An odd note of humor in his deep voice gave Ashlyn pause. She tilted her head to study him. He sounded if he knew George Fitzgerald only existed in Dora’s pretend world. Squinting, she tried to see the eyes behind the mask. She knew that voice. It haunted her. Something about it made her think of...
Dora fell back on the cushion, fanning herself. “Oh, mercy! My niece is a virgin. You shall ruin her. The Marquis de Fournier shan’t offer for Ashlyn’s hand if she has been spoiled.”
“Thank God.” Ashlyn turned her face aside. “Not that he’d ever want me.”
The masked man’s head snapped around. “Pardon?”
Their eyes locked, their minds meeting. She knew those eyes. It was almost there, shimmering out of reach, precisely where she recognized him from. In the eerie light of the Blue Moon they appeared a light grey. They were bedeviling, holding her until she felt air swell in her chest, unable to expel it. Incisive thoughts flickered in those ghostly depths, but she couldn’t read the emotions or understand why they held such hypnotic sway over her. Why they caused her heart to slam against her ribs.
“If you must have your wicked ways with a female, then I sacrifice myself,” Dora proclaimed in histrionics.
The highwayman trained the gun on Dora once more. “Keep your distance, Madam. The only sacrifice would be mine.”
Ashlyn giggled discreetly as Dora spluttered in outrage. “Well, I never―”
“On that I have little doubt.” With a wicked smile, he grabbed Ashlyn’s upper arm and pulled. “As I said, you come with me.”
Ashlyn grabbed the edge of the door and stiffened her elbow to stop him dragging her from the carriage. “Wait!”
“Resign yourself, you are coming with me.” Resolve threaded his statement.
Ashlyn nearly growled through gritted teeth. He was strong. Very strong. And determined. “I realize you are a highwayman and all, but must you be so precipitous? I merely ask that you wait.”
“Do not force me to shoot your aunt,” he threatened, renewing his effort to haul her out.
Ashlyn used her foot to brace against the inside of the coach. “You...shall...not...shoot... anyone―”
“Shall I gun down your coachman to prove I mean what I say?”
“Oh, gor!” Horace fell on his bony knees, hands steepled in supplication. “Please, Mr. Devil in Spurs, do not murder me.” He groveled at the highwayman’s boots.
“Get up, man. Have some pride.” The poor man looked quite exasperated.
Horace kept repeating his plea, inching closer. The highwayman gave one strong tug and dragged Ashlyn out the carriage door as two things happened in the same breath. The spindly coachman, in the guise of begging for his life, wrapped his arms around the robber’s knee and held on, and Dora latched onto the arm he used to control Ashlyn. Her aunt fell forward and began to gnaw at the man’s wrist to break his hold.
“Damnation, woman, you want me to club you down?” He shoulder butted Dora to get her to remove her teeth from his flesh while shaking his leg to force Horace to let go. “Bloody hell!”
He lifted the pistol with his left hand and discharged it into the air. Instantly, both Dora and Horace fell back, mouths agape, eyes wide.
Ashlyn frowned as he released his hold on her. She was quite willing to go with him and be ravished―maybe more than once if she liked it―but she wasn’t going anywhere without her basket.
He waved the weapon at Horace. “Over there by the horses, they are spooked. Calm them or you and this mastiff—” he leveled the pistol at her aunt—“shall walk back to Kildorne. And you―as I said before―Lady Ashlyn, are coming with me.”
“No.” She leapt toward the carriage. “I am not going without Cyril.”
“Who the bloody hell is Cyril?” He dragged her back, swinging her in a circle to face him. “Lady, you are not worth the effort.”
Ashlyn couldn’t move. Pain spread through her until she couldn’t hurt any worse than if he’d doubled up his fist and slammed it into her stomach. Her mouth quivered as she tried to find a witty retort to show him his words held no sway over her. Extraordinarily, they did. She wasn’t sure why a stranger wielded such power to cut her so deeply.
But was he a stranger? Again, a sense he was familiar brushed against her mind.
“Not worth the effort? Most likely. I have been told the same thing, many times before, so your words hold little sting.” She sucked in a deep breath to steady herself. “I merely wanted Cyril.”
She leaned into the carriage and snagged the basket’s handle. He snatched it from her and stepped the coach light to see inside. “Is it alive?”
Ashlyn jerked the basket back. “Of course he is.”
He tilted his head as if he doubted her. “That, I presume, is Cyril.”
Ashlyn lifted the old cat from the basket and cradled him to her chest. “If I am to go with you...Cyril comes, too.”
“That is the most pathetic excuse for a moggie I have ever seen.”
She tilted her chin in defiance, ruining the stance by trembling. Scared for the first time since he’d stopped the vehicle, she shuddered, clutching the tabby cat to her. “He comes.”
He frowned at her in dismissal, then motioned with a second pistol for Horace to mount the coach. “You, woman, inside the carriage before I shoot you where you stand.”
“Sire, your deportment is horribly lacking.” Aunt Dora huffed, then stepped before Ashlyn. “Ashlyn is my charge. I shall not abandon her.”
He pointed the weapon at her aunt’s chest. “Fine. I have no time to argue.”
Ashlyn kissed the kitty’s head. “Auntie, do run along. Cyril and I shall be fine.”
His smile flashed winningly in the moonlight. “Yes, Auntie, do run along—and take Cyril with you.”
“Cyril goes with me.” Ashlyn stomped her foot.
He cocked his head at her show of temper as if assessing her, surprised by her spirit. “I shall shoot him, but I am not taking him with us.”
“Over my dead body.”
At the break in her voice, his tone softened. “We have a hard ride ahead. Your kitty would not be happy. Leave him where he will be comfortable and cared for.”
Tears welled in her throat. She clutched the precious cat tighter. Her only friend, at times. “Then go ahead and shoot us both. He shan’t be cared for. If I am not there, my father will see he starves or order him drowned. I’d rather you kill us both now.”
The cat in her arms purred reassuringly, as if to remind Ashlyn they’d been through a lot worse. What did it matter if the most exciting thing to happen in her life was to be shot down like a dog in the middle of the road by a highwayman? There were worse ways to die...like loneliness.
He exhaled his irritation. “Can you hold him? Or does he have to be in the basket.”
“I can hold him,” Ashlyn assured, the tightness in her chest easing.
The man remained motionless as if making up his mind. He gave a faint nod.
“Where are you taking Ashlyn?” Her aunt demanded as he slammed the carriage door.
He took aim at Horace. “Drive...drive like the Devil is after you.”
“Mr. Devil in Spurs...” Horace hesitated. “You ain’t gonna hurt Lady Ashlyn? She’s a good ‘un, not like the rest of you nobility.”
The highwayman cocked the trigger. “What do you know of my heritage?”
“Quality speaks. Lady Ashlyn is the only one in neigh on fifty years who ever bothered to learn my name was Horace instead of John Coachman.”
“Drive on, Horace Coachman.”
“Only if you give your word of honor you shan’t harm the lass. She has had enough sorrow heaped upon her young shoulders.”
White teeth flashed. “You accept the word of a highwayman?”
“The word of the Devil in Spurs, aye. A modern day Robin Hood, they say he is.”
“I am no Robin of Loxley. Off with you, man.” He slapped the flank of one of the horses; the coach lurched, then settled to
a swift pace.
Ashlyn clutched Cyril to her chest, needing the warmth from his small body. The night was cool, but she figured the trembling was from fear. Not from standing before a devil in spurs, but the unknown.
What did he want from her? No one had ever sought her for anything before. Her father had only taken interest in her of late because he decided to use her, sell her to the highest bidder. So what could this man expect in plucking her from the carriage?
Blue moonlight broke through the passing clouds, almost shining down upon him in a halo. Stirred by the rising breeze, his mantle pulled back slightly on his shoulders, rippling and swaying with a sentient force. Her eyes traveled down to the black jackboots, which lovingly hugged his muscular thighs, to the gold spurs gleaming, then slowly up the strong, virile frame. His inky hair lay in stubborn waves, so thick she itched to touch them, discover if the curls were that soft.
Even with the mask covering part of his face and dressed all in black, he made Ashlyn’s breath catch, stirring to life something in her that left her lightheaded. It wasn’t quite alarm. This emotion was a drug that stilled rising apprehension within. Bathed in the sweet rays of the moonlight, he was surely conjured from her darkest heart, all that her whispered words to a Blue Moon could summon.
A fire started at the pit of her belly and spread downward, the radiant heat taking off the edge of the night chill. She wanted to touch this strong man, make sure he was warm, that his heart beat in his chest. Reassure herself he was man and not phantom.
He slowly came toward her, sliding the pistols under his belt. “Give me the cat.” He held out his beautiful hand.
Jolted from the bit of moonlight reverie, she stepped back from him. “No. You’ll hurt him. If you kill him, then shoot me, too.”
“You are mad.” He laughed derisively.
She tilted her chin. “Cyril is my friend.”
His sensual mouth pursed as he seemed to silently count to ten. “Stop trembling. I promise not to shoot you or your kitty. You need your hands free to mount.” He whistled shrilly, then his black stallion pranced up, shaking its head. “Give me...Cyril ...while you get on.”
“What a beautiful horse.” Ashlyn looked at the finely arched neck and the broad back of the animal. “I’ve never ridden a horse. I am not sure how...”
“Damn rouleaux,” he muttered about the trim on the hem of her gown limiting her movements. “You have to ride side saddle.”
Grasping her about the waist, he easily swung her up to sit crosswise on the horse, still clutching Cyril to her chest. He rearranged her cloak so it was tucked under her legs. Lightening shot through her blood, as she’d never been touched by a man before.
Actually, no one touched her, outside of Cook when she was growing up. Mum had been too weak, bedridden most of Ashlyn’s early life. She rarely saw Father in the years after Mother’s death. The servants—what few Father maintained at Chattam Lane—took care of her, but none ever hugged or touched her.
His hand remained on her thigh for an instant before he looked up. In the blue luminosity, his pale eyes stared into hers with thoughts she couldn’t fathom.
Then with a swirl of his heavy mantle, he swung into the saddle behind her. His strong hands took her waist and settled her securely across his thighs, enfolding the heavy cape around her. Instantly, warmth from his body rolled over her, spread through her, banishing the night’s chill.
Ashlyn sat shivering, hardly able to breathe. The highwayman had his arm about her. She couldn’t see it, since Cyril rested against her chest, but his hand was firmly on her waist. Each exhale pushed against his palm.
She’d often wondered what it would feel like to have a man touch her. And while it wasn’t a caress of a lover, it still made her feel strange inside. Scared. Yet, not precisely panic or fear.
He urged her closer. Nervous, she tried to keep her spine stiff, but his radiance lured her. Never had she felt such body heat. Her shoulder rested against his chest. Melting slowly against him, she basked in his fire. Her eyelids slowly lowered. She was tired. So tired.
Father had played cards late last night. On nights he had men in the house and they gambled and drank, she dared not sleep, fearful one would try to slip into her room. She’d sat holding Cyril until dawn, clutching a loaded pistol.
So tired, she sighed...so very tired.
***
Scatty female had gone to sleep. She and that moth-eaten cat seemed quite content wrapped in his cape. Had they no sense a’tall? A masked man kidnaps her―and her kitty―and the two of them sleep like babes in his arms.
Jacob rushed out as he neared the cottage. He valet started to take the reins, but hesitated when he saw the sleeping woman and the cat. “Well, if that ain’t trusting, your lordship.”
“If you value your life, say no more.” Desdein shifted, trying to figure how to dismount without waking her. “Take the cat.”
Jacob’s brow lowered. “Do I have to? Pretty decrepit looking.”
Cyril is my friend. Why did he hear her words and think she really meant to say Cyril is my only friend. One she was willing to die for.
He wondered if anyone ever cared for him like that. Jeremy adored him, but he figured if pushed to the limit his brother wouldn’t make that choice. Had Mother or Father cared for their eldest son that strongly? He doubted it. Oh, Father had been proud of his first-born, but Desdein was unsure if he loved him. Mother had lived only for her husband.
Suddenly, Desdein felt very alone in the world and envied that damn cat. He’d do what he must to set things right for Jeremy, but then he needed to take a harsh look at his life. If he survived the dawning. He wasn’t a young man any more. At thirty-six, he should have a wife and sons of his own. Longing suddenly wracked his body. He wanted a son. Wanted that child to grow up knowing he was loved.
Jacob shook his head. “She ain’t letting go of the cat.”
“Hold the horse steady.” He turned so he could land on two feet, still cradling her and the stupid cat.
He carried her inside the cozy hunting box and gently placed her on the bed in the darkened room. The cat let out with a raspy meow, stretched and then cuddled back down against his mistress.
Desdein pulled off her shoes and unfolded the blanket over her. He noticed the shadows tingeing under her eyes. Reaching out, he lightly brushed the back of his hand against her cheek. A pressure built in his chest, regret he had to use Ashlyn in this manner. Inhaling to exorcise shards of scruples, he went to the outer quarters.
Putting a chunk of wood into the fireplace, Jacob looked up at Desdein in question.
Desdein glared at him as he removed his cape. Why did he have to have a valet determined to play his conscience? “Stop looking at me in that manner or I shall turn you out.”
“We go back too far, you and I.”
“Yes, we do. That’s why you shall do my bidding without question.”
“Take off that bloody mask. You’ll give her a fright.”
“Best I keep it on until she is ransomed.”
He crossed to the table and took up the quill, scratching out a note to send to Ashlyn’s father. He looked at the ring on his index finger. His father’s seal. Taking up the taper, he dripped it on the flap to close it, then pressed the ring into the black wax. The time had come to let Kildorne know a ghost had arisen to haunt him.
“Take this to your contact.” He tossed him a gold coin. “See he delivers it this night. I shall return the Lady Ashlyn unharmed to her adoring father as soon as Jeremy is set free. If he tarries past sunrise, I will return her well used. If he still has not met my terms by sunset, I shall kill her and leave her body on his doorstep.”
Jacob looked down at the missive in his hand, then into Desdein’s eyes. “You ain’t going to really do those things to the lass, are you?”
Desdein didn’t hesitate. “I shall do what it takes to see this matter at end. Now go. Time wastes.”
Jacob nodded sadly and shuffled out the doo
r.
***
Desdein stood staring into the fire, contemplating his actions. He felt a presence, then glanced down at his feet. That mangy cat curled around his ankle, rubbing. Irritated, for reasons he couldn’t enumerate, he did his best to pretend the cat wasn’t scratching his chin against his boot.
Cyril didn’t take a hint.
Exhaling disgust, he leaned over to pet the cat. The beast began a raspy noise, which he took to be purring. “Worthless puss.”
As he looked up, his eyes were drawn to the dim bedroom. Ashlyn lay on her side and was wide awake. From the unblinking stare, he knew she’d heard him say he’d kill her if Jeremy wasn’t released.
Those grey eyes always seemed to have the ability to strip away the mask he wore, to reach into him. Why he’d kept his distance from her at the balls. Somehow, he’d always felt her stare and would look up to find Ashlyn watching him with hungry eyes. Those times, when their eyes locked, he’d found it hard to look away.
Once again, she held him spellbound with their witch’s power. He couldn’t even draw air.
The cat jumped up on his hind legs, trying to gain Desdein’s attention. Silly thing nearly fell over he was so wobbly. Giving his head a shake, he picked up the feline and laid him across his arm. Running his other hand down the kitty’s spine, he strode into the room.
“I believe this is yours,” he said, but didn’t return the cat to her arms, just stood stroking him as he studied her.
She sat up, pulling the blanket around her like a ruana as if cold. “I am sorry.”
Perplexed, his brow lifted. “For what, demoiselle?”
“You think to ransom me for someone called Jeremy?” At length, she smiled sadly. “It shan’t work. I hold little value for my father.”
Desdein’s breathing slowed as a mix of emotions hit him. He assumed she lied, most people would under the circumstances. Her eyes said otherwise. A predator’s stillness spread through him. Fear unfurled as he worried he’d miscalculated. Deeply. A blunder that could cost Jeremy his life.
What father wouldn’t go to any lengths to protect his precious daughter? He wouldn’t have thought even Kildorne could be that low. He was getting a sense that Lady Ashlyn was a sad lass and not aware of her true value.
Blue Moon Enchantment (Once In A Blue Moon Series) Page 21