Rebel Marquess (36 page)

Once he did, he continued through the pages without pause. He became immersed in the adventure of a noble thief and a young woman who refused to remain in the seclusion of a nunnery. Simmons came and went with his supper. Rutherford only vaguely recalled eating. The light from outside faded and Simmons returned to light candles while Rutherford loyally followed the hero and heroine through every dangerous escapade and tumultuous turn of events they encountered.

Eliza was there too, on every page. Her humor and her charm. Her intelligence and relentless energy.

As he read, Rutherford detected something else in the story. A deep and subtle thread of loneliness. The emotion was reflected in the very nature of the runaway heroine and in the solitary existence of the highwayman. It filtered through every shadowed moment of confusion and uncertainty the characters endured as they struggled to find their way and light the shadows that threatened their happiness.

When he reached the final page and the words
The End
, he closed the book and held it in his lap. A confounding sense of joy and sadness blended in his awareness. He sat there for a while like that, listening to the night wind outside, contemplating the new perception that had succeeded in shaking him from the numbed existence he had been hiding in.

Eliza obviously needed to write, to share with others her generous perception of the wonders life has to offer if one is but bold enough to claim their own happiness.

But she also needed him. Perhaps as much as he needed her.

He set the book down on the table beside him and stood. Hope and purpose flowed through him with a rush of focused intention. He strode to the bell pull, his mind starting to whirl with plans. Though it was nearly midnight, Simmons appeared within minutes, as if he had been awaiting his master’s summons.

“Simmons, we have a scheme to strategize.”

With no change to his dignified expression, Simmons nodded in acknowledgement. “Excellent, my lord. I was hoping you would say something like that. These last couple months have been frightfully dull.”

Rutherford arched his brows at his trusted servant’s atypical impudence. When Simmons stared back at him without a blink of deference, Rutherford snorted and replied, “Well, if things go as I hope, I doubt we will ever have a dull day again.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Eliza crossed the darkened garden, grateful to leave the lights and noise of the ballroom behind her.

She had accepted an invitation from her sister, Regina, to travel with her and Lord Sheffield to Dorset at the end of the London Season. The countryside provided immeasurable avenues of inspiration as Eliza plotted a story about a desperate smuggler who is witnessed in his activities by the tenacious daughter of the local vicar. By day, Eliza went off on lengthy explorations of the surrounding areas, but at night the Sheffields were in Dorset for the express purpose of socializing. They had rented a nearly palatial estate that seemed to Eliza extravagant until she realized just how much entertaining the Sheffields intended to engage in. From the first week of their arrival, the grand house had been filled with a steady stream of guests, and most were expected to stay for a few months or more for Regina’s endless dinners, soirées, musicales and rousing country dances. If Eliza had known what would be entailed in her sister’s invitation to the country, she may have considered her response more carefully.

Still, she had been ready to leave London. The country provided a much richer atmosphere in which to immerse herself for the effective flow of her creative mind. Mr. Whittier was anxious for her next novel and had asked her to have something to him before the worst of winter arrived.
The Highwayman and the Runaway
was selling at an exceptional rate and had garnered an endless array of commentary in literary journals and the gossip pages alike.

Eliza was not so naïve she didn’t realize her recent scandalous behavior had managed to bring the initial attention, but she hoped the quality of her work had been the cause of the continued fervor. Those first few articles had pained her to read as they sensationalized her decision to abandon the marquess at the altar. They pained her still in thinking about them, but she had known there would be talk and speculation over her actions. She could only be grateful the marquess’s position protected him from the worst of the gossip.

Ducking beneath the fall of willow branches in the corner of the walled garden, Eliza sank onto a stone bench tucked into the deepest shadows. This spot had become her refuge when she needed to escape inquisitive glances and intrusive questions. Regina’s set of friends might be on the liberal side of politics, but everyone loved gossip.

Her sister’s guests certainly did not need her presence to speculate on the circumstances surrounding Eliza’s scandal. They were not interested in the truth of the matter, that it had been the most difficult decision of her life and that she’d thought about the repercussions of it every day since. Or that she could barely go an hour without thinking about the marquess and worrying about him.

She had heard when he left London several weeks ago. Though she knew it was all in her mind, she felt as though the city had become hollow without his presence. She spent hours wondering where he had gone. She pictured him roaming the rough-hewn countryside of Boarhill, or she’d see him in the stately surroundings of Breckmore Palace. Perhaps he was hosting a country party of his own.

She nearly managed a smile as she imagined him having a dinner party in one of the tower attics of the palace. The smile could not fully form before it was pulled down by the sadness that filled her as she wished she could be wherever he was. She longed to walk at his side down twisting country lanes, enjoy picnics together in the sunshine and share laughter and whispers in the privacy of a darkened bedroom.

Gah! She needed to stop with such torturous thoughts. They only succeeded in deepening the ever-present ache in her heart. Closing her eyes, Eliza took a long breath and then expelled it from her lungs in a heavy sigh.

“What cause for such sadness?”

A bright thrill flashed along Eliza’s nerves. She spun around on the bench and peered behind her. The darkness was too thick to penetrate with her gaze and her breath froze with a fear she had imagined the low rumbling voice.

Had she gone a little mad in her desperation to see the marquess again?

A soft rustle of clothing and the sound of steps in the plush grass triggered a rush of tingling sensation throughout her body. Her heart clogged her throat as a cloaked figure emerged from the surrounding shadows.

He did not approach her but kept to the edge of a revealing shaft of moonlight.

Eliza yearned to jump to her feet and rush into his arms, but she kept her rear planted firmly to the bench, worried his reception may not be what she desired.

Why is he here? Has he come in search of me? Does he hate me for my betrayal?

She bit her lip and allowed her hungry gaze to soak up the details of his appearance.

His dark breeches and the black cloak that fell from his broad shoulders obscured much of his form and the hood was pulled forward over his brow. He kept his chin lowered, but she knew that even if she could see his face, it would be covered by the black half-mask of a highwayman.

Her heart leapt wildly and her head spun with a mixture of excitement and relief. Her muscles strained as she fought to maintain her composure though inside she felt as if every cell of her being were bursting with a riot of thoughts and feelings

“Why the soulful sigh, mistress?” he asked again. The deep timbre of his lowered voice reminded her it was not the marquess standing before her, but the mysterious highwayman. A man whose true identity was supposed to be unknown to her.

She searched for a proper response through the haze of her elation. “A woman often has many reasons for such an inconsequential release of emotion.”

“A woman who turns from the light of merriment to seek out the shadows may have more reasons than most.”

“Perhaps,” Eliza replied. She yearned to confess that her sadness was caused by missing him, but he had come in the guise of highwayman for a reason. He did not want her to know it was him. She owed him much, but at the least she could allow him the opportunity to accomplish whatever his purpose was in approaching her tonight. She took a steadying breath, hoping against hope this unexpected reunion might end in her favor. “How is it you happen to occupy these same shadows, my lord highwayman? Your net is cast far these days.”

He took an unhurried step closer. “Would it frighten you to know I have been looking for you?”

A thrill raced through her, giving her a brace of boldness. “And what took you so long to find me?”

“The time had to be right.”

“Right for what?”

A long moment of silence met her question, and Eliza held her breath. She had been listening to him from two different places. Her mind interpreted the words of the mysterious highwayman to which she replied with a veneer of coy evasion. But her heart heard the meaning behind the words as coming from the marquess himself and the deeper layer of her responses were to him.

“I offer my assistance in curing your loneliness.”

A wave of hope left her slightly lightheaded and she curled her hands into fists to keep from reaching for him. “I did not say I was lonely.”

“You do not have to. Loneliness and sadness hover about you like a shroud.”

“Just how do propose to remove it?” she asked in a quiet murmur.

He stepped forward then and Eliza tipped her head back as he came to stand behind the bench. Beneath the shadows of his hood, she could see the familiar angles of his face, the hint of his rough-textured jaw, likely unshaved since that morning, and the firm curve of his lips. As she had suspected, the upper half of his face was concealed by the highwayman’s mask.

“I offer you an adventure,” he replied. The low strains of his voice struck a harmonious chord with the night. He held out his gloved hand to her. “If you come with me now.”

There was no need to debate her response. Eliza would go with him to the moon if he asked her to. But she held back, remembering he was the highwayman—a near stranger she had encountered but twice.

So she hesitated as she imagined he would expect. She looked back toward the lights flowing from the house. If she left now, no one would miss her until nearly midday tomorrow. Her sister would assume she had retired early as she often did. And her maid knew not to disturb her until later in the day as she had developed a routine of doing her writing in the early morning hours so as to spend the rest of her day exploring.

Even if her absence could be discovered, Eliza didn’t care. She was going with him regardless of consequences. She would worry about what it meant to the rest of her life later.

Turning back to him, she saw that he stood patiently, his leather-gloved hand steady as he waited for her decision. Eliza rose to her feet and placed her hand in his, feeling as if in doing so she gave her entire being into his care. The sensation should have been frightening, and at one time it would have been infinitely so, but tonight it felt inevitable and right.

A chime of laughter peeled from the house and they turned to see a handful of guests spilling out onto the balcony. Without a word, he drew her to his side as he turned toward the shadows. He led her quickly toward the gate tucked into the corner of the outer garden wall.

Beyond the garden lay a stretch of gentle forest. In the day, the forest was lush and inviting with singing birds and bursts of late season wildflowers. But in the night, the woods seemed to conceal a wealth of unexplored secrets.

It was into this dark labyrinth he led her. His stride was sure and direct, as if he walked some unseen familiar path, drawing her deeper and deeper. Eliza remained silent, trusting him, knowing with each heavy beat of her heart that she would not leave these woods without somehow righting her fate. The cool dampness of the forest floor seeped around her soft dancing slippers and the hint of an autumn nip in the air chilled her bare arms by the time he slowed his steps and drew her up closer alongside him. The light of the moon barely penetrated through the tall trees and it took her a moment to notice the large horse standing in wait beneath a large oak.

The horse had lifted its head to watch their approach but otherwise made no other movements to disrupt the eerie quiet of the night.

Only now releasing Eliza’s hand, the marquess stepped to the animal and smoothed a gentling hand along the horse’s neck, murmuring a low greeting. He checked the saddle and unwrapped the reins from around the branch. Turning to Eliza, he spoke in that same tone, husky and deep like the forest itself. “Your curiosity lured you from the garden. Now have you the courage to ride with me?”

Eliza tipped her head to peer into the shadow beneath the hood of his cloak. “Why did you come looking for me?”

He stepped back from the horse and released the ties of his short cloak. Lifting it from around his shoulders, he swept the cloak around her. The weight of it settled over her shoulders and she felt heat emanating from the cloak and a scent that was all so familiar filled her nostrils.

“That will be revealed in time,” he answered as he fastened the cloak across her collar bone. “If you trust me.”

Eliza resisted the smile threatening to form on her lips. He thought she needed to gather courage and boldness to go with him. And perhaps she did, but likely not in the way he thought. From his perspective, she was deciding whether or not to take off on an adventure with a dangerous highwayman. But Eliza understood this to be so much more than that.