“Yes, Mother.”
“Elizabet.”
She glanced back at her mother.
“I am truly glad you are home.”
Elizabet smiled, warmth spreading through her at her mother’s words, despite the ache in her heart left by her highwayman. “I am too.”
…
John tossed back another whisky and snatched his wig from his head.
“Take care with that, aye?” Philip said, picking it up and placing it on the head form on the table. “We don’t have time to repair it before the ball.”
“Good. I hate wearing the thing.”
Philip raised an eyebrow, and John sighed. “Sorry, Philip. I’m out of sorts today.”
“And every day since ye let the Lady Elizabet go,” Philip muttered.
John’s gaze shot to Philip’s. “She has nothing to do with it. I’m merely preoccupied with figuring out a way to prove what that bastard Campbell and Lord Dawsey are up to. Three more bodies were fished from the Thames last night, did ye hear? People who Will tells me had been seen with Fergus earlier in the day and who own an inn that Dawsey is known to frequent. That canna be a coincidence. We must discover the evidence we need to bring them to justice. For all the innocents they’ve hurt,” he said, his voice growing gruff at the memory of his brother.
“Aye. Agreed. But that’s no cause for the snit ye’ve been in these past weeks.”
John ignored him and downed another slug of whisky.
Philip shook his head. “It’s no’ a weakness to admit ye have feelings for the lass.”
John’s jaw clenched, but finally he shook his head. “Aye, it is. She’s Dawsey’s daughter. If it werena bad enough that the man is a liar, thief, and traitor to his king, he’s had me watched day and night since we returned to London. I dinna ken why. I must ha’ done something to raise his suspicions. Or perhaps it’s only my name. If he’s working with Fergus, they may be planning to pin the highwayman’s deeds on me, not even knowing that I am the highwayman, simply to harm a MacGregor. Gain the king’s favor by turning in a criminal and take down a MacGregor in one shot. They’d not care if it was the truth or not.”
“Though it is.”
“Aye, but they dinna ken that. Yet. One thing is certain, he’d like nothing so much as to see me fall. Feelings for his daughter would be…ill-advised.”
Philip snorted. “It’s my general position that feelings for any woman are ill-advised. Be that as it may, ye have them and ye need to deal with them so ye can keep yer wits about ye.”
John still wasn’t ready to admit anything, out loud at least. “What has any of this to do with tonight’s torture?”
“Because it’s the first time ye might see the lady since ye let her go. What if she recognizes ye and causes a scene?”
John’s heart jumped. A part of him, a very large part, hoped she would recognize him. He wanted her to know his true identity. The more rational part of him knew that would be a horrible idea. He’d worn a mask around her for a reason. One word to her father, even unintentionally, and he was done for. No. She could never know the truth.
“I dinna think she’ll recognize me. But I’ll keep my distance from her to be safe.”
Philip watched him carefully until John scowled.
“It would be a far sight easier to avoid her if we simply didna go tonight,” Philip said.
“Aye, but showing my smiling face around court as much as possible helps deflect the rumors. Nobody expects the Highland Highwayman to frequent balls and dance attendance on the king. The more I’m seen, the less suspicion is placed on me.”
Philip sighed. “Aye, I understand that. I just dinna like it.”
“That makes two of us.”
“I’d feel better about it all if I didna think ye were still nursing a bruised heart over the lass.”
John released an exasperated sigh. “How can I have a bruised heart? We spent only a few weeks together.”
“Time has got nothing to do with it. Everyone could see how the two of you were together. If circumstances had been different…”
“But they were not different,” John snapped. He took a deep breath and got himself under control. “I healed her, I brought her home. That is the end of it. I havena had any contact with her since, and I have no reason to believe she wants it any other way. It’s over. I took care to stay masked in her presence. Even if she were to see me, there’s no reason for her to connect the gentleman courtier with the highwayman who took her captive.”
“I pray you are right. Because one word from her is all it will take to sow the seeds of suspicion.”
John wasn’t all that sure Elizabet would say anything even if she did recognize him. She’d had her chance when the soldiers had descended in the cottage… She had feelings for him. He believed. Staking his life on it was a different matter, however.
“It will be fine, Philip.”
“Have a care, Cousin. That’s all I’m asking. Ye’ll never discover what Campbell is up to from the inside of a dungeon.”
“Aye, I ken that well. Dinna fash.”
Philip shook his head and grinned. “It’s too late for that,” he said, clapping him on the shoulder. “But I’ll try to keep it in check.”
John snorted. “That’s the best I’ll get, I suppose.” He grabbed the wig and stuck it back on his head. “Let’s get this over with.”
John had every intention of keeping his distance from Elizabet. If he even saw her. Her family had been keeping her well secluded since her return. A fact that, while not surprising, had still concerned him. Of course, they’d want to keep her close after her “ordeal.” Though he’d been taken aback at the nature of the rumors surrounding her sudden absence from court.
There hadn’t been one whisper of Dawsey’s run-in with the Highland Highwayman. That had been a surprise. He’d been certain Dawsey would be screaming about being robbed by the outlaw the second his runaway carriage had stopped. Instead, not a word about any of it.
Then again, perhaps it wasn’t too surprising. After all, if Dawsey mentioned the robbery, he’d also need to mention what was taken. And he probably didn’t want to advertise how much money he had, or that he had the habit of carrying it around in his carriage with him. If that were known, John and his men wouldn’t be the only band of thieves lying in wait for the man.
As for Elizabet’s disappearance, her family had blamed her absence on a lingering illness. The only whispers about the validity of that claim centered around whether she were truly ill, or off somewhere delivering an illegitimate child before returning to court to proclaim her virginal innocence to everyone. She certainly wouldn’t be the first young lady to go off and visit a distant relative for a time, only to return with a flatter belly.
The weight of guilt John carried lightened slightly at the knowledge that their adventure hadn’t irreparably harmed her reputation. Though a part of him mourned that fact. Now there were no impediments to her inevitable marriage.
Then he turned and saw her. Standing with another young woman, radiant in a sky-blue gown with a pale-yellow underskirt, laughing as her friend whispered something in her ear. He should leave. Turn his face. Lose himself in the crowd. Something, anything to keep her from seeing him. He hadn’t lied to Philip. He really didn’t think she’d recognize him. But if he had any wits left in his brain at all, he wouldn’t tempt fate.
Instead, he remained rooted to his spot, his eyes locked on her.
And then she looked up. Her gaze passed over him and darted back. Her brow creased, her head tilted ever so slightly to the side, as if she were working out a puzzle. She gave him a vague smile and went back to talking to her friend.
John gasped slightly at the unexpected pain that shot through his chest. She didn’t recognize him. That was good. Wonderful. Except for the sharp pain spiking through his shredded heart. Selfish pain he had no right to.
He moved slowly around the room, speaking with acquaintances, making small talk until
his head was ready to jump from his shoulders. And all the while, he kept his gaze firmly trained on Elizabet.
He knew he courted danger. Knew the foolish recklessness of his actions. And he didn’t care.
The mere sight of her again was worth any price.
Chapter Ten
Elizabet twitched her fan open, sending a faint breeze across her heated face. How she could be so thrilled and excited and yet so full of despair at the same time bemused her. A ball at the palace of Whitehall in London with the merry court of King Charles II would dazzle the most ardent critic. The fact that it might be the last ball she’d attend made the experience bittersweet.
Fergus apparently preferred to devote his energies on murder and mayhem rather than merriment. Or so she’d deduced when he’d informed her of his interest in restoring Rutherdale Hall and spending most of their time there. Had she not been aware of his smuggling operation and her estate’s role in his activities, she’d have been very confused by his interest in burying himself so far from the court. Keeping her tongue about it proved more difficult by the day.
The proximity of the estate to Jack’s hideout did console her somewhat. Though pointless and foolhardy, Elizabet couldn’t help but hope she might catch another glimpse of her highwayman someday. She missed his charming wit, his shameless flirting. Those intense eyes of his focused only on her. The touch of his hand, his lips. Oh, those lips! The strength of his arms about her, keeping her warm, safe.
The music swelled, and she watched the swish of the women’s skirts as they danced. She longed to be back on the dance floor herself, but any more exertion and she might make a complete disgrace of herself. She probably shouldn’t have had her maid lace her up quite so tight. But Mother had wanted her looking her best. For him. The man she’d soon be shackled to for the rest of her life. Though she doubted Fergus cared much what she looked like, so the effort seemed wasted.
Then again, as he’d failed to make an appearance she could enjoy herself for one more evening. And at least one man seemed to appreciate the efforts that had gone into her dress. Her eyes met his once again, and their icy-blue depths had her heart jumping in her chest. The man exuded a vitality that seemed to draw women to him like bees to a banquet. But he ignored all of them, his attention only on her.
“Alice,” she said, nudging her friend in the ribs.
Lady Alice Chivers, belle of nearly every ball they’d attended since they were old enough to lace up their first gowns, turned to her.
Elizabet held her fan high enough to hide her mouth as she spoke. “Who is that man over there?”
Alice looked with interest in the direction Elizabet indicated. “You mean the large one who fills out those breeches so well? That satin is no match for the strapping body it’s encasing, is it?” she asked with a giggle.
“Shh,” Elizabet warned, her eyes darting about for signs of her mother.
“Oh, have a little fun, Bess. You’ll have little enough of it once you’re wed, that’s for certain.”
Elizabet sighed. “That’s true enough.”
“Poor Bess.” Alice wrapped her arm around Elizabet’s waist and hugged her, her perfect auburn ringlets tickling Elizabet’s face. “You must be optimistic. Mr. Ramsay seems the sort to live dangerously, take risks. Perhaps one day he’ll take one too many. And then you’ll be a rich widow, free to do whatever you please.”
“Alice!” Elizabet said, though she couldn’t hold back her laugh.
“Oh, you know you’ve thought it. And if you are too miserable in the meantime, perhaps a discreet dalliance with a sinfully handsome gentleman will cheer you.”
Alice nodded in the direction of the man Elizabet had indicated. “He certainly seems taken with you. I wouldn’t mind a bit of a distraction with him myself.”
Elizabet gaped at her, and Alice winked. “Devilishly handsome, isn’t he? And rumored to be richer than Croesus with several sizable holdings and laird of some godforsaken pile of rock in Scotland with a name I cannot pronounce. Lucky for us, he prefers his English roots and stays mainly with the court. Very good friends with the king, though not one to flaunt it. Too bad your parents couldn’t have made you a match with him.”
Elizabet sighed. “Like most eligible men in court, he’d have expected a decent dowry and a wife without a hint of scandal to her name. Which, apparently, after my ‘outing in the woods with a known criminal’ and mysterious absence from court for two months afterward, is not me. According to my father, Mr. Ramsay was the only man of any substance willing to take me without one. He’s gained enough wealth from somewhere that he’s not too concerned with accumulating more. What he still hasn’t managed to get is a son. The only thing he’s interested in is a new wife young enough to get an heir on and pretty enough to make the deed enjoyable.”
“Your father told you that?” Alice asked, horrified.
Elizabet nodded. “Nearly verbatim.”
Alice’s eyes flashed with fury. “It’s too bad the Highland Highwayman is such a gentleman. Your father certainly deserves a harsher lesson.”
She released an exasperated breath and nodded at the blond gentleman who was now staring at them with a slight frown. Perhaps Alice’s anger had piqued his curiosity.
“That is Laird MacGregor,” Alice said.
Elizabet’s head jerked up. MacGregor?
“Ah, and it looks as though he’s curious about you as well.”
But before Elizabet could respond, MacGregor stood before them. He politely greeted Alice and then turned his full attention upon Elizabet. She gazed up the long, muscular length of him, her eyes finally meeting his. He bowed his head, his gaze hidden from her briefly.
He dressed as most of the men at court. Silk hose and knee breeches covered legs that looked as strong as tree trunks. His waistcoat, shirt, and elaborate coat were of the finest material, embroidered and embellished until they gleamed under the light of the chandeliers. His curled wig lay over his shoulders, but there was no hint of powder or rouge on his face. Against fashion, maybe. But it suited him. Even in his finery, he managed to look rugged. Dangerous.
Familiar.
She blinked, her cheeks reddening, but she couldn’t look away. Something in the depths of those bright-blue eyes hinted at a power barely restrained. He turned that piercing gaze of his to Alice and bowed politely, tipping his hat. “Good evening, Lady Alice. I trust ye are well.”
Alice curtsied, snapping open her fan with a practiced flick of her wrist. “I am indeed, my lord. Allow me to present a dear friend of mine, Lady Elizabet Harding, daughter of Lord Dawsey.”
He focused his attention back on Elizabet. She gave him a shallow curtsy, not sure her knees would hold her if she tried anything deeper.
“Good evening, my lady,” he said, his cultured voice flowing through her like molten gold.
That voice…she knew that voice…
He took her hand, bringing it to his lips to press a lingering kiss to its back. His thumb rubbed across her knuckles. Each stroke sent tiny embers swirling through her veins, igniting a heat inside her she’d known before with only one man.
Alice grinned and turned to speak to another gentleman at her side, her presence apparently no longer necessary now that she’d satisfied custom and acquainted them with each other.
“May I say how beautiful ye look this evening, Lady Elizabet?”
The echo of his deep, Scottish brogue rang through her ears. She’d been replaying every moment of her time with her enthralling highwayman over and over in her mind since it had happened. She hadn’t been able to forget him. Damn him. She’d never forget that voice. It haunted her dreams, chased her every waking hour. Turned her into a fanciful, scatterbrained chit who wanted nothing more than to hear her name on those honeyed lips again.
And now she had. She didn’t have a shred of doubt. The way he said it, with the same inflection, as if he were savoring every syllable on his tongue.
Jack.
She met his gaz
e again. Those eyes. They were the same eyes that had stared at her so many times. The same eyes that had watched her from behind a worn leather mask. Deep pools of dangerous secrets that tempted her to all manner of folly. Oh, it had been difficult to see their exact hue under the shadow of the mask. But the shape of them, the way they moved when he spoke, couldn’t be hidden.
She froze, her body tightening, envisioning those eyes behind a mask, not framed by a long, curled wig and bejeweled linens. An emotion she couldn’t name flashed across his features, so quickly she might have imagined it. One thing was certain, though. She recognized him. Knew him. And he knew it.
Other than that fleeting look, however, he showed no indication that they’d ever spoken before, let alone touched. Kissed. Slept in each other’s arms. He gazed down at her and spouted off some more nonsense in that accented and oh-so-deep voice of his. He took her hand, giving it another light kiss. Elizabet squeezed her hand tighter before she could stop herself.
“I had thought to take a stroll around the gardens. Would ye care to join me?” he asked, his eyes daring her to accept.
Two could play his game. “We’ve only just met, my lord. I’m not certain my mother would approve.”
“What objection could she make? The proper introduction has been made. I’m merely requesting yer delightful company for a turn around the gardens, that I’m certain are well populated, as it’s so warm in here.”
She fanned herself a little harder, completely agreeing with him on that point. She wanted to go, very much. But the last thing she wanted was either of her parents spotting her with him. They would bring trouble to him for lesser infractions than speaking with her in the gardens.
“Come,” he coaxed. “We can even stay within sight of the terrace, if strolling alone with me frightens ye.”
Her lips tightened. “I am not afraid of you, my lord. I simply don’t make it a habit to go traipsing off with every gentleman who asks. I’m a bit more discerning than that.”
“Och, of that I have nay doubt, my lady. It wouldna do to associate with any poor rabble who would be too far beneath ye, after all.”
How to Ensnare a Highlander Page 11