us a great deal of harm. That was why they tied you up, but it was all an accident, I do assure you, sir—’
‘Accident! Now, there’s a Banbury tale,’ he exploded. ‘Your friends tied a cord across the path.’
He heard her catch her breath. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly. ‘Truly sorry you were hurt. And please stay still, Mr Beaumaris, there’s really no point in trying to fight your bonds. I’ll set you free in good time, you have my word on it.’
‘Your word? You expect me to believe your promises?’
‘It would be as well for you,’ she said in her sweet clear voice, ‘if you did.’
Who the deuce was she? Beau wondered anew. She sounded well educated—and yet she was clearly in charge of the men who’d landed him in this mess. He’d heard them calling themselves the Lambeth Players, but what kind of vagabonds could they be? Two rogues and a girl... Cursing his blindfold, he wished he could cure himself of the delusion that this little witch actually sounded rather exquisite.
‘You claim I was captured by mistake,’ he said flatly. ‘Perhaps you don’t mind telling me how you know my name?’
She said in a very small voice, ‘I found your watch.’
‘You rifled my pockets.’
‘Only to find out who you were!’ She’d rallied now.
‘And now you know,’ Beau said. ‘But I’ll give you a warning. If you’re planning on demanding a ransom, don’t waste your time. Because if anything happens to me, you’ll not be able to find a safe hiding place in the entire realm.’
There was a brief silence, then he heard her say quietly, ‘I suppose that’s what happens, when you’re rich and important. You matter. You go through life issuing threats and never listening to what other people are wanting to tell you. Not even trying to understand.’
Beau found himself frowning at the intensity of her words. Then he froze again—because he felt small cool fingers fluttering around his shirt and his greatcoat, and he swore under his breath because his body was disconcertingly aware that this young, sweet-scented female was far too close for comfort. Deborah, they’d called her. Or Miss Deb. She’ll be a pock-marked Jezebel, he reminded himself. She couldn’t be anything else, living the life she must lead.
‘There,’ she announced crisply. ‘Your watch is back in your coat pocket, Mr Beaumaris. Let me repeat that we are not thieves. And no one regrets this incident more than I do, believe me.’
He could almost have been amused. ‘So that’s it, is it? You offer your sincerest apologies on behalf of your two henchmen, and you expect me to forget this whole business?’
‘That’s more or less it. But I have to ask you a question first, Mr Beaumaris. Are you a man who can be trusted to keep his word?’
What sheer, incredible insolence! He clenched his teeth. ‘Most would say so, yes. But let me give you a warning. I assume you’re going to ask me to promise some kind of clemency—but I don’t take kindly to highway robbery. And I’m not going to enter into any kind of negotiation until you unfasten these damned ropes.’
‘Then I’m afraid we’re at stalemate, Mr Beaumaris,’ she answered calmly. ‘You may as well know that I have a knife—a very sharp knife—in my hand, and I can free you in moments. But before I do so, I want you to swear not to set the law on my friends.’
Beau really didn’t know if she was pretending to be innocent, or stupid, or both. Aloud he drawled, ‘You’re joking, I hope.’
‘I’m hoping you are willing to accept that my men made a genuine mistake. Otherwise...’
Again she paused, and he tried to picture her face.
‘I really am going to have to leave you tied up here in the woods,’ she went on, ‘until someone finds you. And I cannot imagine that a gentleman accustomed to life’s comforts as you must be would relish the prospect of being out here as darkness falls. The woods can get extremely cold and damp at night, even in June. Well? Do you want me to loosen your bonds or not?’
She sounded almost cheerful.
Beau was usually calm in the face of danger, but this was an altogether different kind of peril; indeed, he was hard put not to flinch as she leaned close and ran her hands over the ropes at his wrists. Damn it, could he feel a few soft strands of her hair brushing against his forehead? What colour was it—black, brown, or a brassy blonde? What colour were her eyes? Was she tall and slender, or short and plump—and why in God’s name was he even bothering to think of such absurd trivialities?
‘I’ve probably caught a cold already,’ said Beau. ‘And if I die of pneumonia, I hope you realise it will be the gallows for you and your partners in crime.’
She’d moved back a little, he sensed, but not because she was afraid, oh, no; in fact, he even heard her emit a husky chuckle. ‘Pneumonia? An exaggeration, surely, Mr Beaumaris. As a matter of fact...’
He could just imagine her gazing down at him thoughtfully.
‘I don’t think,’ she concluded, ‘that I’ve ever seen anyone who looked as healthy a specimen as you. Now, if you want me to cut these ropes, you really must swear not to set the law on my friends.’
The silence that followed was deafening. ‘Mr Beaumaris? It really could be very uncomfortable for you out here in the forest. And I have a dreadful feeling that it’s going to start raining again, any minute—’
‘I swear!’
‘You swear what, Mr Beaumaris?’
‘I swear,’ Beau pronounced through gritted teeth, ‘that I’ll not set the law on your friends.’
He thought he heard her emit a satisfied little sigh. ‘And you’ll promise not to pursue them?’
‘I’ll not—’ he clenched his bound fists ‘—pursue them. Where are they, by the way? I haven’t heard their dulcet tones for a while.’
‘And you won’t hear them again,’ she said airily, ‘for they’ve gone, but where to is no concern of yours. Now that you’ve promised not to pursue us, you’ll soon see that everything will be quite all right.’
Moments later she was sawing at the ropes at his wrists—carefully, he hoped—with a small, ebony-handled knife. He knew, because the blindfold that they’d used on him—his own silk neckerchief, for God’s sake!—had worked loose, so that if he turned his head at a certain angle, he could see her. And as it happened, Beau’s first view of her gave rise to a rather unsettling kick of interest.
She was young, as he’d expected. But she wasn’t dressed as most miscreant wenches would be, in a flouncy cheap gown with colourful petticoats and a bodice designed to display her feminine charms. Instead she wore close-cut breeches and a loose linen shirt, on top of which was a raggedy short jacket with leather patches over the elbows. A red-spotted neckerchief was tied around her neck, and all in all, any outfit less likely to emphasise her femininity, he couldn’t imagine. Yet somehow—somehow...
It was her face that
