enough to still be sucking his mother’s teat. A fine welcome to England, eh?” Swann readily joined in Philippe’s amusement. “Being robbed by a brat still wet behind the ears.”
The villain sucked in an outraged breath. “I am old enough to pull the trigger, sir.”
Overhead the clouds parted to reveal a slash of moonlight that bathed the frozen landscape in a silver mist. The chilled air stirred the crimson cape, making it appear like a river of blood swirling around the slender form.
Philippe’s smile never wavered as he moved forward with a slow, deliberate step. A part of him was aware that Carlos was creeping through the shadows, and that Swann was behind him with a loaded pistol tucked out of sight, but his concentration was centered on the pistol pointed at his heart.
“Ah, but being old enough to pull the trigger is considerably different from being willing to pull the trigger,” he taunted, his pulse perfectly steady. He had courted danger too often to be unnerved by a half-grown brat who dared to interrupt his journey. “It is no easy thing to take a man’s life, not even a man who might very well deserve to be in the grave.”
“Stay back,” the boy warned.
Philippe took another step and reached up to grasp the bridle of the lad’s mount.
“You see?” He was close enough to see the dark eyes of the highwayman widen with sudden fear. “You should never hesitate. Once you actually begin to consider the cost of murder, you are always lost. You must allow instinct to rule if you intend to kill hapless travelers.”
“Move back.”
“Had you shot when I first appeared I would already be dead on the ground and you would be happily picking through my pockets.” He pretended to consider for a moment. “Of course, it’s more likely that Swann would already have put a hole in your head, but…you comprehend my meaning.”
“I said to move back,” the villain commanded.
“Or?”
Without warning there was a loud explosion as the boy did as he had threatened and pulled the trigger of his pistol. The bullet flew harmlessly past Philippe’s head and he regarded his adversary with a lift of his brows. By God. He had underestimated the lad’s pluck.
“Damnation, the bastard is out of his wits,” Swann snapped. “Stand back, sir, while I…”
“You will tend to the horses, Swann. I shall deal with our feral urchin,” Philippe commanded as he narrowed his gaze. “A brave, but foolish, gesture, mon enfant. Unless you have another loaded pistol hidden about your person?”
The brat threw the pistol at his head. “Damn you.”
Philippe ducked and gestured toward the lurking shadow beside the road. The encounter was all very diverting, but he was still hours away from a warm bath and his favorite brandy.
“Carlos.”
On cue the large man leaped toward the horse, and before the hapless lad could so much as squeak, Carlos had him plucked from the saddle and tossed across his shoulder.
Philippe recaptured the reins of the horse before it could bolt, his lips twitching as Carlos struggled to keep control of his squirming bundle.
“Forgive me, amigo, I had presumed you more than capable of controlling one small imp. Do you need assistance?”
“What I need is a whip to teach this whelp a lesson in manners,” the man growled.
“When you have finished toying with him, Carlos, perhaps you would be good enough to put him in the carriage?”
“Are you certain? He’s a filthy thing with who knows what sort of nasty diseases.” Carlos paused to smack the captive on the bottom. “You kick me again and I shall throttle you.”
“I will do more than kick you. I will lodge a bullet in your arse. I will stick a dagger in your heart,” the lad swore. “I will kill you both, I swear it.”
Philippe grimaced. “Yes, it is a pity to ruin such fine leather with the vile creature. I paid a near fortune to have it imported from Florence, but I will not stand in the frigid air to question a petty criminal.”
“Fine, but do not expect me to share the pungent experience,” Carlos warned as they walked back down the road. With a heave Carlos tossed the snarling lad into the carriage and reached for the reins that Philippe held. “I intend to test this nag and decide if it is worth keeping or not.”
“No.” The would-be highwayman struggled with the cape that had wrapped about him and trapped his arms. “You cannot.”
“Oh, yes, I can.” Carlos narrowed his eyes. “And you will shut your mouth and behave yourself or I’ll return and hang you from the nearest tree. Capisce?”
“I hope you break your bloody neck,” the lad muttered.
“I would cut out his tongue, if I were you.” Carlos muttered. “It would be a great improvement.”
Philippe ignored his captive’s sharp gasp. “Not until I have the information I need. After that…well, you shall be quite welcome to hang him from whichever tree you prefer.”
CHAPTER THREE
RAINE WAS FURIOUS as she struggled to free herself from the folds of the damnable cape.
What an impulsive fool she had been.
When she had decided to take on the role of the Knave of Knightsbridge to dupe the magistrate, she had deliberately chosen the back roads and lanes near Knightsbridge to stalk her prey. The pickings were hardly fine, and more than a few nights she was forced to return to the cottage empty-handed, but the dangers were few. And most important, she managed to keep her father from the gallows.
How could Josiah Wimbourne be guilty when he was so visibly seen about the village at the same time the Knave was robbing carriages miles away?
Not that Tom Harper was entirely convinced that Josiah was innocent. But he could hardly arrest the man without some proof.
Today, however, her father had sternly informed her that this would be her last night of playing the dashing Knave. His shoulder had at last healed and the magistrate was temporarily thwarted. He was determined that his daughter would no longer court such risk.
Raine had discovered herself sharply disappointed by his command. Her daring charade had proved to be remarkably exciting as she had dashed about the countryside and collected a small fortune in coins and jewels to be handed over to her neighbors.
She felt as if she were actually accomplishing something important. Something that could give her rather empty life meaning.
An odd sentiment in a young woman, perhaps, but she had never been the sort of maiden to be content with keeping house and pandering to the needs of a man.
With the knowledge that she would soon be returning to her dull existence, Raine had taken a ridiculous gamble and chosen this well-traveled road to make her grand departure as the Knave. Her head had been filled with images of wealthy noblemen dripping in jewels and carrying crates
