Lord Wastrel
Page 18
Marisa glanced over her shoulder at Bernard, reading the unspoken warning in his expression. His mouth was pursed with annoyance rather than fear, so she dismissed his silent reprimand. She would not be dissuaded from her purpose.
“I should so hate to be deprived of her company,” the highwayman said, his lips turned down in a mock pout. He kept her small hands in his, the twinkle in his eyes demonstrating he felt no urgency to release her. Marisa was in no hurry either.
“I can scarce imagine you stopped our carriage merely to clasp my hands.”
The highwayman smiled, bringing a great deal of bliss to Marisa’s heart when his dimple reappeared. He touched one of her errant blonde curls, seemingly enchanted as he twirled it around a gloved finger. Marisa felt her heart speed up once more, and she was grateful the cool night air soothed the heat threatening to overtake her body.
“Had I but known what a jewel resided in this coach,” the highwayman replied, his voice a caress.
Bernard coughed, but before Marisa could investigate, the highwayman captured her full attention again.
“Perhaps I should receive a small boon in return for my heroic deed,” he suggested.
Before she could respond, he turned her hand over, exposing the pale skin of her wrist above the kid glove. He raised it to his lips with infinite slowness.
Marisa’s knees trembled, but she had yet to swoon in her short life. She did not intend to do so now, lest she miss the heady experience of being kissed by a knight of the road.
His eyes never left hers, daring her to call a halt to his audacious act. She returned his gaze, her breathing ragged, her feverish skin impatient for his touch. When his lips finally brushed against her, she closed her eyes and allowed the exhilaration to wash over her.
Why had she not been forced to wed a man such as this one? There would be no need for defiance or escape plots if her father had decreed this man was to be her husband.
A horse nickered in the background, diverting the highwayman’s attention, ending the kiss much too soon for Marisa’s taste. Her eyes fluttered open, and she ached to return to that delicious moment of pure sensation.
Bernard stepped forward to retrieve her, but a rogue with unruly red hair waved him back with a large pistol. Her brother frowned, unhappy at being bested by a young man whose menacing glare was accompanied by a rash of freckles.
Marisa turned to hide her smile, but the highwayman saw it and he chuckled.
“You have distracted me from my original purpose, angel.” He brushed her hand with a quick kiss before releasing it.
“You have done the same to me,” she replied.
“Indeed? And how might I serve your purposes?”
“Poppet,” Bernard growled. He shot her another warning glance, but she ignored it as before. He had left her with no option, despite her repeated pleas. Marisa’s future was not the only one at stake.
“I am to wed Lord—”
“Here,” Bernard said in a rush, reaching inside his greatcoat. “Take these. They are all we have in the way of valuables.” He extended a jewel case toward the highwayman. “You may have these so long as we are free to resume our journey.”
Marisa gaped at her brother. He was a younger son, one of many in her large family, and not likely to possess jewels of any kind. The majority of his meager allowance was spent on ensuring he was in the first stare of fashion. How had he—
Realization knocked the air from her chest. Bernard could have utilized the jewels to finance a very comfortable life for both of them, preventing her upcoming nuptials. Yet clearly he had not been motivated to do so. His betrayal stung, for he had allied himself with Father, even knowing how desperately she needed his help.
The highwayman grasped the case and opened it. He stepped back a pace, his eyes wide. Surely jewels and jewelry cases were the norm, indeed, the raison d’etre, for a man who robbed the king’s highways each night. Yet this man appeared as astonished by their presence as Marisa had been.
The rogue guarding Bernard raced to the highwayman’s side, eager to view the treasure. Bernard clutched Marisa’s arm, and pulled her toward the carriage. She twisted away from him, dragging her heels, determined to depart with the highwayman. He was her only remaining chance at freedom. She had to find her way back to London, before it was too late.
She curved away from her brother, but he was too quick. He tightened his grip and hurried her to their equipage, determined to leave before Marisa divulged her valuable status.
Marisa glanced back at her erstwhile rescuer, but he was transfixed by the jewel case in his hands. She opened her mouth to call to him, but Bernard propelled her into the coach, slamming the door behind them. The coachman slapped the reins against the mounts, eager to make up for the time lost during their misadventure. Perhaps the horses sensed the driver’s fright, for the carriage bolted down the highway, leaning precariously to one side.
Marisa spied the highwayman in the coach’s path ahead of them, oblivious to the danger speeding toward him. She swallowed her scream. Was this part of her dire future too? Not only must she wed a man she feared, she must also witness the destruction of this cavalier, the embodiment of her romantic dreams.
In the next instant, the red-haired brigand grasped the highwayman’s cape and dragged him to safety.
Marisa’s heart fell back into place, resuming a somewhat normal rhythm, though it would be a while before the pangs of disappointment subsided.
Yet another failed attempt at escape.
At least the knight errant was in no further danger. He would live to steal kisses from another impressionable miss one day. Perhaps, if she were lucky, he would include their midnight tryst in his memoirs, when he was in his dotage, recalling the stirring adventures of his youth.
She peered out the side glass once more, craving a final look at the dashing highwayman as they raced past. Their hasty departure twisted the covering on the carriage door, exposing Lord Westbrook’s crest. The highwayman’s eyes lit up with instant recognition. He looked up at Marisa, and his lips curved into the most delicious smile.
A heartbeat later, the darkness erased him from her sight. Marisa was once more racing to Westbrook Hall, certain she had imagined the entire escapade. She wiped away a tear before Bernard could see her in a rare weak moment, and report on it to their father.
Why had the Fates dangled the hope of escape in front of her, only to wrench it away in such a cruel, heartless fashion?
Table of Contents
Lord Wastrel
Dedication
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
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
About the Author
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Excerpt from Lord Midnight