Scarblade sat and measured the girl. He knew she would shoot. The question was, would she shoot to kill, to wound, or to warn?
“Damn your soul,” he roared, knowing all the while that if he dismounted she would be gone in a flash.
Tori, sensing his thoughts, laughed. “It would seem, Master Scarblade, that we have here what is known as a stalemate. Would you not agree?” She leaned over the horse’s mane, the pistol held loosely, the golden hair tumbling over her shoulders.
Scarblade drew in his breath. She was beautiful with the moonlight behind her making a nimbus about her golden tresses. Silently, Scarblade returned the pistol to his belt, straightened in the saddle, and spoke coldly. “You may leave now. You’re on your own; you’re free to ride out of here.”
“You’re lying through your teeth,” Tori spat. “You won’t let me go!”
“You’re free to leave,” Marcus repeated.
“You’re trying to trick me,” Tori said suspiciously.
“You think that only because you have a narrow, suspicious mind,” Scarblade said coldly. “What are you waiting for? Ride!”
“Your word that I will not be stopped.”
He nodded curtly.
Tori saw the handsome man astride the huge beast and tried to read his thoughts. It had to be a trick, but still, she couldn’t be sure. She would have to try. Brushing the golden tendrils from her face she once more looked deep into the eyes of the highwayman; then, before she could think twice, Tori shoved the pistol into the waistband of her trousers and spurred the horse. She dug heels into its flanks over and over again, and rode as if the devils of hell were on her heels. She glanced behind her, her hair flying wildly in the wind. She was right, Scarblade was after her!
She should have known all he wanted was the pistol out of her hand. He knew that she could not ride and brandish the gun, let alone fire it. Again she dug her heels into the horse and risked a glance behind her. He was gaining on her. She whimpered as she lowered her head to keep the biting wind from stinging her eyes. Suddenly, with no warning, she felt herself being lifted from the saddle and sailing through the air.
“Let me go!” she screamed. “Don’t you dare touch me! Put me down!” she ordered. “You gave me your word! Let me go!”
“Gladly,” came the reply. She felt herself falling through the air, and landed awkwardly in a drift of snow.
“How dare you . . . you . . .”
“The words you are no doubt looking for are odious, insufferable, despicable, loathsome, and vermin. I think that covers it,” the man laughed.
“How dare you laugh at me?”
“Why not?” Scarblade asked, unperturbed.
“Because . . . because . . .” The S-shaped scar on his cheek deepened in color and Tori was torn between excitement and dread. “Damn you!” Tori spat.
“Tsk, tsk,” the bandit said, mockingly clucking his tongue, “such language, and you a fine lady and all.”
“Shut up,” Tori snarled.
“The fun is over,” he said emotionlessly. “Come over here; we’ll have to ride double.”
“I’m not riding double with you, Scarblade; get that through your head. I’ll stay here and freeze.”
Scarblade slid from the saddle and stalked over to the girl. He looked down at her and held out his hand. She made no move to accept his offer. He grasped her thin wrist and pulled her to her feet.
“Take your hands off me,” she spat as she struggled to free herself. He grasped her other wrist and held her prisoner. She lashed out with her foot, giving him a forceful blow to his shin.
“If you want to fight, I’ll give you a fight, you hell-cat.” He locked his leg around both of hers, forcing her to lean against his hard-muscled body.
Tori, caught by surprise, leaned for a moment against his broad chest. She could feel the wild beating of his heart, or was it hers? Weakened by his nearness, she allowed him to hold her firmly as he looked down into her eyes. The aching desire for her fast became a turbulent squall.
Scarblade observed her soft mouth and her wide, gold-green eyes. He longed to kiss them and her downy cheeks. He wanted to smother this lovely girl with passion, to feel her respond to him as she had that night in Dolly’s room.
Tori, caught in his unrelenting embrace, her heart beating like that of a small creature caught in a net, suddenly went limp. Her eyes were misty and her lips parted as she looked into the depths of his smoky orbs. She felt lost in them and could not have moved if her life depended on it. Warm lips met and her head reeled. She brought up her hands and gently held his face and . . . felt so warm, so safe, so wanted.
Scarblade pulled away from her, a mocking, infuriating smile on his lips. Tori felt tremor after tremor of humiliation shoot through her. The man was of the devil’s own making, her mind roared. To stir her this way and have her yielding to him, only to be cast away and to read the glow of victory in those jeering ebony eyes. There had been fire and passion in that brief kiss—was the man, who found it so easy to put her aside; made of steel?
Chapter Seventeen
Tori sat inside her tent reviewing in her mind how she had been thrust into a den of thieves. It had occurred to her once or twice before that it was her own deviousness that had put her in this predicament. But not caring for the implications of the truth, Tori ignored the facts and bemoaned the fates. Sitting there quietly, she heard Scarblade approach Josh and say in a low tone, “Josh, the time has come for Marcus Chancelor’s visit to England to end. I’ll go into London this evening and take care of that little matter.”
“Have you decided how you’re going to go about it?” Josh asked hoarsely. He had lost a good deal of his strength in the past few days.
“Not quite,” Scarblade answered, “but I think the more people who know this is to be Marcus’s last evening in town, the better. I’ll go to the lodgings and dress myself in something more suitable for an evening visiting a playhouse and some of the more respectable inns.”
Tori pricked up her ears. Somehow the name Marcus Chancelor seemed familiar to her although she couldn’t place it. She could no longer hear what Scarblade was saying to Josh, for the men had moved away from her tent. Her eyes sparkled and her heavy heart lifted. To go to London and a playhouse and possibly even Covent Garden. Her mind boggled at the idea; it seemed ages since she had worn a dress and sat in refined company.
Peeking out from under the flap of the tent, Tori saw she was quite alone. She didn’t try to fool herself into thinking she could escape, for surely she would be detected, but it was only a few steps to where sat the trunk that Scarblade had taken from the last robbery.
Quickly, she crept out of the tent and grasped the heavy ornate handle on the side of the small trunk. In less than a moment she had the luggage inside the tent. She struggled with the straps that secured the lid, silently praying the clothes inside would fit her. Self-recrimination stung her when she remembered Scarblade bringing the trunk to her and telling her to make use of the contents. Winter was upon them, he had said, qualifying his concern for her by adding that they hadn’t time to care for a sick woman. How foolish she had been to rebuke his gift, however ungraciously offered.
When at last she opened the straps she lifted the lid excitedly. Please make them fit me, she prayed. Beneath the thin, blue paper which covered the contents lay two gowns, one of blue and the other of iridescent green. Beneath the gowns were slippers, chemises, shawls, ribbons, and assorted toiletries.
Holding the blue gown to herself, she saw it was slightly large, but a few pins here and a ribbon there, and it would be better than she could have hoped for.
Hastily, she placed the blue silk next to the shimmering green. There was really no choice. The second matched her eyes perfectly.
As Tori rummaged through the trunk to find more ribbons, Scarblade stepped under the flap and stood watching her, an amused expression lighting his features.
“I thought you wouldn’t have the trunk if it were lin
ed with gold?”
Her first inclination was to spit a stinging retort; then, thinking better of the idea, she turned to him and smiled her sweetest smile.
“But that was before I had an occasion to wear these gowns. Now that we’re going to Covent Garden this evening, you’ll have to agree I must look my best.”
“We’re going . . . where?” Scarblade asked incredulously.
“Why to the playhouse, of course. You don’t want me to look shoddy, do you?”
“See here, I’ve no intention of bringing you to London with me! Wherever did you get such a daft idea?”
“But I heard you telling Josh you’re going to London to see Master Chancelor.”
“You can just get that idea right out of your head. I must hand it to you, you’re an accomplished young lady in the areas of knife-throwing, horseback riding, and . . . ahem . . . eavesdropping. Not to mention lying, stealing, and . . .”
“Save your breath. I’ve no desire to be embarrassed by your effusive praise,” Tori answered lightly, flashing him a bright smile.
“Why, you little minx!” Scarblade exclaimed, making a threatening motion toward her.
Tori screeched loudly as she tore from the tent, Scarblade close on her heels.
“Here, now,” Josh shouted as he suddenly stood in front of the breathless Tori. “What’s doing here?”
“This little . . . our ‘guest’ fancies herself accompanying me to London.”
“Hmmm . . . that mightn’t be such a bad notion. Master Chancelor might prefer to have a lovely lady on his arm when he makes his farewell to London society. Besides, a beautiful woman always attracts considerable attention, and I assume Master Chancelor wants his farewell to London to be noted.”
Marcus took his friend’s words well, considering Josh’s good advice of the past. “Very well, then. Josh makes good sense. But I want your word you’ll not make a scene or try to escape. If you do, I’m not above killing you.” Marcus’s eyes measured her, awaiting her promise. “And it will not be as last time you made a promise to me. This time you’ll keep it or suffer the consequences.” The raven-colored eyes turned to stone, causing Tori to suffer an involuntary shiver.
“I swear to you,” she said earnestly, “I’ll not try to escape, nor will I make a scene. But I do need some time away from this camp and from Charles.”
“Aye! The lass speaks the truth. I’ve seen him watching her. If you take her with you, ’twill give me a good night’s rest. So weary am I of protecting her from the devil.”
Tori threw Josh an appreciative smile. “I’ll be with you as quick as I can,” she said to Scarblade. “An hour at the most.”
“An hour! Surely you can get your things together more quickly than that? Besides,” he added, “I’ll say the lady could use a bath. Get your things together now. I’m sure Master Chancelor will allow you to use his rooms to make yourself presentable for the opera.”
Tori couldn’t believe her luck. Going to the opera and a bath! She was ready in short order, her gown and accessories bundled in a roll strapped to the back of her saddle.
On the ride into the city, Scarblade was sullenly silent, wondering how he had gotten himself into the situation of taking the girl with him. What a fool he had been to listen to Josh and believe the girl’s promises. Who would watch her and keep her from escaping when he paid his visit to Lord Fowler-Greene?
When they approached the outskirts of the city, Marcus rode beside her, his thigh occasionally brushing hers. He seemed poised, as if to grab her should she be so bold as to try an escape.
“Don’t you think people will find it rather strange to see you riding so . . . shall we say, intimately with another of your own sex?”
He drew away from her as though his thigh had touched fire. He had completely forgotten she was dressed in breeches and that a cap covered her long golden hair—to all the world she appeared like a young man.
Within the hour they had ridden to a wide, tree-lined street facing a small, triangular park. “Master Chancelor has rooms in the end house,” the highwayman said, so suddenly she was startled.
Then it all came back to her in a rush. She was sitting in the dining room at home having dinner with her parents, Granger, Lady Helen, and Lord Fowler-Greene. That was where she had heard the name. Lord Fowler-Greene was telling them about a gentleman from America who came and pleaded with the House of Lords to convince the King to help his colony. The details were vague after all this time, but she remembered her father had been favorably impressed, in fact, so favorably impressed that Lord Rawlings had pleaded the man’s case and because of that lost favor with the Crown.
“So,” she said aloud, “I’ve this Marcus Chancelor to thank for my present predicament!”
Scarblade led the horses around the back of the house where a stableboy came out to meet them.
“See that they’re fed and rubbed down,” he ordered, tossing the boy a coin. Then he turned to Tori and led her back to the house, entering the three-story structure by the back door.
“I think you’ll find all you’ll need in Master Chancelor’s rooms. I believe there is a housemaid who will help you ready yourself for the evening. I’ll arrange to have a bath drawn for you immediately. While you’re bathing I’ll take the opportunity to see to a matter of business.” He spoke so softly, so kindly, Tori almost forgot the conditions under which she was visiting Marcus Chancelor’s rooms. Certainly, anyone hearing him speak to her thus would find it hard to believe he wished himself rid of her.
Scarblade walked up the flight of stairs and opened the door with a key. She found it surprising that a gentleman like Marcus Chancelor would give a highwayman access to his living quarters. With a start she suddenly realized she hadn’t contemplated the implications of Lord Rawlings’ upstanding Master Chancelor consorting with a rogue like Scarblade. Perhaps Lord Fowler-Greene was correct in saying Lord Rawlings was foolish to defend the stranger to the House of Lords.
Tori had never been in rooms which were let to respectable boarders and she found herself pleasantly surprised that they should be so clean and well kept. They were furnished simply and yet stylishly, seeming to reflect quality more than obvious wealth. They were certainly better than Dolly’s quarters!
She went to the window that faced the street and looked down into the park across the way. It was empty of people, owing no doubt to the snow, but she could imagine that in fair weather it would be buzzing with activity.
“Planning your escape?” came a deep voice from behind her.
“Indeed not, at least not until I’ve had my bath!” She turned to face him and was startled by the presence of a stranger in the room. It was a full moment until she realized she was looking into a mirror and the strange young man she saw was none other than herself.
Marcus watched her and realized the reason for her amazement. “Why, with your appreciation for men, surely you approve of your appearance?”
Tori faced him with more than her usual grace and femininity, as if trying to compensate for the boyish figure she cut. “Sir, I’ll not argue with you while I’m so unfortunately at a disadvantage. After my bath and toilet I’m sure you’ll find I have the edge.”
With a churlish grin Scarblade thought, the knights had their armor, the Indians their war paint, and women their own particular battle garb.
A shy knock sounded on the door and he bid the person to enter. The housemaid stood there, dressed in her blue-and-white-striped muslin apron and snowy white mobcap. “The water for the bath, sirs,” she meekly volunteered, stepping over to a screen that hid the gleaming copper tub. Three footmen entered the room and hastened over to the bath and poured in great pails of steaming water which they conveyed on a wheeled cart. When the bath was full, they left, pulling their forelocks in salute to Scarblade. When the maid attempted to leave he stopped her. “You’ll be attending the young lady to her bath.”
The young maid looked around the room inquisitively, then looked back with a q
uestion in her eyes. “This young lady, Emmy. Take off your cap.”
Tori pulled the cap from her head, her golden hair falling almost to her waist. A slight gasp escaped the maid’s lips, but so well trained was she that she asked no questions.
“The lady and myself have had a long, hard ride, and in this murderous snow. The lady felt it best to don the warmer clothing of a young man.”
Another glance from the bright, intelligent eyes of Emmy told Tori that Scarblade’s story seemed plausible enough to her. As a housemaid she had seen many strange things, and a lady dressed as a boy did not head the list.
“I have faith the lady will have no further use for the costume, Emmy,” Scarblade said congenially, “so I’ll wait outside the door, and when she disrobes you can hand me her clothes.” He produced the bundle that included Tori’s gown and handed it to Emmy. “Have the laundry maids press these and make them presentable.”
“Aye, sir,” Emmy answered. And if she were puzzled by the strange request to relieve Tori of her clothing, she said nothing.
Once Tori was submerged in the hot water of her bath, she cleared her mind of all her worries. She had resented Scarblade leaving her without a stitch to wear, but she saw he had come to a solution to his problem of her trying to escape. Now he could go about his business without fear. Where could she go for help if she were stark naked? Certainly Emmy would be of no assistance.
Emmy returned with the iridescent green gown and its voluminous petticoats freshly pressed. In the maid’s absence, Tori had washed her hair, and now she requested Emmy to pour fresh water over her head so she could rinse it free of the soap. The water in the pail had cooled and Tori shrieked with surprise.
The two girls found themselves laughing in delight, and from there the conversation went easily. Tori listened to Emmy as she spoke of the young man she hoped to marry. “I suppose, miss, that you and Master Chancelor are planning to marry. I saw the gleam in his eye when he looked at you,” she giggled. “I wish me Jimmy would look at me tha’ way.”
“Oh, no, Emmy we’re not . . .” Tori stopped in midsentence, a look of astonishment on her clean, scrubbed face. “Who did you say, Emmy?”
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