The Bushranger's Wife

by Cheryl Adnams

  The Bushranger’s Wife

  Cheryl Adnams

  romance.com.au

  The Bushranger’s Wife

  Cheryl Adnams

  How do you tame a wild colonial boy? With an even wilder colonial girl.

  Central Highlands of Victoria 1861

  Jack the Devil’s reputation precedes him. The most notorious bushranger on the Central Highlands, nothing throws him off his game—until he holds up Prudence Stanforth and her grandmother. Jack can’t help but be captivated by the feisty Pru and her lack of fear in the face of danger.

  Weeks later, Pru crosses paths with the respectable businessman Jack Fairweather, and it’s not long before she recognises him as the bushranger who stole her favourite necklace. His price for the locket’s return is a kiss—a kiss that ignites sparks in them both.

  When Pru discovers her grandmother has been keeping a devastating secret, running away with Jack the Devil is the perfect escape for her broken heart. The dangerous nature of his less than salubrious occupation is a poetic contradiction to her sheltered upbringing, and only fuels their passion.

  But as life becomes more complicated, will the return of dark elements from Jack’s past ruin their chance at happiness?

  About the author

  CHERYL ADNAMS lives in Adelaide, South Australia. She has published four Australian rural romance novels and this is her second Australian historical novel. Cheryl has a Diploma in Freelance Travel Writing and Photography, and has lived and worked in the United States, Canada and spent two years with a tour company in Switzerland and Austria. Her passion for Italy, volcanology and cycling have made their way into her stories and her favourite writing retreats include Positano on the Amalfi Coast and Port Willunga Beach just south of Adelaide. When she’s not writing, Cheryl is still creating in her busy full-time job as a trainer and learning designer.

  If you’d like to know more about me, my books, or to connect with me online, you can visit my webpage cheryladnams.com, follow me on Twitter @cadnams, or like my Facebook page http://www.facebook.com/cheryadnamsauthor.

  Acknowledgements

  After The Girl from Eureka, I just wasn’t ready to let go of the Ballarat goldfields. I had done so much research for that story that it seemed a waste not to use even more of it in another book. Before I’d even finished writing The Girl from Eureka I had already started Jack the Devil’s own story. He was such a fun character and I had to find him a woman who would give him a hard time and be his equal in everything.

  Thanks to the fabulous folks at Escape for taking on Jack and Pru’s story and my editor Chrysoula Aiello. Thanks to Belinda Stevens as always for your design expertise and all your marketing prowess.

  Thanks to my fellow romance writers in the trenches who understand the challenges, listen to me whinge when it’s all too hard and help me celebrate the wins.

  A giant thank you to all my readers who have been wonderfully supportive. Writing makes me happy. Being able to share the stories with you, makes me blessed.

  This book is dedicated to my dedicated readers.

  Contents

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Bestselling Titles by Escape Publishing...

  Chapter 1

  September 1861—Central Highlands, Victoria

  His heart pounded against his ribs. Thrill mixed with nerves to bring on that heady feeling of power. Sweat matted his russet hair and trickled down his jaw into the black kerchief he wore across his nose and mouth. After all these years, he still felt the tiny element of fear that came with the thrill. The day it was no longer there was the day he ought to give it up for good. Fear was what kept him alive.

  Beneath him, the horse could sense his emotions. Her hooves shuffled restlessly in the dry gum leaves. Nostrils flared, snorting with anticipation as the thud and vibration of a carriage, pulled by a team of horses, drew closer.

  Leaning forward in the saddle, he patted the twitching shoulder muscles of his trusty bay mare.

  ‘Easy, Persephone,’ he soothed. Named for the bride of Hades, she was the perfect horse for Jack the Devil.

  The two men beside him sat light in their saddles, primed and ready, awaiting his timely nod. The shake of his head was barely perceptible, but they understood.

  Not yet.

  The rattle of the approaching wheels on the road was now unmistakable in the quiet whisper of the trees, but still they waited. The timing had to be perfect to not allow the carriage a last minute change of course. They’d chosen this particular place on the road for its narrowness and the rocky outcrop that hemmed the left side. No chance of escape once inside the naturally formed bottleneck.

  After nearly a decade on the highway, Jack had learned a thing or two. Like how not to get caught. And, more importantly, how not to get shot.

  ‘Stay calm, stay alive,’ he told his men.

  He’d said this before he’d robbed his first coach with Bobby as a reckless teenager, and throughout his long and illustrious career it had become his mantra. Like a prayer and an order combined, he said it to his men before each encounter.

  And then …

  ‘Go!’

  Leaping from their hiding place behind the copse of stringybark eucalypts, the three masked men of the highway formed a vee as they rode directly into the path of the oncoming carriage.

  Startled, the four horses leading the vehicle pulled up despite the coach driver whipping them to keep moving. In vain he tried to urge them onwards, but the highwaymen circled the carriage, forcing it to halt.

  Jack lifted his gun and aimed it at the driver.

  ‘Stand and deliver!’

  Swearing up a storm, the coach driver resignedly settled the horses.

  ‘Drop the reins.’

  With another quiet curse, the man did as instructed, raising his hands in surrender.

  Jack edged Persephone closer to the coach, while Bobby kept his eyes and gun aimed on the driver. Huge steamer trunks were strapped to both the rear and the top of the coach.

  Jack grinned beneath his kerchief. So much baggage. And expensive looking.

  ‘Start checking those trunks on the back,’ Jack instructed Garrett. The boy was young, and flighty yet, but he had the makings of a good bushranger. ‘See if there’s anything of value in them.’

  Dismounting with the innate grace of an expert horseman, Jack sidled up to the window of the coach with caution, his gun still at the ready. It wasn’t uncommon for passengers to carry arms these days. After all, the highway was a dangerous place.

  Carefully peeking into the dark carriage, he counted only two females. He relaxed his stance and tipped his hat to them. ‘Good afternoon, ladies.’

  ‘What’s good about it?’ the older woman shot back at him, her voice elegant and acidic at the same time.

  ‘Madam, I beg you forgive the delay in your travels,’ Jack said, unruffled by the lady’s irritability. ‘You seem to be carrying an awful lot of cargo for only two women. Have you travelled far?’

  ‘All the way from England,’ she sniped. ‘And what greets us in this wretched outpost of the mother country? Nothing but ill-mannered thieves and these damn flies the size of cattle.’ She took a swipe at a large blowfly with
her gloved hand.

  ‘Careful now,’ Jack said in mock warning. ‘It would be a shame to kill the national bird on your first day here in Victoria.’

  A small squeak came from the opposite side of the carriage and he wondered if the other woman might have chuckled at his little joke, but it was quickly covered with a delicate cough.

  ‘I promise we shall take but a moment to relieve you of your heavy load and you will be on your way to your destination in no time. Now, do either of you ladies have a weapon on your person?’

  ‘We most certainly do not.’

  Ignoring the grouchy old duck, Jack shifted to try and get a better look at her companion. She was a much younger woman, and although her face was slightly obscured by the darkness of the carriage, a pair of large, green eyes, bright as emeralds, stared back at him. Intrigued, he moved behind the carriage to the window on the other side, smiling as he passed Garrett filling his saddlebags with a silver cutlery set from one of the trunks. The grin on the boy’s face reminded him of himself as a younger bushranger. Though at twenty-one, Garrett was slightly older than he’d been when he’d started out.

  Leaning an elbow on the window ledge, Jack studied the young woman. He was used to the wide-eyed terror he saw on the faces of passengers, and particularly in the eyes of the women he robbed, but in these extraordinary eyes he saw something beneath the fear. Had he been a more whimsical man he may have suggested it was fascination or excitement. Surely he’d merely imagined it. Regardless, he much preferred to deal with her than the old battle-axe shooting daggers at him through her frosty, wrinkled eyes.

  He turned his attentions back to the young lady but could no longer read her expression. She had to be afraid. Everyone feared the bushranger. Many highwaymen thought nothing of taking lives along with the money and jewels. The worst of them took liberties with ladies they came across. Jack had never taken a life in all his years of plundering the roads of Victoria, and had certainly never harmed a woman. It was a point of pride for him.

  Tilting his head to peer further into the carriage, he studied her. Early twenties he guessed, pretty. Those eyes, large and bright, glowed against the dimness of the carriage. Her long sweep of flame-coloured hair was pulled back from her face and held with intricate combs. Mother-of-pearl, if he wasn’t mistaken. He’d be sure to retrieve those before he left.

  ‘Bail up, if you please.’ He kept his voice quiet, soothing almost.

  ‘I have nothing of value, sir,’ she answered in a stronger voice than he’d expected.

  ‘That is not strictly true, is it?’ He glanced down at her décolletage.

  The sudden indignant spark in those wide, green eyes thrilled him. He’d always admired spirited women and didn’t bother to hide his delighted grin.

  ‘I meant your locket, my lady. Do not fear. Your virtue is completely safe with Jack the Devil.’ He shot a quick look at the old lady. ‘Yours especially.’

  The old woman huffed and began to mumble incoherently to herself.

  Jack turned back to the pretty redhead, expecting to see her looking less concerned now that he had guaranteed he would not harm her physically. If anything, she looked more so.

  ‘Please, sir, I beg you.’ She spoke in an even tone, but her anxiety was evident to Jack. Her small lace-gloved hand gripped the gold necklace like a vice. ‘This locket is precious to me.’

  ‘It’s precious to me too.’

  She frowned. ‘It is not.’

  ‘Is too,’ he tossed back grinning slowly, surprised at her sudden determination.

  ‘Is not!’

  ‘Shall we go another round?’ he said with a chuckle as she fumed.

  ‘Oh, Prudence, just give him the damned locket and let’s get out of here,’ the old woman commanded. Leaning over, she snatched the locket from the girl’s neck, ripping the chain roughly from its clasp, making the girl gasp in pain. She shoved it at him. ‘Take it! And let us be on our way.’

  His amusement disappeared in a heartbeat.

  ‘What is your name, madam?’ he asked the old lady, his jaw clenched.

  ‘I am Lady Deidre Stanforth,’ she said proudly. ‘My late husband was the Earl of Carrington.’

  ‘Well, Deidre,’ he said, deliberately slighting her by the omission of her title. ‘There is no need for violence.’

  Slowly, Jack took the locket from her and looked back at Prudence. There were tears pooling in her eyes, but she didn’t allow them to fall. He admired her strength and an emotion he was unused to squeezed tight in his chest.

  Shaking it off, he took her hand lightly in his. ‘Prudence,’ he began softly. ‘I apologise. But a lady so beautiful as yourself has no need for expensive baubles.’

  ‘It is not expensive, sir.’ Her voice quivered only slightly. ‘It will fetch you nothing.’

  ‘We’ll see about that.’

  The pain that had filled her eyes was replaced quickly by annoyance bordering on anger. The changes of expression on her pretty face captivated him. He’d thought her repressed at first in her high-necked, lace-trimmed dress. The older woman was clearly in charge, not a governess or a chaperone, a relative most likely, grandmother perhaps, and young Prudence had stayed quiet, leaving all the talking up to the old witch. But when she had something to fight for, she showed her true personality. Not quite fearless, but not completely devoid of courage when it mattered.

  He really should let her keep the locket—if only to piss off Grandma—but something made him want to hold on to it. To hold on to a piece of the lovely, emerald-eyed woman with hair the colour of fire and a temper to match.

  Hair.

  The combs.

  He reached into the carriage and Prudence leaned back further against the seat. His hand continued its forward path, slowly so that he wouldn’t frighten her, and removed the shiny, mottled pearl comb. Her soft hair swept across his fingers as it fell from its perfect chignon and cascaded down her shoulder, stopping just below her breast.

  He stared at the transformation. The simple change of her hair falling naturally around her face had him gawking, entranced at the new wild beauty before him. It suited her much more than the prim, staid façade. He wondered what she’d be like out from beneath the oppressive thumb of the crotchety chaperone.

  He shook himself. He was romanticising again. If he didn’t concentrate, he’d end up with a bullet in his gullet. Looking back at his men, he could see they had finished ransacking the trunks and were waiting for him with the horses.

  ‘Your earrings please, madam,’ he said, holding his hand out to the old woman. Squeezing her lips together so hard they disappeared into her wrinkled face, she removed the ruby earrings and thrust them at him.

  ‘We have lightened your load, ladies,’ he said, touching a finger to his hat. ‘You may continue on your way.’

  ‘Scoundrel,’ the old woman shot back. ‘You’ll be caught and gaoled one day, you can be sure of that.’

  ‘No one’s caught Jack the Devil yet.’ He grinned, pocketing the earrings.

  Stepping back, he kept his eyes on Prudence. She didn’t look away, even when he winked at her and said, ‘Farewell, milady.’

  ‘Drive on,’ he told the coach driver and stood back as the carriage lurched forward.

  ‘Nice haul,’ Garrett said, moving up beside him with a large hessian bag.

  Jack just continued to stare after the carriage until it was almost out of sight. When the young woman leaned her head out of the coach and looked back at him, he grinned like a madman. He didn’t know why it thrilled him so much, but it did.

  Once the coach had crested the hill, he glanced down at the gold locket in his hand, rubbing it lightly between his thumb and forefinger.

  ‘We should move,’ Bobby said, leading the horses up to them.

  ‘Mmm,’ Jack agreed distractedly, staring again at the dust disappearing over the rise before mounting his horse and following his men back into the bush.

  ***

  ‘Prudence, stop
doing that.’

  At her grandmother’s snap, Prudence leaned back against the seat and felt the heat rush into her cheeks. He had caught her looking back at him. And so had her grandmother, who immediately proceeded to launch into admonishments. As per usual.

  She listened to her grandmother rant on and on about ‘that dreadful man’ and ‘this country full of convicts’. As much as she adored her grandmother, she had learned quickly how to tune out her tirades.

  Besides, she was consumed with more exhilarating thoughts.

  A bushranger. A real live bushranger! And on her very first day in Victoria.

  She should have been terrified at being bailed up by a band of gun-wielding men in the middle of nowhere, but it had quickly become evident that he had no intention of hurting them. And at that point, for Prudence anyway, it had become an adventure.

  Though his face had been covered by the kerchief, he hadn’t looked dangerous or menacing like she’d expected. His eyes were the oddest shade of light brown, honey-coloured almost, and they revealed more mischief than danger. Long dark eyelashes rimmed the eyes she would say were pretty and quite feminine even. She didn’t know how she knew, but she suspected he was smiling beneath the black kerchief. Hardly the epitome of the frightening scourge of the highwayman depicted in the periodicals she’d read back in London.

  Jack the Devil he’d called himself. He was no devil as far as she could see. He’d not fired one shot from his gun, and had not forced himself upon them, nor threatened them physically in any real way.

  The enjoyment he displayed in the situation was devilish, perhaps. Was he devilishly handsome beneath his mask? Possibly, she mused. Those honey-coloured eyes had twinkled when he’d teased her. And then that parting wink when she’d continued to stare at him as the carriage had finally moved away …

  He really was a devil, she thought with a tiny smile touching her lips.

  Schooling her features, she exhaled a deep breath, tuning back into her grandmother’s ranting for a moment to ensure she hadn’t been expected to respond to something. She adored her grandmother, but the woman was hard as nails and her tongue just as sharp. She hadn’t appeared to be frightened of the bushranger either. But then Prudence had seen the strongest of men cower at her grandmother’s reproachful demeanour. Though none of them had been holding a gun to her at the time.