by Lauren Royal
“Aye—I mean, yes.” Outlaw or not, she loved the way he talked, the words slow and melodic. Though her heart was pounding, she screwed up her courage and moved to sit gingerly beside him. “I’m Kendra. Kendra Chase.”
“Trick Caldwell.”
“Trick?” she echoed, startled. She turned to him, forgetting for a moment that he was supposed to be frightening. “What kind of a name is Trick?”
“Ah, and that’s a story.” He smiled at her, a wide white smile that seemed to light up the cottage and belie the dreary day. Leaning forward, he reached out a hand and placed it on her wrist, just lightly, but a tingle raced up her arm and throughout her, warming her in the strangest way. Something snapped inside her, and the sense of unreality was gone.
She was here, really here, with the amber highwayman—no, Trick, she corrected herself—alone, and he wasn’t scary at all.
Well, not very.
FOUR
“ARE YOU hungry?” Trick asked suddenly.
She shook her head, wondering if he actually had food here. Surely he didn’t own this cottage. Well, maybe he knew where the owner kept stores, and she shouldn’t be surprised he would use them.
He was a thief, after all.
“Thirsty, then? Aye, I’m guessing a spot of wine would do you. You look tense.”
Tense didn’t begin to describe how Kendra felt. She glanced down at his long fingers ringed lightly around her wrist. “A…spot of wine would be nice, if you have it. Thank you.”
Releasing her, he rose with a leonine grace and made straight for one of the cabinets, as though he knew every nook and cranny of the place. Crystal goblets and a matching decanter were hidden behind the doors. He filled two glasses, and she took one, hoping he didn’t see her hand shake.
“I’ll just settle the horses and return, aye?”
“Where…?”
“There’s a small stable in the back.” He set his goblet on the mantel. Taking a heavy cloak that dangled from a peg on the wall, he shrugged into it and was out the door with a whoosh of wind.
She sat on the couch, listening to the rain on the roof and sipping the sweetish Madeira. Though she wasn’t cold, she shivered. Looking around, she wondered how he could describe this as a cottage.
The cottages in the village of Cainewood were generally tiny and dark, single-room buildings with rough plastered walls and trodden earth floors. This cottage was impeccably clean and boasted large glass windows. The wooden walls and floors were polished to a gleam, and her feet rested on a lovely Oriental carpet. Besides the couch, there were two chairs and several small tables, two marquetry cabinets, and a desk in one corner.
She walked over to it and ran a hand along the smooth, rich wood. Everything on top was neatly arranged. Setting down her goblet, she slid open the top drawer to find a stack of paper and bottles of ink. Her hand went to the bottom drawer and tugged, but it was stuck closed or locked. She frowned at it, then turned to survey the rest of the large room.
A beautiful carved dining table and chairs sat on another patterned carpet, obviously imported from lands far away. A peek through an archway revealed a spotless, quite modern kitchen, the shelves heavily stocked with victuals. Another archway opened onto a corridor, which apparently led to several more rooms.
Some cottage, Kendra thought. All furnished, food and drink…Trick seemed quite at home. Maybe he lived here, after all. She’d never thought about where a highwayman might live, but she hadn’t expected it would be a hunting lodge, or a cottage, or whatever he wanted to call it. She’d assumed they slept in inns or the like.
When the door opened and Trick walked in and swept off his cloak, she rushed back to the desk and reclaimed her goblet.
“It’s not letting up,” he announced, stomping the rain off his boots.
She was relieved that he didn’t seem to care she’d been nosing around. “Is this…yours?” she blurted, making her way to sit on the couch. “I mean, do you live here?”
“Um…close enough.”
Kendra felt her face heat. She really shouldn’t be so curious. It was none of her business whom the cottage belonged to, and now she’d put Trick on the spot.
Of course he didn’t own it. Many highwaymen had a reputation for being gentlemanly, but that didn’t mean they were actual gentlemen. Men of property didn’t turn to the roads for sustenance.
Thankfully, he looked amused rather than annoyed or embarrassed. He swiped his wine off the mantel and sat beside her.
The room was quiet except for the soft pit-pat of rain. She sipped from her own goblet, peeking at him over the rim. He gazed at her through the ends of his damp golden hair, and she saw his eyes darken. But surely he had no reason to be angry.
No, it was something else.
Her heart sped up, and of its own accord her hand rose to sweep clear his forehead. Horrified at herself, she snatched it back just in time.
With a sudden grin, he gave a toss of his head that flung the hair from his eyes. “We were speaking of my name,” he reminded her—or himself.
She gulped more wine. “What did your parents name you, really?”
“Patrick Iain Caldwell.” He settled back slowly. “But my father was away when I was born—Father was always away—so my mother named me. Scots–Irish, she was. In any case, he was appalled when he finally ventured home to meet me. Said she’d tricked him good, giving his English son two barbarian names.”
Kendra grinned. “Trick…since she’d tricked him?”
“And short for Patrick, though he’d never admit it. They hated each other, they did. It was an arranged marriage.”
“That sounds rather old-fashioned. Why?”
“The deuce knows.” He drained his goblet and stared at it pensively, twirling it by its stubby stem. “Neither of them would talk of the other long enough for me to find out.”
“How sad,” she murmured, the sincere tone of her voice drawing his gaze.
FIVE
TRICK LOOKED up to see Lady Kendra shaking her pretty head. Her hair bounced, releasing a scent of sunshine and flowers that belied the dreary, rainy day. He felt the strangest urge to lean close and bury his nose in her deep red curls.
He knew he shouldn’t have asked her to the cottage. Her brothers would have his head if they knew she was here with him, unescorted. But it had been merely a gentlemanly impulse; it would have been unkind to abandon a lady in all this rain. So he’d taken pity on the Chase girl.
Still, the last thing he wanted was her pity.
“Not so sad,” he said, and moved his gaze from her face—only to have it land on her figure, evident beneath her riding habit’s collarless jacket. His eyes drifted down to her waist, and he remembered the feel of his hands spanning it. He shifted to look out the window. Raindrops trailed down in slow, crooked lines. “Arranged marriages are common enough.”
“For some, perhaps. The peerage is often required to wed for alliance.”
She thought he was a commoner. She really had no idea who he was. Trick smiled to himself, then sobered.
If she’d been told nothing of him despite yesterday’s encounter, her brothers were even more protective than he’d thought.
He rose to set his empty goblet on the mantel, then turned and leaned back against it, crossing his arms. “Your folks were different, then?”
“Oh, yes. They had a perfect, romantic marriage and loved each other very much. Too much, according to my brother Colin. He says they loved each other and the monarchy, and there was nothing left for us.”
“But you don’t agree.”
A statement, not a question. He watched her eyes as she considered it, noting the bright intelligence. “No,” she said at last. “I never knew them, really, as they died in the war when I was yet a babe. But I always felt they loved me.”
“You felt their love from beyond the grave, aye?” Once he would have laughed outright at such a statement, but now, twenty-three years old and wiser, he knew better than to mock a
nother’s foibles. He was far from perfect himself.
Still, she must have caught something of his skepticism, because her brow furrowed. “You don’t believe the departed can love?”
He shrugged. “I don’t believe in love at all.”
“You don’t love anyone? No one loves you?” Her light green eyes looked incredulous. “Not anyone, in any form?” She colored suddenly and stood up. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m…we don’t know each other. I shouldn’t ask such questions.”
He watched her stride to the window, her steps sure, not the mincing progress that passed for walking among the tittering ladies at court. He couldn’t picture her whispering behind a fan, either, though surely she attended balls and the like, and probably had a wonderful time.
Not a social animal himself, he shuddered at the thought. His gaze followed her graceful hand as she traced the path of a raindrop with one finger.
“Ask away,” he assured her. “I’ve nothing to hide.” It wasn’t the truth—it wasn’t even close to the truth—but it sounded nice. “No, I don’t love anyone.”
He saw her watching his reflection in the windowpane. “Your parents…?”
“Made my life miserable.”
She turned to face him. “Brothers or sisters?”
“I have none. I reckon my folks only tolerated each other’s presence long enough to make me.”
At his frank words, her cheeks flushed a becoming pink. “And what of God?”
He considered his answer. “Well, of course I love God, but that’s different. It’s love between people that’s an illusion.”
Her mouth dropped open, then closed. It was a pretty mouth, he noticed, not over-plump, but perfectly shaped. “It’s no illusion,” she stated in a tone that brooked no argument.
“You love someone, then?”
“Oh, yes.” The sunshiny smile was back. “My brothers, all three of them. And my new sisters—my sisters-in-law, actually—and my niece. When I first held her tiny body in my arms and she looked into my eyes, it was love at first sight.” Her gaze focused on him and darkened. “I guess you don’t believe in love at first sight, either?”
He grinned at her exasperation. “For a babe in arms…perhaps. Between two full-grown adults…not a chance.”
She shook her head, her eyes once more full of pity. “You’ve no plans to marry, then? Not ever?”
“Of course I do,” he said lightly. Avoiding her eyes, he lifted his goblet and crossed to the cabinet to pour himself more wine. “Perhaps a decade from now. But love won’t have anything to do with it.”
“Someday,” she said, “someone will change your mind. Someday you’ll fall in love.”
“You make it sound like a promise,” he said, amused.
“Then you can take it that way. And a Chase promise is never given lightly.”
He seemed to remember hearing one of her brothers use those words. “I hope you’re right. But I’m not going to lay money on it.”
She smiled. “I’m not much for gambling anyhow. Is there something on my face?”
“Beg pardon?”
Frowning, she rubbed her chin. “You’re staring at my face.”
Actually, he’d been staring at her lips.
Flustered, he dropped his gaze to the empty goblet in his hand. “Was I?” he said vaguely, and cleared his throat. “Would you care for more wine?”
With a glance out the window at the pounding rain, she nodded and came forward to hand him her goblet. He poured, then handed it back. Their fingers met, his warm, hers cool.
Between them the goblet slipped to the floor.
She gasped, staring as a dark stain spread on the cream background color of the patterned carpet, then dropped to her knees to collect the broken crystal and dab at the blot with the hem of her riding habit.
Trick gazed down at her bright, panicked head. “Stop,” he pleaded through stifled laughter. “You’ll ruin your skirt.”
“I’ll ruin my skirt?” Worried green eyes looked up. “Then will the stain not come out of the carpet, either?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” he mused. Surely one of the servants would know how to remove it. If not, he could always bring another rug from his London warehouse.
“But…I’m not usually clumsy.” She scrutinized the stain, then sat back and wrapped her arms around her bent knees. “And I’ve got you in trouble, then.”
“In trouble?” he repeated stupidly.
“The crystal and the carpet…” She bit her lip, then her eyes cleared. “Tell the owner I’ll pay for it all. Or rather, my brother will. It won’t be a problem.”
Tell the owner. Oh, she was precious. She thought he was a criminal, yet she worried about his carpet and angering his presumed landlord.
She’d be more on target worrying about his self-control, he thought wryly, reaching down a hand to help her rise. Then he stood blinking down at her, wondering where that odd thought had come from, and realizing it was true.
At her full height, the top of her head came just to his chin. She tilted her face to meet his gaze. Her hand was still in his, and seemed likely to remain that way for the immediate future. He could hear her breath coming rather fast over the patter of rain on the roof.
Slowly, her free hand came up to sweep the hair from his eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, then she touched a fingertip to his lower lip, exactly in the center, so lightly he wondered if he imagined it.
Real or imagined, he felt it. He stared at her pretty mouth. “Don’t be sorry.”
She blinked and pulled her hand from his.
He nearly made a grab for her before remembering who she was. He gave himself a little shake, thinking it had better stop raining soon.
“Come, there’s water in the bedchamber.” He turned on his heel and headed for the corridor, knowing she would follow. “We’ll rinse the stain from your skirt before it can set.”
He poured water into the washbowl and set it on the low table by the bed, then beckoned her near and handed her a towel.
She wetted it and leaned down to dab daintily at her hem. Frowning, she dipped again and dabbed harder. Finally, she sat on the bed, rucking her skirts up about her knees so she could plunge the offending stain into the bowl. She stared into space, holding the fabric in place with one hand.
Thinking she had well-shaped calves—had he ever noticed a girl’s calves before?—Trick settled himself on the bed a safe distance from her. “You’re going to sit there till it comes out?”
She turned to look at him. “It won’t take long this way.”
He watched the water soaking her skirt. A dark circle grew to encompass much more than the stain, but she didn’t seem to notice. She was too busy watching him.
She swallowed and licked her lips.
The distance suddenly didn’t seem so safe anymore. He meant to move away—really, he did—but somehow found himself scooting closer instead, then closer still when he caught a whiff of her sun-fresh skin and lavender-scented hair. Then he couldn’t recall why he was supposed to be moving the other way. Couldn’t recall much of anything beyond a pair of wide green eyes and a rosebud mouth.
From the main room of the cottage, he heard the door fly open and slam against the wall. He thought it must be the wind. Though he meant get up and close it—really, truly meant to—instead he found his arms curving around Lady Kendra’s waist, his head sinking toward hers, toward that perfect, soft-looking mouth.
“Hey, are you here? We need your help to find our…”
Jason Chase arrived in the doorway, his brothers Colin and Ford close on his heels.
“…sister,” he finished weakly.
Kendra and Trick sprang apart, taking the porcelain bowl with them. It fell to the polished floor with a loud crash.
“Not again,” Lady Kendra groaned. “I never drop things, honestly.”
“This isn’t what it looks like,” Trick hurried to say.
“No?” A muscle in Cain
ewood’s jaw twitched. “You mean to say I didn’t see you on a bed with your arms around my sister and her gown pulled up around her waist?”
“My knees,” she corrected.
Jason just glared at her.
“What were you doing, then?” Colin asked.
Trick wondered why he felt so uneasy. “Rinsing a stain from her skirt.”
Ford rolled his eyes. “You expect us to believe that?” He turned on his sister. “What the deuce are you doing here?”
“I was…riding. And it started raining, and Trick came along—”
“Trick, is it?” Colin’s eyes bore into hers, and Trick saw her flinch. “Exactly how well do you know this fellow?”
“For heaven’s sake, Colin—we just met.”
“And you let him put his hands beneath your skirt.”
Trick leapt to her defense. “I did no such thing, Greystone—I told you, we were rinsing out a stain.”
“A bloodstain, would that be?”
Lady Kendra’s eyes narrowed with puzzlement. “No,” she said. “Why would you ask—”
“How can you think such a thing?” Trick interrupted.
“How could we not?”
“I’m disappointed,” Jason said, stepping closer to Trick. “Very disappointed. Kendra has never acted particularly wisely, but she’s been very sheltered and you ought to know better.” He gazed at Trick with doleful eyes. “At least tell me you didn’t know who she was.”
“Of course I knew who she was!” Trick exploded. “I saw her with you yesterday.”
Beside him, Lady Kendra gave a surprised gasp.
“Ah, yes,” Jason responded, looking resigned. “That will have to stop, you know.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“The highway robbery. You don’t need the money, and Kendra doesn’t need to see her husband strung up at Tyburn.”
“Her husband?” Trick’s heart pounded. Her brothers didn’t know the truth. Or rather, they knew he wasn’t posing as a highwayman for the money, but they weren’t likely to learn the real reason anytime soon. King Charles had sworn him to secrecy.