had been stopped by a highwayman—several of them, in fact, from what the man had said. It had been a common enough occurrence years ago in the outlying areas around London, but the practice had died down in recent years, and it was even more unusual so far from the City. Certainly such a thing had never happened to Nicola.
There followed a moment of silence, then the same man continued. “Excellent decision. You are a wise man. Now, I suggest that you hand your gun down to my man there—very slowly and, of course, the business end pointed up.”
Carefully, Nicola lifted the edge of the curtain covering the window closest to her and peered out. It was a dark night, with only a quarter moon, a good night, she supposed, for men who operated in secrecy and furtiveness. The groom beside the coachman was handing down his blunderbuss from his seat high atop the carriage. A man on horseback reached up from below and took the firearm, tucking his own pistol into the waistband of his trousers and raising the newly acquired blunderbuss to train it on the driver and his assistant.
Several men ringed the carriage, all of them on horseback and holding pistols. Each of the men was dressed all in black, and, on their dark horses, they seemed to melt into the night, only the bits of metal on guns and bridles catching the faint light of the moon and the carriage lamps. Most sinister of all, every one of the men wore a black mask across the upper half of his face. Nicola drew an involuntary breath at the ominous tableau.
One of the men turned his head sharply at the sound, his eyes going straight to where Nicola sat. She dropped the curtain, her heart pounding.
“Well, now,” the cultured voice said cheerfully. “A curious passenger.” A certain note of satisfaction entered his voice, and he continued, “Ah, the Earl’s crest, I see. Can I have been so fortunate as to have encountered the Earl of Exmoor himself? Step out, sir, if you please, so that we may see you better.”
The man who had seen her was obviously the leader, and Nicola knew that he had noticed the family coat of arms drawn in gilt on the door. No doubt he was pleased to have stopped someone wealthy. She only hoped that he did not intend to seize her and hold her for ransom, assuming that the Earl of Exmoor would pay a great deal for his passenger’s return. Under her breath, she cursed Richard’s insistence on sending his carriage for her. A plain post chaise would have been a far better vehicle, upon reflection.
Drawing a calming breath, Nicola turned the handle of the door and opened it, stepping out with what she hoped was cool aplomb. She thought of her friend Alexandra’s American habit of carrying a small pistol in her reticule. Everyone had looked askance at her for it, but right at this moment, it seemed a remarkably good idea.
She paused on the step of the carriage, standing ramrod straight, and looked at the leader with a steady gaze. She was determined not to appear cowed. The man on horseback stiffened and muttered a curse.
“Well done,” Nicola said with icy sarcasm. “You have managed to capture an unarmed woman.”
“No woman is unarmed,” the man returned, his mouth quirking up into a smile. He dismounted in a smooth muscular sweep and stepped forward, making a formal bow to Nicola.
The man was tall and well-built in his dark clothes, a figure of power and even grace. Watching him, Nicola felt an unaccustomed quiver dart through her. Most of his face was covered with a soft dark mask, only the square jaw and chin visible, and a neat black goatee and mustache further disguised those features. But there was no way to conceal the clean-cut, compelling lines of his face—or the wide, firm mouth, now curved in a mocking smile. White, even teeth flashed in the darkness as he straightened and moved toward her, reaching up to help her down. His black-gloved hand closed around hers, neatly pulling her the last step down to the ground. He continued to hold her hand for a moment, his eyes boring into hers.
Nicola raised one eyebrow disdainfully. “Let me go.”
“Oh, I will, my lady, I will.”
In the dark night, his eyes were utterly black—soulless eyes, Nicola thought a little breathlessly. She could not tear her own gaze away from them. His hand tightened fractionally on hers. Then he released her.
“But you must pay a toll first, for passing through my lands.”
“Your lands?” Nicola curled her hands into fists, struggling to keep her voice cool and slightly amused despite the strange torrent of sensations that was rushing through her. She made a show of glancing around. “But I thought we were on Exmoor property.”
“In a legal sense.”
“What other sense is there?”
“One of right. Does not the land belong to those who live upon it?”
“A radical notion. And you, I take it, claim to be the representative of ‘the people’?”
He gave an expressive shrug of his shoulders, a more genuine smile parting his lips. “Who better?”
“Most of the people I know who live upon this land would not consider a thief a proper representative of themselves.”
“You wound me, my lady. I had hoped we could be…civil.” There was a faint caressing note in his low voice.
Once again something stirred in Nicola’s abdomen, shocking her. “It is difficult to be civil when one is being threatened.”
“Threatened?” He raised his hands in a gesture betokening innocence. “My lady, you shock me. I have made no threat to you.”
“It is implicit, is it not, in stopping my carriage and demanding money?” She glanced around significantly at the men waiting silently on horseback, watching their exchange. “Why else are these men pointing guns at us?”
One of the men let out a soft grunt. “I am afraid she has you there, my friend.”
This voice, too, came in the crisp accents of the upper class, and Nicola glanced in his direction, surprised. “What is this?” she asked, suddenly suspicious. “A group of town swells on a lark?”
The man who had just spoken chuckled, but the man before her said grimly, “No, my lady, it is no lark. It is business. So let us get down to it. Your purse, please.”
“Of course.” Nicola jerked open the drawstrings of her reticule and held it open to him.
He reached inside and deftly withdrew the leather money purse, gently bouncing it in his palm as if to measure its weight. “Ah, you do not travel lightly. A bonus for me.”
“I suppose you want my jewelry, too,” Nicola snapped, pulling off her gloves to reveal the two simple silver rings that adorned her fingers. If she exposed such valuables, he would not go searching for anything hidden. And she could not let him take the token she wore on a chain beneath her dress. It was worth very little, of course—except to her—but this obnoxious fellow would probably take it just to spite her.
“I am afraid I wear no bracelets or necklaces,” she continued. “I rarely travel wearing jewelry.”
“Mmm. I find it is usually carried on a journey rather than worn,” he said, his tone amused, and made a gesture toward the carriage. Two of the men dismounted and swarmed up on the roof of the carriage, jumping down triumphantly a moment later, carrying Nicola’s traveling jewel case and a small square strongbox, which they proceeded to stow on their mounts.
Nicola
