The Highwayman's Mistress (6 page)

~~

At Park House for
luncheon, Diamonta assumed Francois to be keeping a low profile so that Leohne
did not happen upon him by chance. She’d sensed Angelica was bursting to tell
her something from the moment of setting foot in the house, and now luncheon was
over and done with and Leohne and Richard engaged in intimate chatter, Angelica
lowered her voice to a mere whisper, “Francois took leave yesterday and
ventured to London on business. He may not be back in time for the ball. But
that might be a good thing, being as your mother will be here at Park House all
evening.”

 
“But it’s two weeks hence. Surely he will
have returned by then? It was disheartening to know he might be away so long
and that he might not be in attendance at the ball. “I have so dreaded a chance
meeting between him and mother because I know he and Richard ride out together,
and mother, of course, is apt to drag us out go for a carriage ride in nice
weather. I’m astonished his presence has remained secret for so long.”

 
“Yes, five months now. But never fear, we
will be moving into a house of our own very soon.”

 
Her heart plummeted, for she would have
liked details of where they were going and how soon they were to leave Park
House, but Leohne stole the moment. “Diamonta, have you heard. We have a
highwayman in the county. How exciting.”

 
“Exciting, indeed,” said Richard, a chuckle.
“Yesterday, the blighter accosted Lady Fortnum on the London road and robbed
her of jewels and coin. The old dear near fainted with fright.”

 
Diamonta stifled a giggle. “Oh, I should
have loved to have been there. Lady Fortnum can be quite bullish in dealings
with others.”

 
A smile streaked across Richard’s face.
“Formidable lady, yes, but to be frightened in such a manner and at the gates
to her own estate. Well, bold fellow indeed.”

 
Her heart faltered; a mere blip, and
partnered with the memory of Richard’s face when confronted with Francois
pistol. At the time Francois had meant no harm, nevertheless she thought it
best not to remind Richard of their encounter with a fake highwayman. But,
perhaps that very encounter had stirred something within Francois. He was after
all, as good as penniless, and how was he to provide for Angelica and himself?
How could he afford a house elsewhere, and where had he come by monies to do
so?

 
Leohne drew her from reverie. “I would not
really want to be held up by a highwayman for I in all probability
would
fall vagary to the vapours,” she said, clinging to Richard’s arm, “unless
Richard was beside me.”

 
He laughed, yet she saw something else more
serious reflected in his face. Diamonta had known him for so long she could
almost predict his thinking, but today there was air of difference about him,
as though he was party to some secret they were not and never would be enlightened
to. Did he suspect as she did, that Francois was the highwayman?

 
Angelica caught her arm, said, “Pah, let
this highwayman hold me up and I will shoot him.”

 
“
Shoot
him?” Blood drained from
Richard’s face, his eyes darting from Angelica’s to hers, and that alone
stilled her heart.

 
“Why not?” Angelica’s reply, along with head
held haughty. “I shall carry a pistol when ever I take to the highway by
carriage.”

 
Diamonta had to say something, her silence
drawing everyone’s attention “I shall do as I did in France, and wear nothing
of great value when out and about.”

 
“And your mother?” enquired Richard, a
tentative smile. “Will you advice her of the same notion?”

 
“Of course, though I imagine she may follow
Angelica’s example of arming herself. She is not a woman who will take kindly
to being accosted by a vagabond, and might I remind you, she’s remarkably handy
with a pistol. She shot at rabbits who dared venture into the herb garden, and
bagged each one.”

 
“Oh Lord,” exclaimed Richard. “I’d best
 
. . . What I mean is, the poor fellow will be
food for the crows if he mistakenly halts a carriage with your mother aboard.”

 
Mistakenly . . . Why mistakenly? Ah, so the
highwayman would know where Angelica was and with whom, but what had Richard
almost let slip? Why had he said I’d best . . . Best what?”

 
“What of the ball?” said Leohne. “What if
this highwayman hears about the ball? Will he not envisage rich pickings from
guests attending in all their finery?”

 
Was it her imagination or did she spy a fleeting
frown to Richard’s brow. “Yes, Richard, how shall you protect your guests from
the terrible indignity of robbery on the highway?”

 
He glanced her way, his expression suddenly
as white as a sheet of bleached parchment, his tone agitated. “How is it my
concern to protect guests on their journey here?”

 
“It isn’t really. But I was of mind you
might think it wise to employ some sort of protection, at least for the
distance from the village and up to the main gates. After all, the byway up the
hill past the woodland would be a most suitable spot to ambush a carriage.”

 
His heavenly blue eyes as glorious as
sparkling sapphires almost seemed to laugh at her, and his chuckle wicked
indeed. “Happen the bounder will be here at the ball. What say you to that
idea?”

 
Leohne shivered. “He would not dare,
surely?”

 
“Why not?” He glanced from face to face, as
though enjoying the prospect of a highwayman cavorting with guests, the
villain’s identity unknown. “Don’t look so worried,” he added, a hearty
chuckle, “Mass robbery. I think not.”

 
Diamonta suddenly envisaged Francois
carrying out that very act, and although it was wrong to think it, frisson of
inexplicable excitement rippled down her spine. “It would take a very bold
highwayman to venture here and commit such a crime, and I for one would dare
him to do so. I fear, though, he would not make safe his escape with so many
men present.”

 
Richard looked directly at her, and
something in his eyes caused her to shiver in response. “Be careful what you
wish for, Diamonta.”

 
There was a disturbance in the hall, and
Richard made toward the door. The next thing a pompous man entered followed by
Richard, who rapidly introduced the visitor, though both her and her sister
were well aware as to who had just entered.

 
 
“Mr.
Langtry, ladies,” said Richard, looking to Angelica. “Justice of the peace, and
joint master of Battlebury Hunt.”

 
“You ride to hounds, Mr Langtry?” Angelica’s
curtsy was almost indiscernible, her smile nonetheless genuine. “I too have
ridden to hounds, quite recent with my host.”

 
“Indeed, young missy. Then you must come out
with us for a good day’s sport.”

 
Richard coughed, his usual gentleman cough
when about to put someone in respectful place. “This lady happens to be
Angelica De Boviere, sister to the Count of Saint Mont Marche.”

 
“Begging your pardon, errh, Lady Angelica,”
said Mr.Langtry, clearly uncomfortable with her French name. He then bowed in
recognition of Leohne and herself. “Miss Whitakers.”

 
They in turn curtseyed, and it was Diamonta’s
place as elder to respond. “Mr Langtry,” she said, a smile, sure in mind he
would have preferred an audience alone with Richard, to which she said, “We
were just leaving, weren’t we?”

 
Leohne leapt on the chance to escape the
older man’s bushy brows, scowling face and ape-like demeanour all dressed in
dour black and white hose. “Yes we were,” she said, and grabbed Angelica’s hand
in passing. “A little walk in the grounds, we had in mind.”

 
Richard looked quite astonished and perhaps
a hint of nervousness about him, which she thought as rather odd. Nevertheless
they left him to Mr. Langtry, and fled the house

 
It was a lovely spring day and they strolled
past the temple pavilion toward the bridleway that led to the escarpment, and
there found primroses in abundance skirting the verge. They paused to pick
enough for a posy each and then began to stroll back toward the temple
pavilion, the one she and Francois had often retired to for brief intimate
moments alone. She smiled, for Richard and Angelica did pretend on occasion to
chaperone her whilst walking, but most often would turn back on some excuse of
business that needed attending to, or they would go and stand by the paddock
railings to fuss horses therein. Thankfully, her mother had remained ignorant
of Francois presence at Park House, but for how much longer?

 
Suddenly startled by a horse that came from
behind the pavilion, its reins trailing and flailing between legs, sense of
fear gripped all three for it came thundering straight toward them. It was
clearly in a state of panic and forced them to get out of its way as it broke
to the canter then gallop. Angelica watched as it passed by then turned her
attention back toward the pavilion. She hitched up her skirts and ran toward
it.

 
Diamonta’s heart leapt to mouth, for she
knew it to be Francois mount and she too hitched up her skirts and started to
run, Leohne on her heels. “What’s happened?”
 
Leohne shouted from behind. “Why are we running?”

 
There was no point in lying to her sister.
“Francois, it’s Francois horse.”

 
“But I thought he was dead,” said her
sister, as they climbed the grassy mound to the pavilion. Silence lay heavy
like a fog about them, then, Leohne said, “Oh lordy.”

Chapter Seven

~

As they rounded the
pavilion, there was Francois his back against the wall, Angelica standing
before him, desperate in getting her breath back. He grinned, said, “My horse
broke its tether, and I now looking somewhat foolish in riding apparel and no
mount.”

 
“Well,” said Leohne, semi-breathless, her
eyes transfixed on the man she had not met before today. “We thought you were
dead, and now, here you are.” She glanced at Angelica. “How wonderful. You must
be delighted.” Angelica’s silence revealed what Francois had wished to avoid by
hiding behind the pavilion, and drew forth, “Oh my goodness.” Leohne turned,
and Diamonta sensed trouble. “You’ve known all along.” Leohne shook her head as
though disbelieving the situation they were facing. “That’s why you come so
often to Park House. Not to see Angelica, to see her brother.”

 
“It’s not how it seems, Leohne.”

 
“Then how is it, Diamonta? Tell me,”
challenged Leohne, sounding awfully like their mother.

 
Francois pushed himself away from the wall,
and towering over Leohne a big grin, he bowed and swept her hand to his lips.
“Does it matter if your sister sees moi, as well as Angelica while she is
here?”

 
“I suppose not,” replied Leohne, seeming
quite enchanted by his gallant gesture, “but I still cannot see why they felt
need to keep you a secret unto themselves.”

 
“You know quite well why that is necessary,”
snapped Diamonta, “and if you tell mother I shall never forgive you.”

 
Leohne turned to face her. “If you wish to
keep him secret, that is up to you. But sooner or later mother will get to hear
of his being here. And what then?”

 
“I shall worry about that when it happens.”

 
Francois laughed, and addressed himself to
Leohne. “Would you deny your sister the same pleasure you derive from Richard’s
company?”

 
“That is different. Mother approves of Richard
and has told us
 
. . .”

 
“What has she told you?” demanded Francois,
which caused Leohne to step back from him. “That
I
, a de Boviere, am the
Devil’s spawn.” He laughed, a deprecating laugh, expression thunderous and
devil like. “I have been mistaken for my father’s ghost many times, but I am
not he. I am my own man, and my heart and soul belongs to your sister.”

 
Stunned by his outburst and reeling from his
last words Diamonta could not think let alone speak, but Leohne braved up to
him. “That may be so, but mother will never sanction a friendship between the
pair of you, and if she discovers you are here I dread to think what she will
do.”

 
“Leohne, promise me you will not tell mother
what has happened today.”

 
“If asked I will not lie to her.” Leohne
laughed, turned and ran back toward the house, and shouted. “Goodbye Francois.”

 
“The little minx. I cannot be sure she will
not tell.”

 
“I can,” said Angelica, hitching up her
skirts. “I know a little secret Leohne won’t wish revealed to your mother.”
With that she ran after Leohne.

 
“Alone at last,” said Francois, drawing her
into his arms. “I’ve missed you, missed you like crazy these last few days.” He
kissed her nose, fleetingly kissed her lips. “You know that I love you, that
I‘ve wanted you since first setting eyes on you.”

 
His arms about her she didn’t care if Leohne
told her mother all, for she would happily run away with Francois and get wed.
“Tell me. Are you the highwayman every one in the county is talking about?”

 
His lips fell on hers, the kiss potent,
their eyes locked and shamelessly she accepted the pleasure of duelling with
tongues. If this was what it was like to be joined as one, their bodies
entwined and pleasure seeking she wished it possible now and forever.

 
He let slip her mouth from his, and smiled.
“You match me well, you vixen,” he said, taking her hand. She could hardly keep
pace with his strides as he marched around the temple pavilion dragging her in
his wake. “Inside we cannot be seen from any direction, and I want you
Diamonta, I need you.”

 
Was this the beginning of love’s dawn,
love’s awakening? If so, please God they never be separated again. Even as they
entered the pavilion his hand to her back urging her inside, she did not
falter. The sound of the doors closing behind them did not dissuade her from
aiding in his reckless intentions. Nor the way in which he hauled his riding
coat from his shoulders and covered the floor at her feet.

 
He’d had three mistresses and had dallied
with a princess, and had spied on courtiers for the king, and had not held back
on telling all, yet he’d never said he loved her until now. He dropped to his
knees hand outstretched. She accepted and placed her hand in his and let him
lead her into temptation: to his arms, to his lips.

 
What enticing madness this was, and he so
gentle and caring in touch, his caresses pure pleasure. He bared a breast and
drew a nipple between his lips, and gently nipped and tugged and sucked upon
it. She loved the thrill, loved the intimacy of it all. Such exquisite
sensations rippled through her she could no longer contain her eagerness to
explore his body, as she hand wanted to do so many times in the past of moments
alone in which they had indulged in kissing and fondling.

 
He clearly appreciated her attention of hand
to his chest, for he groaned in response but gripped her hand and lowered it,
forcing it against his groin. She knew the bulge beneath her fingers to be that
of aroused male. It caused her heart to jolt, and a divine tingle of expectancy
rippled deep within a place she had never experienced such feelings so powerful
before.

 
“Je n’al jemais ressenti cela avant,” she
murmured, whilst he kissed her shoulder.

 
“Not ever?”

 
“Not as I feel at this moment. No,” she
replied, fingers caressing his manliness, aware it had increased in mass and a
little daunted by its size.

 
“J’al vraiment une chane inouϊe.”

 
She could not help but laugh, and sensed
excitement building within like never before. “I feel like the luckiest woman,
too.”

 
“Is that so,” he said, a hand drifting down
her silk clad thigh. “You are not afraid, afraid to be with this man your
mother thinks of as the Devil’s spawn?”

 
“I love you, and even if you are the
highwayman who robbed Lady Fortnum I could not love you any the less.”

 
He kissed her in haste, as though unwilling
to admit his part in having frightened the old lady, and in a thrice hauled her
skirts about her thighs and slid his hand to bared flesh of inner thigh. As
their tongues duelled, he explored unhindered and she loved the way he stroked
her thighs, the way he caressed her furry mound with palm of hand, and
delighted in his teasing between her legs with fingers.

 
Never touched there before, exquisite
sensations drove her mad with frustration and need for more of his attentions.
But what more could he do to ease this ache, this need from within? She sensed
something delightful happening, but sense of panic enveloped. She wriggled
beneath him, but it made things worse for movement added to the pleasure of his
touch, and he sensed her distress.

 
“Je t’aime,” he whispered, a light kiss to
her lips. “Tu me rends très heureux.”

 
He made her feel very happy too and she
loved him, as she had never loved anyone before. It did not occur to her stop
him as he slid away from her, nor to prevent his lips kissing her mound, nor
his tongue venturing where his fingers had toyed and teased and tenderised her.
She surrendered to him, utterly surrendered and that fearful sensation she
could not fathom returned with a vengeance. It was all consuming, and if the
Devil’s work so be it. Francois could have her, all of her if this exquisite
sensation could bind them together forever.

 
She gripped his shoulders, her fingers
clenching the fine lawn of his shirt. Agony and ecstasy mingled in heavenly
tingles and spasms of pure pleasure, her body wracked with shuddering quakes.
“No more,
please
, no more. I cannot bear it.” Yet she did bear it, to
the very last quicksilver pulse of lingering desire. “You are the very Devil,
Francois.”

 
“You think?” he said, his lips coming to
hers, his body too. “Say you love me.”

 
“I love you.”

 
“Say you want me?”

 
“I want you.”

 
“Then you shall have me,” he said, nudging
her legs further apart.

 
She did want him, but fear stalked from the
darkness of her mind, as he came to her, his solid muscle nestling against her
moistened flesh. “I’m afraid, Francois. Afraid of what we are doing.”

 
“Hush, I will not desert you afterwards. I
want you as my wife.” She felt his enormity, the pleasure of it easing into her
sublime, yet he held back, his fingers again working magic, his words
reassuring. “Give yourself to me, anoint me and welcome me as your husband to
be.”

 
Tide of emotions overwhelmed her, and she
could not hold back the glorious wave of satisfaction that swept through her in
trembles, quakes and uncontrolled shudders that seemed to excite him all the
more. And although momentary pain stole her breath as Francois came into her,
it dissipated with every thrust of his loins. She again fell to trembles the
like she had not imagined possible, and Francois’ thrusts became frenzied, his
face contorted as though suffering some terrible agony.

 
His sudden withdrawal and hastened retreat
came as such a shock to her, sense of shame welled to the fore, as he said, “I
so regret this.” His body then fell to quakes and he grunted, words uttered
incoherent. She hurriedly covered bared flesh and made to flee, but he grabbed
her arm. “Would you rather I planted my seed and you then with child?” He
pulled her to him. “I love you, respect you, and would not endanger our love.
We have to be careful. I have yet to prove myself worthy for your hand in
marriage.”

 
Tears had already welled, and she could not
hold them back. “I’m sorry, I thought you meant to discard me as you did your
mistresses before.”

 
“They were mistresses, Diamonta, nothing
more nothing less. And yes, I quite liked one more than the others but I never
thought of her as a possible wife. I knew I hadn’t met the person destined to
be my wife, until I met you.”

 
She clung to him, the strength in his arms
hugging her tight reassuring. “I love you, but I must know something.”

 
“What?”

 
“Are you a highwayman?”

 
He chuckled. “I suppose I am, for I robbed
Richard of his fob watch and snuff box, and I robbed chateaux en route to the
coast. I even stole from my family home on Guernsey, and hid the loot.”

 
“You know very well what I mean, and the
château at Saint Mont Marche was your home by right.”

 
“I will only say this. If I am the
highwayman, then I am not alone. There are two of us.”

 
“Two highwaymen?”

 
“Diamonta, trust me, I will not risk losing
you and will not risk my life in mad pursuit of wealth. I know where it lies,
and it only requires a little more danger to secure sufficient funds. Which,
reminds me, I have a gift for you.” He rummaged around under his coat, and
withdrew a velvet drawstring bag from a pocket. Out of the drawstring bag he
pulled an emerald necklace and brooch. “Accept this as a token of my love, and
wear it the night of the ball. Believe me, it is not highwayman’s booty. It
belonged to my mother.”

 
“Oh Francois. It’s beautiful. But how will I
explain it away to
my
mother?”

 
“I had not thought of that. The solution is
simple. I will send it to you with a card from an ardent admirer and the note
will say I look forward to your attendance at the ball.”

 
“Mother will never give up trying to find
out who sent it.”

 
“Then we shall play cat and mouse games and
indulge in passionate times as we have now, and no one the wiser.”

 
“I love you, you rogue.”

 
“I love you, too. Now we must away to the
house, or your sister will think us up to mischief.”

 
“I shall look forward to more mischief, if
of the Francois kind,” she said, as they hastened from the pavilion.

 
“Then look out for me at the ball for I will
be there, and I’ll see what I can arrange in advance for our pleasure.” He
threw his riding coat over his left shoulder, and arms about each other they
set off toward the house. “Your mother had good reason for hating my father.
Did you know they were betrothed?”

 
“No, not at all.” Why had her mother said
those awful things about the de Boviere family, if she was to have been one of
them? “Are you sure they were betrothed?”

 
“Oh yes, your mother, according to my
grandmother, fell deeply in love with my father. He on the other hand had
fallen in love with my mother, and married her in Paris. It was said your
mother, not believing a word of his betrayal followed him to Paris with her
brother, and when the truth was realised her brother called my father to a
duel. Swords were the chosen weapons and, unable to match my fathers skill in
swordsmanship, your mother’s brother sadly perished.”