Dolly cried, “What’s happening out there? Are we being robbed?”

“My mother is frightened,” Annabelle said, her words ringing with rebuke.

“I apologize,” the bandit said, raising his voice. Was that sincerity in his tone? “I am not here to threaten you, Mrs. Bailey, but to have a discussion with my friend John.”

“About what?” Virgil demanded. “About how you tried to kidnap my daughter for that no-good Raventhorpe?”

“Pa, no,” Annabelle said, taking her father’s arm.

Black Bill aimed the pistol at Virgil with a grace both practiced and deadly. “Do not ever associate me with that piece of filth.”

Virgil shook off Annabelle’s hand. “Stand aside, Annabelle. This varmint isn’t getting you without a fight.”

“He doesn’t want me,” Annabelle said, moving between her father and Black Bill’s gun.

John tensed, and Genny curled her fingers around his arm. “What is she doing?” she whispered so only John could hear. “She is going to get killed!”

John silently patted her fingers, as if trying to reassure her. He did not take his gaze from the bandit at any time.

Annabelle stared her father down. “I told you, it wasn’t him.”

“Don’t let him take our baby, Virgil!” Dolly cried from inside the carriage.

Annabelle turned back to the highwayman and crossed her arms. “And you, Mr. Black Bill. You claim you want to talk, yet you have held up our carriage, scared my mother half to death—”

“Got rid of the coachman and the footman,” John said. “Jumped on the roof from a tree, punched the footman so he fell off the back, then knocked the coachman on the head and shoved him off the seat.”

“And where were you, John Ready?” Virgil demanded. “You’re supposed to be protecting my daughter!”

“I was trying to get a bead on him, but he moves like a snake,” John protested.

Black Bill laughed. “Snake, is it? Not complimentary, are you, John?”

John ignored him. “Then he got on top of the landau and threatened to shoot through that soft top if I did not hand over my pistol. What was I supposed to do?”

“Shoot the son of a bitch!”

“Virgil!” Dolly cried from the carriage. “Your language!”

“Would you have him shoot into the landau and hit one of the ladies?” John demanded.

“Stop it, the both of you!” Annabelle commanded, surprising both men into silence. She glared up at the bandit. “Say what you need to say. It’s far too chilly tonight to stay outside too long.”

The highwayman smiled, his teeth gleaming in the moonlight. “Well then, since I have no desire to keep the ladies out in the cold, here is what I came to tell you. I did not try and abduct the lovely Miss Bailey.”

“So you claim,” John said.

“So I claim,” the bandit repeated. “I did not do it, but I know who did.”

John narrowed his eyes at the highwayman. “Who?” he challenged.

“His name is Peter Green. Raventhorpe uses him for this type of thing when the pig earl is unavailable to do it himself.”

“Why should we trust you?” Virgil demanded. “What’s to stop you from robbing us blind and leaving us for dead?”

“Why, nothing,” Black Bill replied. “Except my honor.”

“Hardly a comfort,” John said. “Prove your words. Tell me where I can find this Peter Green.”

“He rents a room in a boardinghouse near Nevarton, owned by a widow, Mrs. Tansey.”

“I went to Nevarton. Based on Miss Bailey’s description, no one had seen him or knew who he was.”

“He is a bit of a bully, that one. Not the sharpest sword in the armory,” the thief said. “Tends to incapacitate the people who talk about him. Quite a deterrent, don’t you agree?”

“Wonderful,” John muttered, frowning. Sharpest sword in the armory? Where had he heard that before?

“Do not fear, dear friend John,” the highwayman said. “I will find him and point you in the proper direction.”

“Why are you helping us?” Virgil demanded.

“To clear my name, of course,” the thief replied. “I do hate when other people claim to be me, especially amidst such distasteful business. I have standards, you know. What I do is very specific.”

“You only rob those on Raventhorpe lands,” John said. “I remember you saying that the first time our paths crossed. Right before you shot me.”

“Very good, Mr. Ready! Yes, I do try to make that swine’s life as difficult as possible. I have a bone to pick with him if he ever returns from his self-imposed exile in France.”

“The earl had no choice but to leave England,” Genny said. “The gossip about what he did to Annabelle was quite damaging.”

“Lovely to hear,” the highwayman said.

“Besides,” Annabelle said, “John shot Raventhorpe in his ar—”

“Annabelle Bailey!” Dolly called. “Watch your language!”

“—seat,” Annabelle finished.

“I had heard that,” Black Bill said. “Excellent shooting, John old man. Perhaps we are in alliance after all!”

John regarded the thief for a long moment. “You did not kill our footman.”

“That would be correct,” Bill said.

“And you did not kill our coachman.”

“Right again.”

“And you did not shoot me, though you had the opportunity from that branch where you were perched. I saw you jump.”

“Is this a test?” Bill asked with a laugh. “I know what I did and did not do, friend John.”

“I am just pointing out what the others might not have noticed. You have not killed anyone to have this conversation.”

“I am feeling compassionate this evening,” Bill said with a shrug.

“You honestly do want to help us.”

“I would not say
that.
I simply do not like others infringing upon my territory.”

“You know a lot about what is going on in this area,” John said.

“Of course I do.”

“Perhaps I could pay you to gather information for us.”

“Do I look like I work for Scotland Yard? Do not be preposterous. I make my living by relieving others of their wealth.”

“You said you wanted to talk,” Annabelle challenged. “Are you a liar as well as a thief?”

The highwayman stiffened. “I am no liar. I have every intention of robbing you this evening.” He stood and tucked one revolver away, then leaped lightly to the driver’s seat and from there, vaulted down to the ground, never losing his grip on the second weapon. The horses shuffled in their traces, but otherwise appeared little disturbed by the stunts as Black Bill approached the group. “Come here, Miss Bailey.”

Annabelle took a step toward him, but her father grabbed her arm. “Annabelle, are you crazy? Stay away from him!”

“You come to me, Miss Bailey, or else I will have to shoot someone to prove my point. Your father, perhaps? A bullet in the thigh or the knee might have him in a wheeled chair beside your mother.”

No,” Annabelle whispered. “Don’t.”

“Or perhaps the stalwart John Ready?” He swung the weapon toward John.

“Once was enough,” John said.

“That leaves Miss Wallington-Willis, though I should hate to mar such natural beauty.” He shifted the pistol again.

Genny stared at the gleaming barrel of the revolver, her stomach churning. She swallowed past the hard lump in her throat. Was this how her life would end, snuffed out by a brigand in the middle of the road?

Then suddenly John stepped in front of her, shoving her behind him with one arm. He said nothing, just stared in challenge at the highwayman.

“How chivalrous, friend John!” Black Bill grinned. “But the choice is Miss Bailey’s, not yours.”

“I don’t want you to shoot anyone. Rob me if you must,” Annabelle said, “but not the others. I beg you.”

Virgil stepped forward. “Now hold on there . . .”

“Pa, stay back,” Annabelle said, then slowly approached the highwayman.

“Annabelle, no,” John said.

“You come back here, Annabelle May!” her father commanded. He started forward, but the sudden shift of Black Bill’s aim from John to him stopped him cold. “Don’t you hurt my girl, you bastard!”

From inside the coach, they could hear Dolly sobbing.

Genny trailed her hand down the barrier of John’s arm until she found his hand. Slowly she twined her fingers with his. After a moment, he squeezed hers, as if reassuring her.

Annabelle came to a stop just beyond arm’s reach of the bandit. “I’m here. Go ahead. Rob me.”

“Do you think I will not?” He gave her a half smile, never breaking eye contact with her. “Open your purse.”

Annabelle slid her beaded reticule off her wrist, then opened it so he could see inside. He shook his head. “Not exactly what I am looking for. Unfasten your cape.”

“Stop right there, you—”

Black Bill turned and fired, knocking Virgil’s hat right off his head. “Stop right there, Mr. Bailey.”

“Virgil!” Dolly screamed.

“I’m all right, sugarplum!” Keeping his gaze on Black Bill, Virgil slowly bent down and picked up his hat. “Don’t you hurt her, you son of a bitch, or I’ll hunt you down and feed your innards to the dogs!”

The highwayman grinned, then turned back to Annabelle.

CRACK! She smacked him hard across the face. “Don’t you ever shoot at my pa again, you animal!”

“Animal?” Something feral swept across his face. “If I were an animal, every one of you would be dead. Except, perhaps, for you, my sweet.” He aimed the pistol at her with one hand and used his other to shove open her ermine-trimmed mantelet. The pale skin of her bosom gleamed in the moonlight.

“If you want my wrap, take it,” she said, her tone icy. “I understand the fur is valuable.”

He laughed. “That is not what I want.” He touched her cheek with one gloved hand, then trailed his finger down to rest at the base of her throat. “Are you frightened? Because this says you are.” He traced the pulse point with one finger.