Pale Moon Rider (2 page)

“There is no one else,” the woman said with an exasperated sigh. “I assure you I am quite alone.”

“Alone? Ye’re travelin’ the
Chester
’pike in th’ middle o’ th’ night …
alone?”

“I was told … that is, I was led to believe …” She stopped and seemed to reconsider what she had been about to say, and ended up expelling a huff of misted breath instead. “But I can see I was sadly misled. You cannot possibly be the one they call ‘
Capitaine
d’Etoile
.’”

“Eh? Cap’n ’oo?”

“Captain Starlight. I was led to believe he might be out on a night such as this.” She paused and glanced up at the smeared disc of the moon. “I paid an outrageous sum for this information, but I can see now I was merely being played for the fool.”

“I did warn you it would be a waste of time, mad’moiselle,” the driver said, his hands clasped primly behind his back. “But as usual …”

“Yes, yes.” Another puff of breath marked the woman’s disappointment. “You warned me, and I did not listen.”

Dudley
raised his gun and scratched his jaw with the snout. “’Old up a minute ’ere. Are ye sayin’ ye
paid
someone t’ tell ye where t’ go so’s ye could get robbed?”

The driver provided the answer with a righteous sniff. “I advised mad’moiselle most emphatically against it, warning her she was just throwing good coin after bad, for what manner of highwayman advertises where and when he will be stalking a particular road? Indeed, this so-called Captain Starlight certainly would not have been able to elude capture for as long as he has if every unwashed jackanapes raising a tankard knew his business.”

“And so he would not,” came an amused voice from the shadows behind them. “Nonetheless he
would
be extremely interested to know where this information was purchased and from whom.”

The driver and the woman both whirled around to stare at the shifting layers of mist. Even
Dudley
was somewhat startled, for he had not expected Tyrone to reveal himself without due provocation. Now he seemed to materialize like a ghostly specter out of the blackness at the rear of the coach, with nothing to lend horse or rider substance save for glints of light reflected off the stallion’s bridle and the gold foliate work on the brace of leveled snaphaunces.

“Capitaine
d’Etoile”
the woman whispered.

There was a lengthy pause, time enough for the mist to settle around the stallion’s legs again, before Tyrone offered a slight bow. “At your service, mam’selle. Did I hear correctly: You have been looking for me?”

She continued to stare, for so long he was forced to gently prompt her again.

“Oh. Yes, m’sieur. Yes—” She took a halting step forward, her hand pressed over her breast as if to keep her heart in place. “I must speak with you, m’sieur. On a matter of some importance.”

Dudley
glanced nervously over both shoulders. “I don’t like it, Cap’n. Don’t like it a-tall.”

His features masked behind the raised collar of his coat, Tyrone surveyed the shadows on either side of the road, searching for any sign of movement. He tuned his hearing to the forest and the hills, trying to catch the accidental nicker of a horse or the snap of a twig beneath a boot, but if it was some ingenious new trap set by the persistent Colonel Roth, his instincts were not detecting it.

His gaze settled on the woman again.
Foolish
and
naive
were two words that came instantly to his mind, for she obviously had not considered the personal risk involved in her quest. There were few, if any, grown men who would venture out on their own along this deserted stretch of road, and he was curious in spite of the glared warnings
Dudley
was attempting to convey across the pale circle of lantern light.

Ignoring his partner as well as his own common sense, he uncocked the snaphaunces and tucked them into his belt. One long leg swung over the back of the saddle and he dismounted, the coarse earth of the road crunching loudly under his boots as he came forward.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?”
Dudley
asked urgently, his accent lapsing in surprise.

“The lady has gone to a good deal of trouble to find me. It would be most ungallant of me to send her away disappointed.”

Dudley
lifted the bottom edge of the curtain-mask to hiss, “Are you insane? The woods could be crawling with dragoons!”

“If you see any, shoot the driver first, then come and fetch me.”

Tyrone held out a black-gloved hand, inviting the woman to accompany him to the far side of the road.

“Mam’selle—?”

When she hesitated, clearly not expect
ing to have to move away from
the compara
tive safety of the coach, he tipp
ed his head the slightest degree to let her see the glitter of his eyes. He had not chosen the fanciful name of Captain Starlight. It had been bestowed upon him by a near hysterical female victim who had sworn there had been nothing mortal between the rim of his tricorn and the top edge of his collar—nothing but a phantom space and a clear view of the starlight beyond. The story, much embellished from one telling to the next, had spread like wildfire, reinforced by the inability of anyone to get close enough to disprove the assumption that they were dealing with an otherworldly being.

“I can promise you, mam’selle, despite what you may have heard, I am quite earthbound. You did say you wanted to talk, did you not?”

The hood moved fractionally to indicate a nod, and she gathered up the voluminous folds of her cloak, following in the direction of his invitation. He did not stop by the roadside, and when she would have balked again, he cradled a hand beneath her elbow and led her up the grassy side of the slope. The mist and shadows thinned measurably as they reached the top of the low knoll; conversely, the moon was brighter and bathed the surrounding countryside in a pale wash of luminous light.

Tyrone released her elbow and walked slowly around the crest of the knoll, scanning the forest, the hills that rolled out on either side, the scant patches of road visible through the mist. He paid particular attention to the eerie pools of fog that had collected in the hollows; the moon gave them the look of puddled cream, the surfaces smooth and motionless enough to betray any disturbance, stealthy or otherwise.

“I assure you, m’sieur, there are no soldiers lying in wait. I have come on my own.”

He stopped and turned his head to glance in her direction. He was just a black silhouette against the
midnight
sky now. His clothing was wool and did nothing to attract any light, whereas the woman’s cloak was brocaded silk and shimmered blue-white against the darkness. Her hood was still in place, shielding her face from the moonlight and he moved deliberately around behind her, forcing her to turn with him as he spoke.

“You said you had a matter of some importance you wanted to discuss?”

“Indeed, m’sieur. But first I must know if I can trust you to keep what we say here tonight between your lips and mine.”

His slow prowl ended and he arched an eyebrow, for he could see her mouth clearly now. It was a perfect bow shape with a full lower lip, lush and soft, and the image her words conjured started a smile spreading across his own lips. “You would accept the word of a common
voleur
to guarantee a confidence?”

“You speak French, m’sieur?”

“Un peu
. A little.”

“Bon
, for although I have studied English for many years, there are still words and phrases I do not understand and cannot properly express.”

“You seem to be doing just fine,” he said, looking around again. “But my time is limited, and my friend is not known for his patience.”

“Then I have your word, m’sieur?”

Amused at the irony of her insisting on the word of a thief, Tyrone affected a deep and solemn bow. “You have it indeed, mam’selle. Anything we say … or do … here tonight will go with me to the grave.”

“In that case”—she drew a deep breath and braced herself—“I wish to hire you.”

The request startled him and he peered intently at her through the darkness. “Hire me?”

She nodded and the silk threads in her hood sparkled like Stardust. “I require the help of someone with your … special talents … to assist me in an endeavor of
great
importance.”

Two, three long puffs of steamy breath came through the edges of the standing collar before Hart asked, “Exactly what special talents might those be?”

“I wish you to commit a robbery, to stop a coach on the road and relieve the passengers of their valuables.”

He leaned forward, almost certain he had not heard correctly. “You want to hire me to rob a coach?”

“This is what you do, is it not?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“The occupants of this particular coach will have with them valuables of
a particular interest to me.”

"
What kind of valuable
s?” he asked bluntly.

“Jewels.”

“Jewels?”

“Oui
, m’sieur. A necklace, a bracelet, earrings … all of a matching suite, all of the finest, most exquisite rubies and diamonds. For your help in assisting me to obtain them, I would be willing to pay you a handsome fee.”

He studied her in thoughtful silence for a long moment. The forward rim of her hood still cast a shadow over her face, but his night vision was excellent and her complexion fair enough to reveal a very delicate Parisian nose that complimented the luscious ripeness of her mouth.

“Rubies and diamonds,” he murmured. “The suite must be worth a small fortune.”

“Several tens of thousands of your English pounds,” she agreed without demur.

“Then, if it would not seem too presumptuous of me to ask, what would stop me from simply stealing the pieces and keeping them for myself?”

She was ready for the question and he saw a tight smile flatten her lips. “In the first place, m’sieur, you do not; know upon which road, in which coach, on what night the jewels might be found—nor will yo
u discover this without my aid. Secondly,
you are, as you say, a common thief. You would find it difficult, if not impossible, to receive a fair price, or indeed, to sell them at all without drawing the attention of the authorities. I, on the other hand, will simply appear to be another displaced aristocrat forced to sell off precious heirlooms to survive.”

“You don’t think the owner might raise an objection or two?”

“I
am
the owner, m’sieur. The jewels were given to me as a betrothal gift.”

He was taken by surprise a second time, but said nothing as she continued to elaborate.

“On the fourteenth of this month, I am to marry, m’sieur. During the week prior to the happy event, there are bound to be several dinner parties and soirees where I will be expected to wear the jewels. On the way to one of these entertainments, it is my wish that you waylay the coach and rob me of my valuables. If you are successful, we can then meet the next day—at a place of your choosing, if you wish—where you will give me the jewels and I will pay you your fee.”

Hart approached the woman’s glimmering silhouette one measured step at a time, forcing her to tilt her face higher and higher the closer he came. Her hood slipped back, but at the same instant a filmy veil of wind-driven clouds drifted over the moon, and he gained nothing more than a dawning suspicion that she was neither as naive nor as foolish as he had initially supposed.

“If the jewels were given to you as a betrothal gift, why do you have to steal them?”

“Because I have no wish to marry the man who gave them to me.” She said it in a way that made it sound as if it were the most logical presumption in the world and he was a dullard to ask. He was so intrigued by the crushed-silk sound of her voice that he barely noticed the insult.

“It was not my choice to marry him,” she was saying. “Nor was I even consulted when the decision was made.
I have been … how do you say …
bartered.
Like an object. Sold by my uncle who wants only to be rid of me, rid of the burden and expense of feeding and clothing and keeping me. He arranged this marriage to relieve himself of an embarrassment, nothing more. And because I came to this country with nothing, I am expected to be grateful for his charity and meekly accept whatever fate that he, in his wisdom, sees fit to arrange.”

Tyrone’s brows lifted again. “Most women in your position would not consider it such a terrible fate, mam’selle. Most women take it as a matter of course that they are expected to marry for money, position, influence. If you are looking for love—?”

“Love?” The word was expelled on a puff of impatience. “Do not mock me for being an ignorant little French peasant, m’sieur. For centuries, my family has married to make alliances and gain power. I know full well the value placed on a woman’s womb—we are simply here to be used for breeding more men.”