The Highwayman's Bride

by Beckenham Jane

  “No? Do you deny me rest, sweet Tess?” He moved from the fire, taking two steps closer to her.

  “I thought you were going out on the road again.”

  Aiden cocked one brow. “Trying to get rid of me again? Shame, since we were interrupted earlier.”

  “Just as well.”

  “Really? And here I was thinking you were as intrigued by our kiss as I was. Perhaps we should continue where we left off.” He wanted to. Desperately.

  A croak gurgled up her throat and her cheeks turned a rather becoming shade of pink. “I think the hours in the cold have addled your brain, my lord.”

  Aiden laughed. “So it is just as well I’m heading for a warm bed, isn’t it?” He held his hand out to her, witnessed her hesitation. “I don’t bite, Tess.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Quite. I might kiss you, however.”

  Tess ignored his hand and with a swish of her skirts, sidestepped him. At the door, she halted and glared at him over her shoulder. “That is not going to happen again. This marriage is for appearances’ sake only, something you need remember.”

  “Easily remedied.”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  “Ah, but I think that is your problem, is it not?” he said. He closed the distance between them. “You may not want to admit it, but you like my kisses, in fact, I would be so bold as to say you want me to kiss you again. Now, even.”

  The wash of wariness flitted across her eyes. “You’re wrong. I will not let you seduce me for your own pleasure, Aiden.”

  “Pleasure, hmm. Very definitely.” The thought made him smile and his arousal grew ever tighter. “And what about your pleasure? I can pleasure you so you will want no other.”

  A gurgled tumble of laughter burst from her chest, surprising and delighting him at the same time. He enjoyed this about his sweet Tess. The banter. The parry of words, almost foreplay of what he hoped would come soon.

  “You are a braggart, my lord.”

  “Do you not believe me? Perhaps I can convince you.”

  “I am not a challenge, or someone to amuse yourself with.”

  His smile faded a fraction. “No. You are not. You are my wife, Tess.”

  “In name only, which was exactly what you agreed to.” She stepped out of the room and strode toward the staircase.

  Aiden followed. “You left me with no choice, sweet Tess.”

  She shot him a baleful glare and her delectable mouth pursed. Oh yes, he definitely wanted to kiss her. More than once.

  “One could suggest this is the consequence of your criminal lifestyle.”

  “Don’t expect to get it all your own way,” he said as she continued upstairs. She reached the top and her gaze, the color of spring grass, meshed with his. Something in his chest tightened.

  His wife challenged him in more ways than he understood or wanted to consider, but for now it suited him to let her continue on this path.

  With a stiff bow, he left Tess to prepare for bed. He needed a drink—preferably a large one, but as the hour progressed, the insistent call for him to climb the stairs proved impossible to ignore any longer.

  He needed sleep desperately. Too many hours chasing Nash and constantly missing him by mere minutes frustrated the hell out of him.

  Suspicions clambered inside his tired brain.

  Tess. Gibbs. Nash. All linked by one factor. Aiden’s guilt. Guilt that he’d left Tess to the wiles of her uncle. Guilt that he’d not been able to protect his sister from Nash. Always guilt.

  What he definitely knew was that he needed Tess, needed to lie next to her, hear her ruffled breathing, and seek solace in the tantalizing fragrance that was hers.

  Dear God, what was wrong with him? He downed the remnants of his drink in one gulp and scrubbed his fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp. He closed his eyes as if it would vanquish such thoughts. He could ill afford such musings.

  Lillian’s betrayal had taught him a brutal lesson about marital bliss. It simply did not exist. Her death, however, had left him to live with the consequences of her actions.

  Hauling his sorry arse out of the buttoned leather chair, he took the stairs to his chamber. About to open the door, he stilled a moment, wondering if Tess might have locked it.

  The door opened easily, however, and he exhaled a heavy breath. Why was it so important he sleep beside her? As she’d reminded him several times, their marriage was nothing but a farce.

  The moment he stepped across the threshold his gaze was drawn to her sleeping form. She hugged the bedcovers to her chest, her auburn hair unfurled in a ripple of waves down her back.

  On silent feet he walked over to the bedside and watched her gentle breathing. Her mouth was slightly apart, curved into a tiny smile.

  Aiden smiled back. He couldn’t help it. She filled him with an unknown joy—happiness he had not felt, or lived with, for a long time.

  Divesting himself of his clothes, he lifted the bedcovers and slipped into bed.

  A fluttery sigh escaped her lips and she shuffled even closer to the middle of the bed.

  Every inch of Aiden fired alert. His cock throbbed with unquenched need and his skin prickled with awareness he knew could only be satisfied by her caress.

  Resting his hands beneath his head, he lay still and tried to ignore the sensual heat of the woman beside him. If only he could sleep.

  …

  A tickle across his bare chest woke him.

  Tess lay with her legs entangled with his, her head resting on his shoulder, and the silken fall of her hair cascading over them both. Though asleep, she draped a hand across his middle, toying with his left nipple, awakening him fully.

  Aiden gritted his teeth, intent on resisting, while Tess continued her exploration, down each rib and then back up. She hesitated as her fingertips found the scar across his shoulder. It was only a brief respite, then her trawl across his body resumed, a ruffled breath teasing his cheek.

  Dear God, how he wanted her. To fill her.

  Leaning down, he kissed the curve of her jaw, then dotted teasing kisses to the point of her chin.

  And still she did not wake.

  Aiden was not certain whether that was a good thing—or bad. That he could not wake his wife with a kiss was definitely something that needed remedying.

  He kissed her mouth and a sigh fluttered from her to him. He drank her in fully, the taste of her, the beauty of her mouth beneath his. Her lips parted, offering him more. He took it. Wanted it all.

  She arched into him, her breasts scraping against his chest, her flimsy nightgown no barrier.

  That action broke his resistance.

  He cupped one breast through her nightgown, teasing the nipple. It hardened at his touch.

  “Kiss me.”

  Her request was whispered, but thundered in his ears, and resistance proved impossible.

  Tangling his fingers in her glorious hair, he sought the sweet, moist recess of her mouth, his tongue entwined with hers.

  He was lost. Totally and utterly.

  The sudden resonance of hoofbeats thundering over frozen earth echoed from outside. Aiden stilled.

  His body willed him to remain where he was and keep kissing Tess, but approaching horses in the middle of the night meant nothing good.

  Duty would always override desire and with deep reluctance he tossed back the covers and climbed out of bed.

  Over by the window he drew back the curtain and peered out into darkness. Two riders, one carrying a flaming torch, had reined in by the stables.

  “Who is it?” His wife’s sleepy voice reached him.

  “’Tis nothing. Go back to sleep.”

  “You’re naked!” Her unexpected screech burst through the silence and she bolted upright.

  “And you, my love, could wake up the dead.”

  Tess yanked up the bedcovers in an effort to cover her face, failed, and clasped her hands instead across her eyes. “You—it was you kissing me.”

/>   Still aroused, Aiden’s body reacted, knowing his wife looked at him. “Unless you have another husband I don’t know about.”

  “I was asleep,” she accused.

  “Such sweet dreams. It was your teasing caress that woke me, your mouth kissing me back.”

  “I did not.”

  “You did,” he countered easily.

  Her fingers splayed slightly and Aiden smiled. His wife wanted to look at his nakedness but thought she shouldn’t. “While I would like to carry on our conversation, and even more to continue our assignation, unfortunately I need to see who is here.” He reached for his trousers, reluctance still foremost, but knew he must end this delightful entanglement now.

  “So you go out again.”

  He did, and for the first time he did not want to. Not if it meant leaving her side. Her kisses.

  “It seems so. Whatever lustful thoughts you may have toward me must be delayed.”

  “Lustful! I did not, do not, lust after you.”

  “Lustful it was,” he reiterated as he buttoned up the jacket he knew would barely ward off the freeze of winter when he ventured outside.

  Boots on, he reached inside his wardrobe and gathered two pistols, tucking them into his belt. Closing the distance between them, he bent down to where she still sat abed. “Lustful and enticing it was, but still I must go.” He pulled her into his arms, his mouth covering hers in a kiss that left them both breathless.

  He released her and walked to the door, closing it as her shout reached him.

  “I was not lustful.”

  Aiden smiled. Oh, yes she was. And the depth of the joy he felt because of that surprising realization was undeniably intense.

  Chapter Eleven

  A hunting we will go

  Heigh ho the dairy-o, a hunting we will go

  But wait—who is the hunter?

  And who is the hunted?

  Mirabelle’s Musings

  December 1813

  As the days passed and the nights tested her resolve, an overwhelming wash of emptiness enveloped Tess. She craved the warmth and touch of the man who had lain next to her.

  She was lonely. Lonely for contact with him. Lonely for a deep and soul-filled understanding. And lonely for even just a moment. A kiss. A touch. Her heart ached for those moments. Wanted more.

  But what about her plans? About moving on?

  Tess wasn’t sure anymore, and so determined she would keep her distance—until—until she didn’t know what. Just that it had to be easier this way—surely?

  The adage “beware of what you wish for” proved a constant taunt. She had wished to escape from a forced marriage—and succeeded, only to find herself locked in a marriage of her choosing.

  It should have been enough and yet her plans to leave seemed to be dissolving around her. Any time she made an enquiry about a governess’s position, the moment she mentioned her name it was as if she hit a roadblock.

  Stowing away such unsettling thoughts, Tess cut across the low-lying river’s edge on her daily walk, tugging her bonnet forward to ward off the icy wind.

  Usually on her ramblings she saw no one. However, today she spied a stooped figure standing over a small fire.

  Ignoring the churning warning in her gut, Tess made for the stranger. As she neared, the person looked up. It was a woman.

  “Hello. Do you mind if I garner some warmth from your fire for a moment?”

  Dressed in a ragtag assortment of men’s clothing, the woman gestured toward the fire. Tess stepped closer and held her hands out to the heat, relishing it as warmth seeped back into her bones.

  With a face gnarled by time, her body skin and bone, the old woman leaned on a branch fashioned into a makeshift staff. “You wander these paths many a time,” she croaked.

  “You’ve seen me?”

  “Aye, ’tis known Lord Charnley’s new wife wanders.”

  Tess glanced at the woman. “It’s that…I’m lonely,” she answered with honesty. “Oh, I spend my hours with Alexander and Mary. We play games, and take walks, but—”

  “You are unhappy?”

  “No, not really.” But she needed to leave, because the longer she stayed, the more she missed Aiden, which was not a good thing.

  “You are newly wed and should be in the world of bliss. Unless he beats you.”

  Horror spawned instant denial. “No. No. He does not, but he…he travels a lot.”

  The woman’s mouth thinned, the lines on her face deepening as if they were ruts in the worst of roads. “Aye, his lordship is troubled. That man is scurrilous. He has the heart and fist of the devil.”

  The swirl of nausea churned in her gut. Aiden? “No, you’re wrong, my husband is…”

  The woman’s gaze lifted from the intensity of the flame and offered a toothless grin that lit her face. Though seemingly aged beyond Methuselah, there was a serene beauty about her that surpassed the filthy clothes and the face that had witnessed an arduous life.

  “Nay, not him, the one he hunts.”

  Confusion held Tess captive. “Hunts? Who? What are you talking about?”

  The woman emitted a guttural croak of laughter, saliva trailing from weathered lips down her chin. She wiped it off with the back of her hand and rubbed her nose along her sleeve. “Do you know what they call me?”

  Tess shook her head. “You are well-known then?”

  “Aye, everyone knows me,” she said, still smiling, and Tess detected a sense of pride. “They call me the witch.”

  Eyes the color of pitch narrowed and for the first time since they’d begun their conversation a tiny frisson of fear sprinted the length of Tess’s spine. She shook it off.

  “And are you?”

  “Many a word I utter has come true.”

  “So you are a prophetess.”

  “Could be,” she chuckled. She shuffled a few steps closer. “You are not afraid?”

  “Why should I be?” Tess countered, steeling herself against the woman’s rancid breath.

  “Many are. Many do not walk this path for fear of my words.”

  “Surely they are foolish to be afraid. Words are simply words.”

  “If you believe that, perhaps it is you who are foolish. Words can make or break a man…or woman. You, Lady Charnley, should heed my words.”

  Something festered inside Tess, a warning to tread carefully. “Me? You do not know me.”

  “Nay, I do not, but I know your husband and there is danger afoot.”

  Fear ignited in the pit of her stomach. “Aiden? What of him?”

  “’Tis a journey he is on, one of redemption, but guilt is insidious and there is no satisfaction in death, only an end, and,” she said with a toothless smile, “a beginning. But beware of the icy cold of England this year for it could bring death, but then it could also bring love.”

  Love! Love did not enter her marriage.

  “You are talking in riddles,” Tess accused, deciding she needed to leave this woman to her ramblings.

  “Aye, ’tis my way.”

  But Tess couldn’t leave. Her desire to understand overtaking common sense. “What do you mean?”

  “That my dear, sweet Tess, you will have to decipher yourself. I can only utter what God in his grace has put in my head.”

  Sweet Tess. Aiden’s endearment.

  The woman was mad. And yet…

  “You talk to God?”

  “From where else do you think my wisdom comes?” The woman pushed herself up on the crudely carved staff, straightening her clothing as if the garments were from the finest tailors. “I cannot help you any further, m’lady. You must make your own way, and your own decisions.” She kicked out at the fire and the embers subsided to a smothered patch of gray ash. “Go home, but keep vigilant, for all is not as it seems.”

  With a curt nod, and about to turn, the self-proclaimed witch hesitated, rummaging in the torn pocket of her jacket. She held out her gloved hand to Tess, fingers unfurling to display a single withered
snowdrop flower in her palm. “Take this,” she said nodding to the long dead bloom. “Hold it close and remember my words, think of them when you clasp the bloom, for if you do not heed my words, those you love dearest could be knocking at the pearly gates, or the door to the fires below.”

  She shoved her hand forward and Tess eyed the once beautiful, tiny flower and then lifted her gaze to the witch.

  “Take it. You will need it.”

  Uncertain why she simply didn’t refuse and walk away, Tess picked the lifeless flower from the outstretched hand and clutched it to her chest. Suddenly it seemed very important she not let it go.

  “You are not a stupid child, you have already proven you have the wits to escape,” she said.

  Shock scored deep. “You know?”

  “I know many things. I see it in your eyes. Yet there are some things you have not discovered, or perhaps it is that you have not admitted their truth.”

  “Truth? What are you talking about?”

  “In time. In time.” With a chuckle, the old woman bent down to gather up her sack. She pulled the rope that held it closed and drew it across her shoulder. “Ye are curious. ’Tis a good thing. It makes us question what we do not understand. But do not fret, for in time, all will be revealed. First, ye must believe.”

  Relying heavily on her staff, the woman hobbled off, leaving Tess with a tumble of unanswered questions crowding her brain.

  Believe.

  “Stop! Please stop.” Tess stumbled after the witch. “Where are you going? How can I find you?”

  Only a few yards ahead, the woman halted and turned. Hunched over, she fixed her rheumy eyes on Tess, staring as if she looked deep into Tess’s soul. Knew everything. Understood. “Do not worry,” she said, “everything will be all right.”

  “But you warned me about danger, about death.”

  “So you do believe. That is good. Never fear, for you will fathom my words…eventually.”

  An urgency spurred Tess on. She needed to know everything. Help Aiden. Save him. “Is it…imminent, this death?” Nausea swirled in her gut at even mentioning the possibility, a raw panic clawing along her spine.

  The witch’s frail shoulders shrugged. “Who knows?”

  “But you uttered a warning. Do you not know when?”