still cheerful, but there was no mistaking the note of steel in his tone or the menacing gesture. She drew herself up.
‘I am Mrs Weston.’
‘The devil you are!’ He stepped a little closer and she had the impression that she was being scrutinised very carefully. ‘You’ll be on your way to Beringham, then?’
‘I have no business in Beringham.’
‘No?’
‘No, I am going to Allingford.’ She hesitated. ‘To the theatre. I am an actress.’ She held out her reticule. ‘Here, if you are going to rob us, take it!’
She saw the flash of white as he grinned. ‘No, I don’t think I will. ’Tis a charitable mood I’m in this evening.’
‘Are ye not going to rob us, then?’ The farmer goggled at him.
‘I am not. I’ve decided I’ll not take your purse, nor the ornament that’s a-twinkling on your lady wife. Get ye back into the carriage...ah, except you, ma’am.’
Charity’s heart lurched as he addressed her. Not for the world would she show her fear, and she said with creditable assurance, ‘I have nothing for you.’
‘Oh, but I think you have.’
Betty stepped up, crying, ‘You’ll not touch my mistress!’
Charity caught her arm. ‘Hush, Betty.’
The pistol waved ominously.
‘Send your maid back to the carriage with the others, Mrs Weston.’
‘Do as he says, Betty.’ Charity held her maid’s eye and put her hand up, her fingers touching the discreet pearl head of the hatpin that held her bonnet in place. ‘I’ll deal with this.’
She saw the understanding in the older woman’s eyes and with a grim little nod Betty walked away, leaving Charity alone with the highwayman.
‘I’ve changed my mind,’ he told her. ‘I’ll take that fancy brooch you have pinned to your coat.’
It was a small cameo and of no particular value. Charity supposed he would present it to his sweetheart and found the idea did not please her. He reached out his hand to pluck the brooch from her breast and she forced herself to keep still while his fingers fumbled with the catch, but after a moment, and with a huff of exasperation, she brushed his hands aside.
‘Here, let me.’ She unfastened the cameo and held it out to him. ‘There, take it. Now may I go?’
‘Not just yet, lady.’
He stepped closer and she was enveloped in his shadow. Charity was a tall woman, but he towered over her, the caped greatcoat making his shoulders impossibly broad. A tremor ran through her, but she told herself he was only a man, and in her profession she had dealt with many such situations.
She said calmly, ‘Surely you will not attack me here, in front of everyone.’
He laughed, and again she saw that flash of white teeth.
‘Attack? Faith, me darlin’, that suggests you ain’t willing.’
‘Indeed? Well, I—’
Her words were cut off as he reached out and dragged her to him. She found herself pinioned against his chest, one arm like an iron band around her shoulders. She looked up to protest and at that moment his head swooped down and he kissed her.
Through luck or expertise his mouth found hers immediately and her senses reeled from that first, electric touch. She could not move and he continued to kiss her, his tongue plundering her mouth and causing such a rush of sensation through her body that it was impossible to resist him. The stubble on his face grazed her skin but she hardly noticed, her mind spinning with such irrelevant thoughts as the fact that he did not smell of dirt and horses. Instead her head was filled with a succession of scents. First there had been the unmistakable smell of leather and the wool of his greatcoat, but when he pulled her closer she recognised the pleasant tang of soap and lemons, spices and clean linen. As his tongue explored her mouth her bones dissolved and hot arrows of pleasure drove deep into her body. The sensations were new and unnerving. She wanted to cling to him, to push herself against that hard, male body.
Time stopped. She was his prisoner, fighting her own desire to kiss him back rather than struggling against his embrace, and when he finally raised his head she was strangely disappointed. She remained in his arms, unable to move and staring up at him. Her eyes had grown more accustomed to the darkness and she could make out his features a little better beneath the shadow of his hat. The smiling mouth and lean cheeks, the strong lines of his jaw that ran down to the cleft of his chin, the hawkish nose and most of all those dark, dark eyes, gleaming at her through the slits of his mask.
‘Mmm,’ he murmured, soft as a sigh. ‘Heavenly.’
Charity had forgotten her surroundings, the icy wind that was even now scattering tiny flakes of snow over them, the fact that he was a stranger. She had even forgotten that he was a highwayman, until he raised his head and barked out an order to the coachman and guard.
‘Keep yer hands on yer heads, me fine friends.’
His rough warning brought her back to reality. She pushed him away—no, he did not move, it was she who stepped back, hiding the trembling of her hands by vigorously shaking out her skirts. A glance behind her showed the coach still standing on the road, the driver and guard still sitting motionless on the box and the white faces of the passengers visible at the coach windows. It could only have been a minute that had passed, maybe two, yet Charity felt as if something momentous had occurred. She gave herself a mental shake. Good heavens, it was only a kiss, and she had been kissed before, but never had it had such an effect.
It was the excitement, she told herself sternly. Fear set your nerves on edge and made you feel the experience all the more keenly.
The highwayman was holding out his hand to her.
‘Having exacted my price from you, madam, you are now free to go on your way.’
Silently she took his hand and let him help her back into the carriage. He closed the door and she saw the glint of amusement in his eyes as he touched the barrel of the pistol to his hat brim in a mock salute. He stepped back and glanced up at the box.
‘Now, me lads, I’ll thank you to sit where you are a while longer.’
He whistled and the black horse trotted up to him. Charity noted the athletic way he leaped up into the saddle and galloped away, leaving everyone in a shocked, immobile silence.
As the hoofbeats faded, the spell was broken. The farmer began to rage about the impudence of such rascals while his wife fell back in her seat, fanning herself vigorously and declaring she could feel a seizure coming on. Betty muttered up a prayer of thanks and the guard clambered down to retrieve his shotgun and to ask if the passengers were all right.
‘All right? Of course we are not all right!’ shouted the farmer. ‘What’re you about, to let one rascally knave with a popgun cause us all such terror? Look! Look at my wife. Right terrified, she is. ’Tis a disgrace, I tell ’ee. One man on the road and all you can do is drop your gun!’
