The Highwayman (Rakes and Rogues of the Restoration Book 3) (19 page)

She leaned her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat and the soothing rhythm of his breath. “It wasn’t a secret. It just didn’t seem important. I am not much of a one for formalities really, and I like it much better when we are Arabella and Jack. Do I still call you Jack? Or have you another name now?”

“I will come to you no matter what name you call me, unless you bid me stay away.” He cupped her jaw and shifted his weight, putting one arm around her, claiming her mouth in a luscious kiss. His tongue stroked and teased, rough against hers, and she pressed against him, melting into his embrace. He smelled like tall grasses and heather and peat smoke, and the moss and stones of the moors. She clasped her hands around his neck and kissed him back, as fierce and passionate as ever he had kissed her, reveling in the taste and the feel of him, his quickening pulse and heated skin.

Jack groaned, growling low in his throat as his hands roamed over her back and waist. He eased her back against the seat, his body half covering hers, his knee pressed insistent between her thighs.

She could feel his arousal pressed hard against her. Roving lips, stroking tongue, a hand gliding under her skirt to grip the soft skin of her thigh all stoked her body. She closed her legs to stop him, and then to keep him there as a slow delicious fire began to burn.

He took a ragged breath, resting his forehead against hers. “I’ve been longing to kiss you like this, over every part of your body, ever since I left you naked in your bed.”

She blushed her full length, imagining his lips against her nipples, brushing her thighs, imagining the soft moans and whispers the paintings that still haunted her evoked.

“I watched while you lay sleeping. When I first arrived and before I left. I thought I had never seen a more beautiful creature, and I held my breath every time you moved.”

“I am not afraid of it, Jack,” she whispered, relaxing her thighs and releasing his trapped hand.

“Then I will be afraid for both of us.” His knuckles brushed the juncture of her thighs and she gasped at a sudden bolt of pleasure more intense and insistent than anything she had ever felt before. His kiss was soft and tender and his fingers traced the contours of her thighs, her calf, her ankle, before he carefully readjusted her skirt. He kissed her for several minutes longer, until the coach slowed and the sounds of the city approached. Smiling, he brushed her cheek with careful fingers, then rose to sit so he was facing her once more.

She was flushed, her lips were swollen. Every part of her was burning, and every part of her wanted more.

‘From thence to TodCaster 8 mile, wch is a very good Little town for travellers, mostly jnns and little tradesmens houses. This stands on a very large River Called the Whart. Just before you Come to ye town there is some of ye water wch on Great raines are not to be pass'd-it was very deep when I went through. Thence we go much on a Causey to Yorke’

They approached York over a long causeway. Massive gate towers, numerous windmills, and a collection of pretty church steeples made an imposing silhouette. Barges and skiffs crowded the muddy river as they crossed into the city proper by way of a magnificent bridge. Built on stone arches, it was as wide and as busy with houses and traffic, as any bridge Arabella had seen. She watched from the window, taking note of her surroundings, thinking how she would describe it in her journal.

A furious blush still suffused her face. How humiliating to have been overeager, when he was the one to show restraint. It felt awkward and foolish, unpolished and gauche. Weren’t highwaymen supposed to be bold and reckless?
And aren’t spinsters supposed to be composed and mature? Yet he has decided to be afraid for both of us, and when I see him I forget my anger and I’m as breathless and flustered as any giddy, lovesick girl
.

She stole a glance in his direction and her cheeks burned brighter as she caught him watching her with a knowing smile.

“So tell me, Bella. How are you enjoying your travels so far?”

It was a polite invitation to mundane conversation, a guidepost back to the safe and normal and she seized it with gratitude. “I am enjoying them very much, thank you. In fact, I have decided to tour through every county in Britain before visiting my mother’s Irish home.”

“An ambitious goal. But with all the rattling about, won’t it be difficult for you to maintain your health spending so much time in a carriage?”

“Yes, it would. I am certain that is what’s troubling Caroline. She cannot adjust to the coach, much like some people cannot adjust to being at sea, but she will not ride. I shall visit some of the spas in the area, and take her home after York before resuming my travels again.”

She leaned forward, forgetting her earlier discomfort as she warmed to her topic. “This trip, I have used a coach for the main part, and sometimes rented a horse. My next trip I shall do the reverse. I have already taken to leaving Caroline and the coach, and visiting places of interest on my own. It is far more comfortable on horseback, and one is in the middle of it all, instead of watching from the window as it passes by.”

“You go unaccompanied?”

She didn’t like the sharp note in his voice. “Only when I cannot find a trustworthy local guide. I am an excellent horsewoman with a very good sense of direction.”

Jack noted how she drew herself up as if preparing for battle, and he took a different tack. “I know Yorkshire very well.”

“Yes, one hears you even know the Mayor of York.”

He inclined his head in acknowledgement, and gave her a conspiratorial grin. “Perhaps I will introduce you. But first, let me introduce you to York’s finest inn.” He called up to the coachman before she could demure. “Driver! Take us to the Angel.”

“The Angel Islington, The Angel Ferrybridge, The Angel Grantham, The Angel York. How is it that everywhere I go there are angels?”

“Comforting, is it not?”

She answered his smile with one of her own.

“It is a holdover from the days when monasteries and such served as traveler’s hostels, or so I was told by Doctor Alderson.”

“Dr. Alderson? The proprietor of The Angel Ferrybridge?”

“The very same. He is a good man and an old friend who has patched me up on more than one occasion.”

“I didn’t know highwaymen had such warm relations with the local innkeepers.”

“You would be surprised. Many smaller towns are proud of their native sons, and they can be a draw for local business. Some truck in information, though most would turn a man in without a thought if the profits from a reward exceeded those from keeping quiet. The Tully’s, whom you’ve met, Doctor Alderson, and the Winslow’s at The Talbot Newark, are true and trusted friends. If ever you have need of me, you can trust a message to them.”

Arabella’s heart sank. “You are on your way so soon, then?”

“Not unless you’ve tired of me already. You said you wanted a local guide. I can take you to the area spas and points of interest, and show you the best inns and the finest places to eat. I assure you, in Yorkshire you will find no better guide than me.”

Arabella made a halfhearted protest, but she was elated. Each moment spent with him had been a thrilling adventure, ripe with the anticipation of something more. She sat back in her seat, her eyes alight with excitement, and folded her hands primly in her lap.

The streets on the far side of the bridge were short and narrow, and a river ran through the city dividing roads and buildings so the whole place seemed to her a maze. Eventually they clattered through a stone-built archway carved with matching angels, joined beneath a golden crown. It signified one of England’s kings had slept there, and the oriel-balconied windows on the upper floors, the long courtyard with entrances both front and rear, and the busy rush of traffic, promised it was a substantial and prosperous inn.

If it were just herself and Caroline, Arabella would have passed it by, assuming it too crowded and busy to afford a comfortable stay, but as soon as Jack ushered them through the entrance the innkeeper was there to receive them. Jack, or Swift Nick Nevison as he was known in York, was clearly a local celebrity and they were greeted with great enthusiasm by the big-bellied, handsomely dressed landlord who addressed him as sir, and personally took their coats.

Jack introduced her as Miss Hamilton, rather than the Countess of Saye, a lady encountered on the road who was journeying to the nearby wells for the betterment of her health. Her well-worn dustcoat, functional clothing, and lack of entourage other than a somewhat sickly looking Caroline, painted her as a respectable nobody, noteworthy only for the illustrious company she kept.

Jack declined a room, but they agreed to meet in the public dining room for dinner once she was settled. The landlord, Mr. Sullivan, escorted her and Caroline up carpeted stairs to a clean and spacious room with good mahogany furniture and an immense four-poster bed. It was piled so high with feather mattresses that it needed a short pair of steps to climb into it. There were wax candles for lighting and homey pictures on the walls, and close on their heels was a young girl bearing bread and butter, and a good cup of tea.

Despite her obvious fatigue, Caroline was determined her mistress must look her best if she was to be seen in public with the famous ex-highwayman. She bustled excitedly about the room, airing out an emerald-green silk dress she had guarded through torrential rains and clouds of dust, over mud slick roads and overgrown trails, for just such an occasion.

“It is much too fine, Caroline. I told you not to bring it. I am going for dinner in a public dining room, not to an audience with the king.”

“You are going to dinner with a very handsome man who’s as famous as a king in these parts, my lady. Did you see them all gawking and chattering when he came in? Everyone turned to look.”

“Yes, there is certainly something of the peacock about him. A swagger and flourish that draws the eye. I feel no need to compete though. While it’s true we are far from London and no one knows me here—”

“There’s not that many that know you in London either, my lady. One might think you prefer it that way. If only you’d let me fix your hair and—”

“I
do
prefer it that way Caroline. People don’t talk about people they don’t notice or don’t know. It lets one have one’s privacy and a degree of freedom I have grown to enjoy. Only look at what happened when I forgot that in London.”

Caroline blinked, perplexed. “People started paying attention to you, my lady.”

“Just so! And that’s all well and good so long as they notice one fits in. I used to think I wanted to fit in, but as it happens, I don’t. I want to travel and enjoy my independence. I would prefer
not
to be noticed. I am content to be the hen to Jack’s…err…Mr. Nevison’s peacock. I am taking great risks as it is. He is a highwayman after all, not some earnest suitor. Needless to say, I count on your discretion. Surely you can understand why.”

“Oh, I do, my lady! It’s so romantic! You can rely on me. I wouldn’t tell a soul even if I were tortured. They could pull out my fingernails and—”

“Caroline!”

“Yes, my lady?”

Arabella closed her eyes and rubbed her temples before continuing. “It is not only me. I promised Mr. Nevison he could count on your discretion as well.”

“Oh yes, ma’am! I won’t even tell my dad that you know him. I will take it to my grave, I promise. But as he is reformed and pardoned by the king, might you not…?”

“No! And there is nothing romantic about it, either. We are friends. Nothing more.”

Caroline nodded her understanding. “That is easy to fix, my lady. Are you sure you want to be a hen? Don’t you want
him
to notice you? I saw how he looks at you already. A little bit of color and—”

“There is nothing to be fixed except the tea. You shall have to content yourself with that.”

“It’s so exciting though, ma’am.” Caroline chattered on happily as she poured. “He’s every bit as handsome and as charming as they say, and he came in search of
you
. All the ladies would be so jealous to know. First Gentleman Jack and now Swift Nick, too.” She set her cup down suddenly, with a soft clatter. “Oh! Oh, my lady!” She gasped and clasped her hand over her mouth. “That is what he meant when he said he had met you before. Oh, my lady, they are one and the same!”

What had he been thinking, speaking to her so intimately in front of her maid?
Damn you, Jack! When did you grow so reckless?
Arabella put her own cup down and took the girls hands in hers, looking directly in her eyes
.
Her voice was urgent. “
That,
Caroline, is something you must
never
repeat. To do so could mean his death.”

Caroline drew herself up and nodded soberly. “I understand, my lady.” But her eyes were lively with barely suppressed questions.

“Good. Then understand I owe him a great deal. He came to my aid when I was in grave danger. It is fair to say I owe him my life. He is a good man in his way. Every bit the hero you imagine when you read your books. He has put his trust in us and we will never betray him.”

“
Never,
my lady. I swear! Now if it pleases you, I will finish laying out your gown, in case you change your mind and decide to wear it to dinner.”

Arabella had done her best, but despite the maid’s heartfelt assurances, she couldn’t help but feel a little panicky. She trusted Caroline’s good intentions but the girl’s flair for dramatics and exciting tales worried her. Did she understand that lives hung in the balance? For that matter, did Jack?

Their bond had been forged in the depths of night. It was the stuff of moonlight and dreams. To join him for dinner in a public place would be stepping into the light. It was risky.
I am forming a romantic attachment to a highwayman.
Caught up in the joy of seeing him alive she had told him she wasn’t afraid, but he was
not
reformed. He was unrepentant.
He just escaped from jail!