A Perfect Hero (2 page)

t was a perfect night for thievery. From beneath the crowning shelter of an aged oak tree, the figure on horseback surveyed the roadway. The hour was late, and with a sliver of moon slumbering behind a wisp of a cloud, the night was as dark and depthless as the yawning pits of hell. The faint rush of the wind sighed through the tree limbs to sing a plaintive, lone
some melody.

All the better to conceal his presence. All the better to aid his endeavor. All the better to await his opportunity.

Dressed wholly in black, from his hat to the soles of his boots, a dark mask obscured all but the glint of his eyes. He sat his mount— Percival—like a man accustomed to long hours
on horseback, his posture straight as an arrow, be
traying no hint of weariness ...and with the silent stealth of a man who knew well and true that his presence must be concealed at all costs, until such time as he deemed the
right
time to strike.

Lest his very life be forfeit.

And the man known as the Magpie had no de
sire to meet his Maker.

Percival’s ears pricked forward. Black-gloved fingers tightened on the reins. Squeezing his knees, he stilled the massive horse’s movement. A fingertip pressed gently over his neck. “Wait,” he cautioned.

The powerful animal quieted beneath his touch, but he could feel his muscles bunched and knotted, ready to spring into action.

With narrowed eyes, the man squinted into the encroaching darkness, directly to the east. This was not his first night masquerading as the Mag
pie. Nor would it be his last. Not until his pur
pose was accomplished to his satisfaction.

Beneath the black silk mask, a faint smile ap
peared. A familiar rush of excitement raced along his veins, an excitement he could not deny that he relished. His heartbeat quickened, for the pound
ing of hoofbeats had reached his ears as well as Percival’s. The light from a dim yellow lantern had appeared as well, bobbing in the distance.

Quarry approached.

He waited until it was within sight, for he was
not a man to make mistakes. As if on cue— damn, but he had the devil’s own luck!—the moon slid out from behind the cloud. The Mag
pie lifted his reins, broke free of the waist-high grasses beside the road, and stationed himself di
rectly in the path of the lumbering coach.

When the coachman saw him, he stood on the box and hauled on the reins. With a jingle of the harness and a shout from the coachman, the vehi
cle rolled to a halt.

Coolly, the Magpie raised a pair of pistols dead center at the man.

“Stand and deliver!” came his cool demand.

Hours earlier, Julianna seized her skirt and ran across the courtyard at the inn, zigzagging to avoid the puddles left by yesterday’s rain. “Wait!” she cried.

The driver clearly was not particularly dis
posed to patience. He glared at her. “Ye’d better hurry, mum,” he grunted. “We’re late already.”

Late. Yes, that was certainly the word of the day. There was a
thump
as her trunk was loaded. And by Jove, she was determined to reach Bath, if not by tonight, then tomorrow.

Nothing about this journey had gone accord
ing to plan. Traveling by public coach had not been on the agenda. Unfortunately, she’d missed the speedy mail coach.

Breathless, Julianna hurtled herself inside.

She’d barely seated herself when the door closed and the contraption lurched forward.

There were three passengers besides her: an el
derly woman; another woman with a huge, drooping bonnet; and a man next to her who Ju
lianna guessed was her husband.

Julianna found herself next to the old woman. “Good day to all of you,” she greeted pleasantly.

“Good day to ye,” nodded the old woman.

The other woman eyed her gray-striped travel
ing gown curiously. “Are ye traveling alone then, madam?”

Madam
? Mercy, but at twenty-seven, had she begun to age so dreadfully then?

“I am,” Julianna returned evenly. “My maid and I were en route to Bath—I recently bought a house there, you see—when she became ill early in the af
ternoon. We stopped and spent the night at the inn. I’d hoped she would be quite recovered by today, but sadly that was not the case. By this afternoon, it was clear poor Peggy was in no condition to travel the remainder of the way to Bath, so I sent her back to London in my carriage.” The fact that Julianna was unaccompanied didn’t bother her in the least.

“That was most kind of ye, mum,” said the other woman. “But we aren’t traveling as far as Bath. And the roads aren’t safe after dark.”

Her husband sent her a censuring glance. “Leticia! ’Tis hardly your affair.”

“Don’t look at me like that, Charles. You know
it’s true! There’s that terrible highwayman, the Magpie. What will come next, I ask! Why, the wretched man may very well murder us in our beds, every one of us!” She cast an imploring glance at the elderly woman next to Julianna. “Mother, tell him!”

The old lady folded her hands and bobbed her head. “It’s quite true, Charles,” she said, her eyes round. “Oh, he’s quite a horrid fellow, this Magpie.”

“You see?” Leticia transferred her gaze to Ju
lianna.

“I thank you for your concern, Mrs
.. . .
” Ju
lianna paused meaningfully.

“Chadwick, Leticia and Charles,” the woman said briskly. “And my mother is Mrs. Nelson. You’ve heard of him, haven’t you? The Magpie?”

Julianna’s mouth quirked. The London news
papers had been full of the Magpie’s exploits—he was becoming quite the infamous brigand. Per
haps she was growing jaded, but it occurred to her that chance his reputation had been exagger
ated, merely for the sake of selling more newspa
pers. Indeed, she would have almost welcomed an encounter with the Magpie, thus named for his cheekiness in robbing a coach carrying the private secretary of the Prime Minister himself, the Earl of Liverpool—a daring, if not foolhardy deed, to be sure.

But to think that they would be robbed by this notorious highwayman—she dismissed the no
tion out of hand. Such things did not happen to women such as herself. Had she been asked, she’d have described her life as rather mundane.

Three years ago, Sebastian had wed, and Ju
lianna had taken it upon herself to move out of the family residence. The shame and scandal of being stranded at the altar had been difficult to bear. Julianna counted herself a realist, and she was aware the experience had not left her un
scathed. But she liked to think she was at least somewhat wiser. She’d floundered for a time, spending months in Europe, dreading the day she must face the
ton
again.

What a shock it had been when she returned to London on the eve of Sebastian’s wedding!

It was then that she’d realized it was time to face life head-on. There could be no more hiding away, for what would that accomplish? She and Justin and Sebastian would always be close—the circumstances of their childhood had seen to that. She lived quite comfortably on her allowance from Sebastian, but she had made some invest
ments of her own that allowed her to purchase a modest town house in London, and her newest acquisition, a lovely little manor house in Bath.

Julianna was proud of her accomplishments, for she had discovered a courage and a dignity
she hadn’t known she possessed. It had begun that long-ago night when Thomas and Clarice had returned from Gretna Green. Apologetic and contrite, Thomas had come to her.

“I know my marriage to Clarice must have come as a shock,” he’d said. “I can offer no ex
cuse except one...Clarice is carrying my child, Julianna.”

In stunned, muted silence, Julianna listened while Thomas relayed how Clarice had come to him in tears the night before they—Julianna and Thomas—were to wed.

“I cannot deny what I have done, Julianna. Clarice and I have been friends since we were chil
dren. We succumbed to a moment of weakness— a moment of abandon. It was wrong. I knew it. But I told myself you would never know. Indeed, both Clarice and I agreed that we could not con
tinue to see each other. But when she came to me and confessed that she was with child, I could not deny her. Honor and duty compelled that I do the right thing and marry Clarice. And so I did. I will regret to the end of my days if I hurt you, Ju
lianna. But it was the right thing to do.”

If he had hurt her
. He knew that he had. He knew that she’d loved him madly ...And honor and duty. Well, those were things that Julianna understood, and so did her brothers. Indeed, it was all that had stopped Justin from calling him out. Oh, yes, she had understood...

But to forgive him his betrayal. That was not so easy.

And never would she forget.
Never
.

The pain and bitter hurt had faded. They were but a twinge in the region of her heart. But no man would ever turn her head again. Never again would she be so gullible, so trusting. She would rather grow old alone than marry simply for the sake of marrying.

For despite the abominable circumstances of their youth—their mother’s abandonment, their father’s disregard—Julianna had never lost faith in the sanctity of marriage. A nurturer, Sebastian had always called her, sweet and softhearted, al
ways taking care of others.

It was true, she supposed. Oh, yes, it was in her nature to be a wife, a mother. She’d once specu
lated that it was the fact that their mother had run off with her lover that instilled in Julianna the desire to be everything their own mother was not. Indeed, Julianna had once been convinced that the whole sordid makeup of her parents’ relation
ship had simply made her all the more deter
mined that when she, Julianna, married—and as a child she had somehow never doubted that she
would
—it would be for love...and love alone. Ah, yes, the longing for a husband and children was something that only grew stronger as she grew older. Forever it seemed she had planned the day of her wedding.

Oddly, it no longer hurt to think of that day.

What hurt was knowing she would never have a child of her own. No, there would be no children.

For there would be no husband.

And that particular heartache was one that had taken a long time to accept—and remained a se
cret locked tight in her breast for all eternity. She would never experience the joy of a child snug against her breasts . . .
her
child. For a husband was beyond her reach—perhaps more aptly, be
yond her desire. And so she had buried the yearn
ing for a child.

For it could never be.

No, she was no longer quite so carefree, seeing only the good in those around her. As for the Magpies of the world, well, in time this one would surely get his due.

“I daresay all the kingdom has heard of the Magpie,” she returned lightly.

Mrs. Chadwick eyed her. “Are you not afraid?”

“Afraid of a man I cannot see, a man I’ve yet to meet?” Smiling, Julianna shook her head, mildly amused. Reports of such men and their misdeeds had fallen off in the last few years. The notion of a highwayman made her shiver, but not in dread. Why, if she were given to such fancies, the notion might be almost romantic!

“Now, if he were to leap through that
door”—she nodded—“I might be inclined to say otherwise.”

“Oh, but you should be afraid. That’s a pretty bauble at your throat. No doubt he would take great pleasure in relieving you of it. That and more.” Mrs. Chadwick nodded knowingly.

Julianna raised her brows.

“Oh, indeed,” put in her mother. “Why, the tales we’ve heard...they’re not to be spoken of in polite company.”

Mr. Chadwick finally spoke. “What nonsense is this?”

“ ’Tis not nonsense, Charles!” His wife thrust her chin out. “A lady would not want to fall into his hands, for she would surely suffer a fate worse than death, and I think I need not ex
poundonthe matter!The manisadevil—’tis said he even has the devil’s eyes—and everyone knows it!”