The Highwayman's Bite

by Brooklyn Ann

  Lord Thornton’s hooded eyes seemed to pierce through her façade of gaiety and he frowned as he held the carriage door. “I am sorry I am unable to escort you. If my business concludes soon enough, I promise to come to the ball and perhaps have a dance with you before I fetch you home.”

  “I would like that very much.” Vivian would indeed feel better about this ordeal if he’d be able to accompany her for at least part of it. Something about him made her feel safe and accepted.

  He inclined his head with a soft smile. “Try not to break any hearts. Or cause another scandal.”

  The door shut before she could respond. Perhaps that was for the best.

  As the carriage began to roll, Vivian leaned against the velvet squabs and fought back a wince as her back muscles spasmed. She’d been a little too vigorous with her swordplay last night and was paying the price. Her calves and thighs throbbed as well. Not at all a good constitution for dancing.

  She peered out the carriage window, watching the light of the three-quarter moon paint the rolling hills and pastures in gilt silver. Perhaps she and Madame Renarde could find a nice balcony with some matrons and avoid the dancing.

  Suddenly, the horses screamed, and the carriage lurched.

  “What on earth?” Vivian reached for the leather strap to keep her balance.

  But her silk gloves were too slippery to secure her grip. The carriage slammed to a halt, throwing Vivian onto the floor. Madame Renarde groaned in pain as her head struck the carriage wall.

  “Are you all right?” Vivian asked, scrambling up from the floor.

  “Oui, Cherie,” Madame Renarde replied and continued in French as she tended to do when she was out of sorts. “Did we crash, or did something spook the horses?”

  “I don’t know,” Vivian replied in French. It hadn’t felt like a crash, but then again, she’d never been in a carriage that collided with another, so how would she know? She took a deep breath to slow her rapid pulse. “I’m going to check on the driver.”

  Vivian opened the window and leaned out to look at the driver’s perch. “Jeffries?” she called, switching back to English. “Are you hurt?”

  The footman did not respond. Heart in her throat, Vivian opened the door and stepped out of the carriage. Madame Renarde would be behind her in moments to scold, but Vivian would be contrite later. She needed to know if the poor man was all right.

  “Jeffries?” she repeated, keeping one hand on the side of the carriage. Her boots sank slightly in the soft earth. The autumn rains had made the road muddy, but it shouldn’t be severe enough to bog down a carriage.

  A horrifying thought leapt into her mind. What if the footman’s heart gave out? What if he was—She rounded the carriage and the driver’s perch came into view. The lanterns flickered, illuminating the footman’s profile in sickly yellow light. Jeffries lay back in the seat, his head thrown back.

  Vivian’s breath froze in her lungs, ice in the October night air.

  He was dead.

  A harsh, snarling noise pierced the graveyard silence. A sharp whimper escaped her lips. Then she saw Jeffries’s chest move up and down. The snarl rumbled in his throat.

  Vivian gasped with relief. He was only asleep.

  The realization drew her brows together in a frown of perplexed irritation. Was that why the horses had stopped? Jeffries was old, but far from his dotage. It was difficult to believe he’d doze off on a drive. She rose up on her tiptoes to sniff the man for the scent of spirits, and stiffened as one of the horses whickered.

  Something didn’t sound right. Vivian turned and gasped.

  The horses were no longer attached to the carriage!

  Instead, they stood on the other side of the conveyance. Something large was draped over one of the geldings. Vivian went still.

  Someone else was here. And they were stealing the horses. As she crept back to the carriage door, her mind raced and put it together. The thief must have put out the driver with chloroform or some sedating drug. And then he must have pulled the reins and unfastened the horses.

  But how had he carried off such a brazen stunt so quickly? Vivian struggled to puzzle it out. There must be more than one thief.

  Madame Renarde was still in the carriage. Worry twisted Vivian’s belly into a tight knot. Neither of them had their swords. But perhaps the footman still had his pistol. Indecision froze her in place. Should she check the driver for a weapon? Or go back to Madame Renarde and hope they could steal away unmolested?

  Closing her eyes, she fought to keep her head clear. Her companion must come first. Perhaps Madame Renarde had seen the thieves and had hidden from them. Maybe that was why she hadn’t followed her out of the carriage in the first place.

  As Vivian grasped the door handle, she vowed that she’d never go anywhere without a weapon again. Propriety be damned. After all, the last time she’d had a blade in her hand, she’d fought off a highwayman. A rush of dizzy heat flushed her face as she remembered their duel and his kiss.

  Then the dreamy recollection was doused with a cold thought. What if it was him?

  Immediately she dismissed the speculation. If the rake had wanted to steal horses, he would have done so when they were far from the village. All that thief had been interested in was money and jewels...and a kiss

  She needed to stop thinking about that rogue, Vivian thought as she slowly pulled the carriage door open. She needed to make sure Madame Renarde was all right.

  The carriage was empty. The door on the other side hung open. Vivian’s heart leapt into her throat. Did Madame Renarde escape? Or had the thieves abducted her?

  Crouching beside the carriage, she strained to listen for an indication as to where the thieves were. She heard one of the horses snort. Shouldn’t they be off by now? What if they were lying in wait for her?

  Vivian crept back around to the driver’s perch. Jeffries continued to snore. She tried to shake him awake, but he didn’t respond. What sort of substance could put a man in such a deep slumber? Fear flickered in her heart like a dark flame. Whoever had done this was dangerous.

  A horse whickered again. Vivian peered closer at the load on the gelding’s back. Her jaw dropped as she recognized the shape. It was Madame Renarde! Somehow, the thieves had knocked her unconscious and were going to abduct her!

  Vivian had to rescue her. Slowly, she reached inside the sleeping footman’s jacket until her hand closed over the butt of his pistol.

  With her back pressed against the carriage, Vivian crept closer to the horses. There was no sound or sight of the thieves, that grew more unnerving, the closer she got. The skin between her shoulder blades trickled with sweat as she felt like they were watching her from somewhere.

  When she reached Madame Renarde, relief doused a measure of her terror as she saw that her friend still breathed. Though it had to be difficult for her, lying on her stomach over the horse’s back. Vivian cringed in sympathy. Her companion’s stays had to be digging into her ribs.

  With the gun held against her hip, Vivian pondered how she could go about her rescue. If Madame Renarde was drugged like Jeffries, Vivian would be unable to wake her.

  And she certainly couldn’t carry her. Her friend was fairly large-boned.

  Vivian peered around the carriage. Still no thieves in sight. What if she could just lead the horse away? Perhaps, if they hid in the grove of trees to the east, the thieves would leave with the other horse and Vivian and Madame Renarde could ride to safety.

  Dismay weighted Vivian’s shoulders. The grove looked further away on second glance. And she felt so exposed on this stretch of the road, far from the next estate and even further from the village.

  Grasping the horse’s bridle, she started toward the trees.

  A low, silken voice spoke behind her, achingly familiar. “Going somewhere?”

  Vivian turned around and gasped. “You!”

  The highwayman stepped closer to her with a wry grin. He bowed with a flourish. “How lovely to see you again,
Miss Stratford.”

  Unease clenched her belly. How did he know her name? They most certainly hadn’t been properly introduced the night he’d tried to rob her carriage.

  “Have you been following me?” she asked between her teeth. Revulsion filled her at the thought.

  “Not intentionally,” he answered. “It’s your uncle I’ve been watching. But you will prove to be very useful to me.”

  Vivian frowned in disgust at the prospect of being used for anything. Wistful disappointment threatened to distract her from the matter at hand. He was just like all the other men she’d known. Only seeing women as means to serve their own ends. She straightened her shoulders and favored him with her most practiced, icy stare. “You’re going to try to abduct me?”

  His laughter sent shivers down her spine. “Try? No. I am going to abduct you.” That wicked grin broadened as he moved toward her, now only seven paces from her. “But do not worry, I won’t hurt—"

  Vivian pulled the pistol’s trigger and let out a cry of surprise as the gun tried to leap from her hand. Her wrist throbbed with the shock of the recoil and her ears rang from the explosive roar. She blinked and looked back at the highwayman.

  He stood, staring at her in slack-jawed astonishment. “You shot me!”

  She blinked again. If she had, why was he still standing? Then she saw a dark spot on the arm of his coat, glistening wetly in the moonlight. She’d clipped his forearm. Fear rippled through her being as his eyes seemed to glow with unholy coppery light. What if she’d angered him so much that he’d kill her?

  Vivian turned to run, but the highwayman seized her wrist and yanked the gun out of her hand. She sucked in a startled breath. How had he moved so quickly?

  He tossed the pistol into the bushes near the horses. For a moment, she raised her brows at the action. The only bullet had been spent, so the weapon was useless.

  Then he jerked her into his arms. The feel of his hard body, pressed indecently against hers, forced the breath from her body. She’d never been in such intimate contact with a man before. Not even Lord Summerly had gotten so close when he’d offered his indecent proposal. The highwayman hissed through his teeth, and for a moment she thought that he was just as affected by this improper embrace as she was. Then she remembered that she’d shot him.

  Vivian struggled to maintain her composure and not swoon at the overwhelming sensation of intimacy. “Are you going to drug me like you did with Jeffries and Madame Renarde?”

  He gripped her shoulders and lowered his head, so they were face to face. For a moment, Vivian thought he was going to kiss her again, and to her dismay, part of her wanted to feel his lips on hers once more. She stared into his sherry-colored eyes, and the sculpted planes and angles of his face, savagely beautiful in the swaying light of the carriage lanterns.

  Vivian realized that she could see him better now, because this time he wore no hat. His russet hair was longer than any gentleman would keep it, aside from her uncle. But Uncle kept his black locks neatly tied back in a queue. The highwayman’s tresses fell across his face, making him look wild and uncivilized. Something about the sight stirred her body, much like the memory of his kiss.

  Then he spoke, his voice low and rich, like her morning chocolate. “No, Miss Stratford, I will not drug you.”

  With his uninjured arm, he reached up and brushed his knuckles across her cheek. “Sleep,” he whispered.

  Her limbs melted, and he caught her before she collapsed into a puddle at his feet. Unconsciousness cast her into a void of shadows.

  Chapter Seven

  Rhys cradled Vivian in his lap as he led the horses through the rolling hills of the countryside, taking care to avoid the roads. She was smaller than she’d seemed when she’d faced him down with that pistol, her dark eyes blazing with unholy wrath. He shook his head with wonder. She’d been so brave both times she’d faced him. So unlike the cringing, aristocratic females he’d been robbing for the past six years.

  His admiration dampened at the throb of pain in his arm. He needed to feed to heal, but he also couldn’t allow the wound to close over the lead ball. Rhys had suffered cutting himself open to dig out a slug once and never wanted to repeat the experience. The problem was that he would have to ride all the way to his hidden lair in a weakened state before being able to deal with his injury.

  And then he would have to feed as soon as possible. Unbidden, his tongue raked across his fangs with the compelling urge to feed on the tempting woman in his lap.

  “No,” he whispered to himself. Leaving Vivian untouched was a crucial aspect of his plan.

  However, that meant he may have to feed on Renarde if he failed to come across another human before dawn. Guilt niggled him. It was bad form to feed on those under a vampire’s care. But with his wound, Rhys might have no choice.

  By the time he passed out of Blackpool’s borders, dizziness threatened to topple him and the precious burden he carried from his horse. Once more, he cursed the slow, mortal way of travelling. Taking deep, steady breaths, Rhys covered the long, plodding miles as fast as he dared, staying near the coast to keep the ride as smooth as possible.

  At last, he reached the no man’s land, where his hidden cave lay. The horses protested the dangerous, rocky path until Rhys had to stop and tie them to the cliff-side. He left the sleeping ladies’ companion draped over her horse while he swung Vivian into his arms and carried her down to the mouth of the cave. Once he had her settled in one of the cots he kept prepared for guests, he went back and collected Madame Renarde before leading the horses down one by one. He would have preferred to turn them loose, but didn’t want an honest citizen to find them and report them found in the area. Besides, Vivian may like to do some riding while Rhys awaited Blackpool’s response to his demands.

  He wouldn’t begrudge the lady fresh air and exercise in her captivity even though he’d have to double his vigilance at those times, lest she try to escape. And he was certain she would indeed try more than once.

  That in mind, he bound her ankles with a strip of linen and did the same with Renarde.

  With the horses tethered outside, cropping the grass, and his hostages secured, Rhys sat on the cot opposite from the sleeping women.

  A twinge of remorse chewed at his heart as he looked down at Vivian’s composed face. A whisper of a smile shaped her lips, contentment personified.

  She would hate him for this. He wondered why he should care. After all, Vivian was the kin of his second most hated enemy. He didn’t spare a thought as to what Renarde would think of him.

  Rhys sighed. He may as well get it over with. Fixing his gaze on the women, he summoned his will. “Awaken,” he commanded.

  Both women opened their eyes at once. Vivian gasped and Madame Renarde let loose a shrill shriek. Rhys blinked at the feminine sounds. Though expected, he was still unaccustomed to hearing such noises in his sanctuary.

  Vivian recovered first. Her silvery-grey eyes narrowed on him with loathing.

  “You blackguard!” she spat and launched herself at him, not realizing her ankles were bound. Immediately, she tripped.

  Rhys caught her and sucked in a breath as her breasts pressed against his chest. The warmth of her body and the pounding of her heart in his sensitive ears brought forth his raging bloodthirst. He tore his gaze from the vein in her pale neck, but his torment took a new turn as his gaze landed on the tops of Vivian’s breasts, spilling over her blue satin ball gown. He then became aware that his hips were flush with her lower body.

  His cock stirred with lust.

  The slap came unexpected, her palm crashing into his cheek with a sharp crack. “How dare you drug us and take us to this place!”

  Rhys held his grip on her shoulders, but moved her back before his arousal made itself known.

  Renarde finally spoke, her voice ringing out with imperious outrage. “Unhand her at once, you animal!”

  The eccentric companion was closer to the truth than she knew. Rhys glanced up
at her, biting back a smile at the sight of her reddened face as she wrestled with her restraints. “Madame, I suggest that you remain still, lest you further tighten the knots.” He kept his tone civil and turned back to Vivian. “As for you, Miss Stratford, surely I do not have to point out that you are at my mercy. As such, your stay here will be much more comfortable if you do not strike me again.”

  She glared up at him mutinously as he pressed down on her shoulders, easing her back onto her cot. “What do you want from me?” she said through clenched teeth.

  Rhys laughed, masking his regret at destroying any goodwill towards him. “A woman who comes straight to the point. I appreciate that.” He sat back on his cot and reached for a wooden box on the shelf beside his bed. The bullet wound in his arm burned in agony with the movement.

  Concern furrowed Vivian’s brow for a moment before her eyes hardened once more. Rhys concealed his delight that she had cared for a second. “Your prestigious uncle is determined to toss my relations out of the home that’s been their rightful place for centuries.”

  Vivian drew back, clearly not expecting this revelation. “He wouldn’t do such a thing. He is generous with his tenants.”

  “That may be,” Rhys allowed. “But my cousin is not a tenant. She owns her own small farm and has been paying the mortgage faithfully.”

  Madame Renarde spoke suddenly. “Is that why you rob people? To fund your cousin’s payments?”

  Understanding filled Vivian’s large eyes, along with another hint of compassion. However, there were some things he wanted his captives to know, and other things he did not.

  Arching his brow, he cast a sneering glare at Renarde. “Do not talk of my life’s path and I’ll do the courtesy of not discussing yours.”

  The companion flinched, bright flags of color blooming in her plump cheeks.

  Vivian was not so easily cowed. “Perhaps my uncle has the moral fortitude to not accept payments that were ill-gotten.”

  “He doesn’t know where the money comes from. Besides, plenty of the money is honest, from the crops.” That wasn’t precisely honest, but Rhys was past caring. “The point is, Black—” he stopped and corrected himself. “—Lord Thornton, should allow my cousin to remain on her land and continue to make the payments.”