Rebel Marquess (9 page)

Lady Terribury nudged her daughter with her sharp elbow, none too gently it would seem by Lady Ashdown’s wince. “Give him your jewels. Ashdown will buy you more.”

As Whitely turned his attention to Grimm’s mistress, Rutherford looked at the third woman who had been silently watching the proceedings much as he had. She was not reduced to an argumentative panic like the other two ladies. Her posture was more wary and alert than overtly frightened. His first impression was that she was a servant, but when she glanced about the moonlight caught her face and he realized his mistake.

A sizzling jolt ran through him as he recognized the youngest Terribury. The taut readiness that had been hovering about him from the start of the night expanded into an acute awareness that tightened the muscles of his thighs and sparked heat through his blood.

He had not spoken with her since their walk through the forest. He suspected she had been equally as determined to avoid him for the rest of the party as he was to avoid her. Aside from a suspicious mix up when they had nearly been seated next to each other at dinner before a servant quickly corrected the mistake, there had been very little cause to be within speaking distance of each other.

To her credit, Miss Elizabeth Terribury did not appear terribly put out by the fact that she was being held at gunpoint in the middle of the road. She stood beside her sister, covered head to toe by a long cloak rather than the traveling outfits most ladies preferred. She looked exceptionally young with her pert round face peeking from the shadows of her hood. And as she was inclined to do, she was avidly casting her sharp gaze about, studiously taking in all the details of her surroundings. When she directed her attention to where Grimm stood at the front of the carriage, she tilted her head curiously.

Following her gaze, Rutherford saw his friend mop at his brow with a swipe of his forearm. Grimm’s hand shook as he held his pistol at the driver, who luckily still appeared content to let the robbery run its course. In his borrowed clothes, Grimm looked more like a fumbling country squire than a highwayman intent on stealing from the wealthy.

Rutherford ground his teeth and returned his attention to Miss Terribury. Wariness bristled across his nerves when he saw she was now patiently watching the interaction between Whitely’s effeminate highwayman and her petulant sister.

“Surely I cannot be expected to relinquish
all
of my possessions.” Lady Ashdown’s whine was as strident as a child’s. “Others will pass by. You do not need to make your fortune on me alone.”

“Give over, lady. Yer fortune’s as good as anyone’s,” Whitely persisted, loosening his hold on his charm.

Was that a hint of amusement tickling Miss Terribury’s lips? Did the impertinent girl just roll her eyes?

“You there.”

She turned immediately upon hearing his voice and he could tell by the surprise on her face that she had not previously been aware of his presence beneath the shadows of the roadside trees. Her large eyes now fully upon him, Rutherford wasn’t sure exactly what he had intended when he called out to her. All he knew was she was far too observant and he needed to distract her or she might start to wonder at the obvious ineptitude of the thieves.

“Come here,” he ordered in a false baritone.

She hesitated, the wariness returning to her features as she looked to her mother and sister who were both now fully occupied with removing their jewelry and handing it to Whitely. Neither of the other ladies noticed she had been singled out. Swinging her gaze back to him, she scanned him from the top of his old-fashioned felt hat past the rough leather gloves he wore and down to the hooves of his borrowed horse, which scuffed the ground nervously. When she lifted her eyes again, they flashed with the kind of curiosity that often led innocents to the wolves.

He wondered if he would have to restate his command when she started toward him bravely, but she was still at least three paces away from him when she stopped again.

He crooked his gloved finger. “Closer.”

There was a subtle flicker of fear in her gaze then, and he wondered if she might be more frightened than she let on. She tipped her head, hiding her face within the shadows of her hood, and came forward the remaining steps to his side.

“What riches do you hide beneath your cloak?” he asked, recalling the fact that he was supposed to be a highway thief.

“Nothing of value.”

Was that a note of pert defiance in her voice? He wouldn’t doubt it.

“Hmm,” he said as he started to feel himself sliding into the role he played. There was something seductively liberating about acting the part of a masked criminal. He leaned forward in his saddle and reached to boldly push the hood back from her face.

Moonlight fell against the creamy texture of her skin and kissed her full lips. She tipped her chin to gaze up at him. As he looked into eyes darkened with feminine mystery, he felt a sensual kick to his gut.

To distract from his physical reaction, he flicked his finger against the earbob dangling from her ear. “What are these?” he queried gruffly, carefully keeping his voice in lowered tones to aid his disguise.

“Naught but paste,” came her flippant reply.

He slid his finger down the side of her throat to hook beneath the strand of pearls gleaming against her neck. He thought he saw her pulse jump, but the lighting was imperfect. “And these?”

Her gaze didn’t break from his. “Paste as well, I am afraid.”

He didn’t believe her and felt an unexpected admiration at her audacity to lie, though if he were truly a conscienceless thief, her response would have been foolish and dangerous.

“Have you no valuables to forfeit this night?”

“None that you or any other man would find of particular value.”

Rutherford was torn between amusement at her naiveté and annoyance that she would dare to utter such a leading statement. He was tempted to reprimand her for her boldness or foolishness, whichever the case may be.

He leaned forward and crossed his forearms over his thigh, relaxing into the posture of a man intrigued by the conversation. “You make a dangerous assumption with such a statement.” He gave a careless shrug. “But you have piqued my curiosity. As a man with so little, there is not much I would not find of some value.”

“I have only my thoughts, lord highwayman. And as everyone knows, the thoughts of a woman are worth less than dust.” The sarcasm layering her tone was subtle, but he caught it well enough.

“And if I want them anyway?”

Her smile as she looked up at him was almost coy, and he tightened his fingers on his reins.

“My thoughts cannot be stolen outright, but I am often willing to share.”

He gave an encouraging wave of his hand as he replied with a jaunty lack of concern. “Share away.”

She tipped her head to the side. “I was simply thinking what an odd bunch of thieves you all appear to be.”

Though he smiled, the observation caused the tension riding the back of his neck to tighten perceptively. He shouldn’t encourage her to go on, but he had to know what she had seen. “How so, mistress?”

She turned to indicate Whitely, who had resorted to flattery to ease the ladies into giving up what they obviously seemed to hold quite dear.

“Your friend over there is speaking in false Cockney and that terrible lisp is not fooling anyone. The other—” she nodded toward Grimm, “—holds his gun as if he is in the middle of target practice. Clearly not a sport he excels at,” she added with a critical shake of her head. Then she lifted her eyes back to him and Rutherford felt the intelligent perception of her gaze like a sharpened spear. “Though your clothing is plain, dark and unadorned, it is of good quality with nary a worn hem or weakened seam. Your horses are all far too superior to be the possessions of needful men, unless horse thievery is part of your criminal repertoire.” She shrugged as a self-satisfied smile curved her lips. “As a group, you do not look like any highwaymen I have ever encountered.”

“You have encountered many?”

Her grin widened. “None at all.”

“You are an expert then,” Rutherford countered, his words heavy with irony.

“I admit my life is not one to lend itself to many high adventures, but I have read countless descriptions of highway thieves,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “The truth is you all lack the key characteristic of the particular class of criminal you are portraying.”

“What is that?” he asked, curious despite himself.

“Desperation,” she answered as if it were obvious. “Highway robbery is a dangerous vocation, and I am afraid none of you appear to be badly in need of anything, let alone other people’s jewels.”

Her perceptions did not speak well of their acting skills, but he had to make an attempt at easing her skepticism. “Why else would we risk our necks in such an endeavor?” he asked flippantly to give the impression of a man with no care beyond idle curiosity what conclusions she may have drawn.

She narrowed her gaze thoughtfully and tapped a gloved finger against her lips. “For excitement, perhaps?”

Rutherford shifted again in his saddle. His mask began to feel cloying and itchy against his face. Then he realized his silence would likely give the woman cause for more speculation.

“You were right, after all,” he replied finally. “A woman’s thoughts are quite worthless. I demand another prize.”

Before she could respond, he leaned down from atop his mount and reached to wrap his gloved hand around the back of her neck. He caught a brief glimpse of her wide eyes shining with the light of the moon just before he claimed her mouth in a swift and silencing kiss. He didn’t expect the lush, silken texture of her lips to send a shock of piercing lust through his brain, but it did. He hadn’t intended to kiss her for more than a second but found that once he got a taste of her, sweet like warm honey, he could not release her. He brushed his lips across hers once, then twice more before finally drawing back.

Still leaning close, he shifted his mouth to her ear and added in a harsh whisper, “Now that was a treasure worth stealing.”

Sliding his hand from her nape, he slowly straightened in the saddle.

He expected her to back away, to play the affronted miss. But she didn’t.

During the kiss, she had stepped into him and stood still now with her chest pressed against his lower leg and her hand resting on his bent knee. Heat from her touch spread across the surface of his thigh and sent shocks of sensation straight to his groin.

He held his breath, afraid to move lest he grasp her shoulders and drag her up into his lap to kiss her more thoroughly.

She seemed frozen in place much like him, her gaze focused intently upon her hand as it curved over the bend of his knee. She started to raise her chin to look up at him and he tensed painfully, certain he did not want to see what thoughts might be reflected in her eyes.

“Lizzie! Lizzie, get back in this carriage immediately.” Lady Terribury stuck her feather-topped head out the window. “What in heaven’s name are you doing? We almost left without you!”

Stumbling back a step, she withdrew her hand to pull her hood over her head as she turned away. Then she rushed to the carriage without a backward glance.

Whitely and Grimm had already faded back into the darkness as planned. Rutherford pulled sternly on the reins of his mount and made a tight turn toward the shelter of the trees and then nudged his horse into motion.

His heart beat in a heavy tattoo and his blood rushed swiftly through his veins. He accredited his physical reaction to the thrill in having accomplished the risky theft without being recognized. But as he rolled his tongue over his bottom lip, he tasted the bold sweetness of Miss Terribury’s mouth and felt a jolt of sensation that had nothing to do with the danger of their scheme.

Several paces into the forest he reached his cohorts.

“Have you got it?”

“Yes, thank God,” Grimm assured.

“The lady had it tucked into her meager bodice,” Whitely quipped as he handed the sack of stolen items to Rutherford as planned. “It’s a wonder it didn’t slip through to the ground.”

Grimm attempted a contemptuous scowl, but he looked about as dangerous as a puppy. “Don’t talk about her bodice. Are we done here? The night air is likely to give me the sniffles on the morrow.”

“We will split up once you hand me the ring,” Rutherford countered firmly.

“Can I not hold onto it myself?”

“We have to keep everything out of sight until Simmons can see it all safely and anonymously returned. Your ring must be amongst the other valuables you already gave me.”

“But…”

“Would you rather have Lady Ashdown see it in your possession? How would you explain that you managed to retrieve an item stolen from her person by a highwayman?”

Grimm slumped in his saddle and reached out to drop the ring in Rutherford’s hand. “What about my father? He will notice the ring is missing from my hand.”

“You will simply have to avoid him for a few weeks.”

Grimm groaned.

Whitely laughed. “Maybe you could take a trip. Somewhere your father cannot drag you back. Somewhere like Siberia.”

“Probably not far enough,” Grimm grumbled as he turned his horse.