At the Highwayman's Pleasure

by Sarah Mallory

  ‘Betty, love, pray leave that and take a note out to the audience for me.’ She pulled a piece of paper towards her and picked up a pencil. There was no time to hunt around for pen and ink. ‘You will find Mr Durden in the theatre. Do you not know him? He is a tall gentleman, plainly dressed, and he wears his own hair, dark and naturally curling. Rather unruly, in fact.’ Had she said too much? ‘Seek him out, if you please, and make sure he gets this note.’

  ‘Now, madam—!’

  ‘Do not argue, Betty, there is no time—there is my call. I must go on stage.’ Charity folded the note and handed it to her maid. ‘Do this for me, dearest Betty, and I shall be for ever in your debt!’

  * * *

  The cheers and whoops of appreciation rang around the theatre. Charity made her curtsy, saluted Will, her leading man, then turned again to face the audience. She could not help herself, she peered into the pit. It was impossible to see clearly past the flaring limelight, but she remembered roughly where she had seen Ross, so she concentrated on that area. Surely it was his tall figure she could see at the end of one of the benches? She sank down into another curtsy and as she rose she pressed her hands to her lips, then extended them towards the darkness—and the place she believed Ross to be sitting.

  There, she had done what she could to convey to him how much she wanted to see him. Will and the other actors were milling around on the stage behind the curtain. She stopped momentarily to congratulate them, then returned to her dressing room, immediately demanding of Betty if her note had been delivered.

  ‘Aye, ma’am, I gave it him, but he looked so fierce when I spoke to him that I fear he was offended.’

  ‘Then you must go and look out for him,’ said Charity, pushing her towards the door. ‘Bring him here directly and do not let Elias Smudgeon turn him away!’

  ‘But what about your dress? You cannot get out of it alone—’

  ‘You shall help me later. It is important that you find Mr Durden before he leaves the theatre.’ She hustled Betty out of the door and shut it behind her, uttering up a prayer that Ross would not go home without seeing her.

  I only want to ask him what Phineas suggested to him, she argued as she removed her headdress and wiped the heavy make-up from her face. There is nothing wanton or lustful about that. I merely need to know what my father is up to.

  She brushed out her hair, trying not to think of the passing time, desperately hoping that he would not refuse to see her. At last she was rewarded by the sound of footsteps in the corridor. She snatched open the door and almost sighed with relief when she saw Ross standing there. He filled the doorway, his eyes glittering with a fierce light that burned into her.

  ‘I was afraid you would not come.’ She reached out and caught his hand, drawing him into the room.

  ‘I should not have done so.’

  Charity barely registered the curt tone, thinking only how much she had longed to hear his voice. Her eyes scanned his face, noting the clenched jaw, the tensed muscles around his mouth. His whole being radiated tightly controlled energy like a wild animal ready to spring. With the open door behind him she feared he might even now leave her. She was still holding his hand and with great daring she raised it to her lips.

  ‘I have looked out for you every night—’

  She heard him groan, felt the slight movement as he kicked the door shut.

  ‘You should have looked in vain!’ He dragged her into his arms. With a sob she turned her face up, inviting his kiss. ‘Oh, my dear, golden girl,’ he muttered as he covered her face with kisses. ‘Did you know you were looking directly at me at the end of the play, when you blew that kiss into the audience?’

  ‘I was not sure, but I hoped—’

  Her breathless words were cut short as he kissed her again. He drove his hands into her hair, holding her firmly while he took her mouth and plundered it savagely. She responded with equal fervour, instinctively following his lead, tangling her tongue with his as her bones liquefied and the pent-up desire flowed through every part of her body. His hands roved over her, sliding down her back and over the soft swell of her buttocks to pull her closer. The gold tissue of her gown was lined with silk, but now it grated against her skin. Her breasts felt heavy and swollen, aching for his caress.

  ‘No.’ He forced out the word and raised his head. ‘This is madness. Dangerous madness. For God’s sake, send me away now, sweetheart, before it is too late.’

  She almost cried, bereft when he held her away from him. He was grasping her shoulders and she leaned her cheek against one hand, saying with a sigh, ‘Oh, my dear, it is already too late for me.’

  Keeping his gaze firmly upon her, he reached behind him and turned the key in the lock.

  ‘If you are sure?’

  She ran her tongue over her lips. They were swollen from his onslaught, but yearning for more. Whatever happened, if she never saw him again, she wanted this.

  She said slowly, ‘I have never been more certain of anything in my life.’

  Her heart soared at the leap of triumph in his glance. He swooped down upon her again and she closed her eyes, felt his tongue slide like silk between her lips, his hands pushing the flimsy gown from her shoulders. There were no stays beneath, but the costume was shaped to cover her breasts like a skin and when it resisted his attempts to release her he ruthlessly tore the gold tissue away. Even as it shimmered to the ground he was lifting her out of it, carrying her to the daybed where he lay her gently down and fell to his knees beside her. Charity watched his face as he regarded her nakedness, exhilarated by the wonder in his eyes. He reached out to run his hands over her body, cupping her breasts, his thumbs circling the hard peaks until they were aching almost painfully. She arched against his hands and reached for him, trying to tear off his clothes. He released her just long enough to undress, then measured his length against hers on the narrow bed.

  Shivering with anticipation, she held him and began to press eager if inexpert kisses upon his smooth, taut skin. He continued to caress her and when his gently questing hand slid to the join of her thighs she fell back with a gasp. His fingers moved into the satin softness and he stroked her slowly while his lips trailed over her face, across her throat then around to the delicate soft curl of her ear, and she almost swooned with the pleasure of the double onslaught upon her senses. Restlessly she moved beneath his touch, her body awakening to sensations she had never known existed. She began to run her own hands over the muscled contours of his body, revelling in the leashed power beneath her fingers. He shifted his position and began to kiss her mouth again, tangling his tongue with hers in a slow, sensuous dance that combined with his gentle, insistent caresses to carry her to new heights. She tensed, gasping as her muscles clenched around his fingers. She had no experience of such sensations, but her instinct was that there was something more, she wanted him joined with her, one flesh. She was burning, her body pliant and melting as he moved over her. She wrapped her legs around him and raised her hips. She wanted him to take her, to possess her completely. He slid into her, smooth and hard. She was so hot and slick that there was no pain and she cried out from the sheer joy of their union. He was moving inside her and she could feel the ripples of delight building. Without conscious thought she began to move with him as the wave of passion engulfed her. She was almost swooning when she heard his cry of triumph and delight and felt that final, hard thrust that sent her over the edge and falling, falling into oblivion.

  * * *

  Everything was quiet. From the lack of sound outside the dressing room Charity guessed that everyone had retired to the green room to celebrate the end of another successful run. Would they miss her? Perhaps, but she knew Betty would have noticed the locked door and hoped she would make her excuses. How long she had lain there in Ross’s arms she did not know and did not care, but it must have been some time, because she felt the f
irst chill of the air against her naked skin.

  She shifted her position slightly and Ross stirred. His arms tightened around her again and he began to cover her face with kisses.

  ‘It was madness to come here,’ he muttered. ‘I should have steered clear of Allingford, but I wanted to see you, just one more time.’

  She held him close and nibbled his ear.

  ‘If you had not come here, then I would have driven out to Wheelston. I had to see you.’

  ‘No!’ He raised himself on his elbows and frowned down at her. ‘You must stay away. If anyone should suspect—’

  ‘My father already does. Oh, he can prove nothing,’ she added quickly, seeing his frown.

  ‘Phineas Weston is a very dangerous man, Charity. You would be much safer if you went far away from here.’

  ‘That is exactly what he said—’

  ‘He’s been here?’

  ‘He came to my dressing room yesterday with his wife—’

  ‘Hannah!’ He rolled away and sat up. The chill suddenly seemed to enter Charity’s bones.

  ‘I beg your pardon, if it hurts you to hear of her—’

  ‘No.’ He turned back to her, cupping her face and gazing deep into her eyes. ‘She has proven herself too scheming and devious for me to regard her with anything but contempt. She and your father are well suited, but I would not have her come within a mile of you!’

  His concern warmed her and she thought for a moment he was going to kiss her again, but after a moment he moved away and began to dress. Stifling a sigh, she got up and reached for her wrap.

  ‘I think she only wants me to leave Allingford. Phineas cannot control the rumours—even people in Beringham are saying that I am his daughter, and he wants me out of the way....’

  Ross swung around, his black look alarming her. She recalled her father’s words as he was leaving, remembered belatedly that this was the reason she had asked to see him. She went to him.

  ‘Ross, he said you had rejected his plan. What plan? What did he say to you, at that last meeting?’

  He was not listening, his gaze fixed upon the daybed.

  ‘Is that...?’ He tore his eyes away from the dark, telltale stain on the couch and back to her face. ‘Charity, sweet heaven, don’t tell me that you are—were... That this was your first time.’

  She frowned at him.

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Does it—?’ He closed his eyes, his lips moving but whether it was a silent prayer or a curse she could not tell. He snatched up the rest of his clothes and began to throw them on. ‘You told me you were not profligate, but I never thought— Never dreamed—’

  ‘Ross.’

  He took her arms, his fingers digging into the skin, the look in his eyes almost savage.

  ‘Deflowering virgins is not something to be taken lightly.’

  ‘No, of course not—’

  He flung himself away and she watched, bewildered as he stood with his back to her, his shoulders heaving, as if in the throws of some deep emotion.

  ‘Don’t you realise I should marry you for this?’

  She blinked at the repugnance in his voice. It sliced into her like a knife and she clasped her hands together tightly in an effort to stop herself from shaking. He ran a hand across his eyes.

  ‘Do you not see how impossible this is? I cannot marry you, Charity.’

  She rubbed her temples. After the euphoria of their lovemaking, how had they come to this?

  ‘I have not asked it of you,’ she said quietly.

  He was almost dressed now and shrugging himself into his coat.

  ‘I must go—’

  She stepped in front of him and clutched his sleeves.

  ‘No. What are you thinking? How can you leave me, after...after what we have just done?’

  ‘Do not read too much into one tumble, my dear.’

  She flinched at his cold drawl, but would not release her hold.

  ‘No, I will not believe it meant so little to you.’ The closed, shuttered look came over his face and she gave him a little shake. ‘There is something you are not telling me, Ross. Have I not proven that you can trust me?’

  ‘And have I not proven that you cannot trust me?’ Gently but firmly he released himself from her grip. ‘I am an outcast, Charity. I am tolerated here, but nothing more. I am welcomed by one or two of the most charitable families, but if they knew of my unlawful activities—! I cannot ask any woman to share such a life. Believe me, you should remove yourself from Allingford, away from your father. Away from me.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Goodbye, Charity.’

  ‘Ross—’ She had to make one final attempt. She took a deep breath. ‘Ross, don’t go, please. I—I think I am in love with you.’

  Something blazed in his eyes: delight, triumph, wonder. If he said he did not care for her now she would not believe him. She waited, hoping he would take her in his arms again. Instead he gave her a look of such tender sadness that she knew he was going to walk away.

  ‘It will pass, my dear, believe me.’

  ‘But why should it pass? Why should we not—?’

  He put a finger on her lips.

  ‘Charity, I am not for you. I have nothing—less than nothing, for if Phineas discovers I am the Dark Rider I shall certainly hang and any connection between us would leave you in a most perilous position.’

  ‘Then give it up now! I have enough money for both of us—’

  ‘Do you think your father would rest if you married me? Hannah would make sure he did not! I cannot protect you from them, Charity. You need to find yourself a rich, powerful lover to keep you safe.’ He cupped her cheek, saying with a wry smile, ‘With your beauty it should not be difficult.’

  She wanted to tell him she did not want anyone else, but she knew he would not listen. She cursed that stubborn streak, even while she loved him for it.

  ‘Ross—’

  ‘No. I must go.’ He pulled her close and kissed her, hard, and while she was still recovering from the swooning power of that last embrace he left her.

  Chapter Nine

  Charity tossed and turned in her bed, going over and over that last meeting with Ross. After he had left the dressing room she had struggled not to cry. Betty had come in, her face and manner stiff with censure, but she had taken one look at her stricken mistress and held her peace. She had fussed around Charity like a mother hen, asking no questions and keeping up a flow of inconsequential chatter as she helped her mistress to dress and escorted her to the little house in North Street. Charity had retired immediately, pleading a headache, but her bed had not been the sanctuary she had hoped and now she lay, dry-eyed, staring into the darkness.

  She did not regret giving herself to Ross. It had been her choice, her decision. She was no young debutante to be ruined by it. She had money of her own and even if a child should result from that one, glorious coupling it would be a child born of love and her money would ensure it did not suffer, even if Ross would not marry her.

  She shifted uncomfortably, remembering the finality of that last kiss. She could not believe Ross had meant to hurt her. The brutal manner of his leaving had something to do with her father, she was sure of it. Something to do with the kidnap. What plan had Phineas suggested to Ross, and why would he not tell her?

  * * *

  She rose at her usual hour, little rested, but determined to find out the truth. While she breakfasted a message was sent to the stables, and she was soon trotting out of Allingford in a hired gig. The sun was shining; birds were singing from the hedgerows. It was impossible for Charity’s spirits not to lift with such cheerful omens, yet when Wheelston came in sight she was aware of a frisson of anxiety. The building was as stark and forbidding as its owner. She drove
directly to the stables, where Jed’s welcoming grin gave her some encouragement. She handed over the reins to him and, upon enquiry, Jed told her the master was in the house.

  Squaring her shoulders, Charity made her way to the kitchen. A grey-haired woman was kneading bread at the table, her white arms covered in flour to the elbows.

  ‘And who might you be, walking in here bold as brass?’ she demanded, startled.

  Charity halted. She had forgotten the housekeeper.

  ‘You must be Mrs Cummings.’ She gave the woman her most charming smile. ‘I do beg your pardon for coming in this way. I am Mrs Weston, from Allingford.’

  ‘The actress?’ The woman’s brows shot up and for once Charity was thankful for her current popularity.

  ‘Yes, and I am come to see Ro—Mr Durden.’

  ‘Are you now? Well, the master went off to his study a few minutes ago. I’ll go and see—’

  ‘No, please, there is no need,’ said Charity quickly. ‘You are very busy and I know my way.’

  Before the astonished woman could move, she swept across the room and out into the hall. As she closed the kitchen door behind her a laugh trembled upon her lips. Ross would have no easy task explaining this visit to his housekeeper!

  In the study Ross was seated at his desk with his back to her, but he jumped up with an oath when he heard her quiet ‘good morning’. The face he turned to her was pale and drawn, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes that suggested that he, too, had spent a sleepless night. The thought encouraged her, a little.

  ‘What the devil are you doing here? How did you get in?’

  ‘Through the kitchen,’ she answered him, stripping off her gloves. ‘I fear I have confirmed your housekeeper’s worst fears about actresses. By the by, I cannot think she did not notice that you had a visitor while she was away—a female visitor. Did she quiz you about that?’