Midnight Raider Page 13

  She couldn’t let herself forget. She needed to remember who and what she really was, underneath all the disguises and secrets.

  She was Elizabeth Blackerby Thornhill. Daughter of an innkeeper. Widow of a poor tailor.

  Lord Darkridge had a noble, aristocratic legacy that dated back twelve generations, and half a dozen magnificent estates to go with it. She could never be anything more to a man like him than a flirtation, a temporary amusement… a mistress.

  That was most definitely not what she wanted.

  So from now on, she would keep her mind on the mission she was trying to accomplish. She would keep her wits about her—and her defenses up.

  Fortunately, that was easier to do when a certain irresistible earl was seventy miles away.

  She slouched lower in her seat, her oversized hat slipping down to her nose. She had sipped scarcely a third of her tankard of ale when a muzzy feeling descended on head—and she neglected to keep a careful watch for familiar faces.

  “Do you think it wise to frequent such a place at this hour of the night, sir?”

  Elizabeth lifted one corner of her hat and squinted up at the person addressing her. The walls tilted in a pirouette that made her queasy. She had to blink several times before her eyes could focus on the dark-garbed man who stood beside her seat.

  Who was the last person in the world she expected to see.

  Some fierce, mysterious feeling set her heart beating wildly.

  “Oh no. No no no!” Her tongue seemed to get all tangled up in her words. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

  Marcus sat beside her on the bench. “I’ve already looked for you in all the reputable places in town.” He arched his brows, peering into the tankard of ale in front of her. “Why, Mr. Swift, I do believe you are in your cups.”

  His large frame filled the seat so completely, Elizabeth didn’t even have adequate space to push him away. “I warn you, my lord…” She hiccupped. “I came here prepared to defend myself against any dis-disrep-disreputable types who might accost me.” She slipped her hand into the pocket of her frock coat, grabbing the small pistol she carried and pressing it against his ribs.

  He didn’t even flinch. In fact, he grinned. “You forget, I know that’s not loaded.”

  She lifted her chin. “How do you know I haven’t… haven’t learned my lesson and changed my ways?”

  He studied her by the glow of the single candle that offered the only light at the table. “No,” he said slowly, still grinning. “I don’t think you would.”

  Sighing in frustration that he knew her so well, Elizabeth let the pistol slide to the bottom of her pocket. “I did buy some ammunition,” she said defensively, irritation rapidly clearing her head. “I have a powder flask and some lead shot—”

  “In your other pocket?” he guessed, chuckling.

  “Yes.” She scowled at him. “We had an agreement, my lord! You said that you would keep your distance. There are still nineteen days until our meeting in August—”

  “You’ve been counting the days?”

  “I… no… not at all, I…” She crossed her arms. “Have you nothing better to do than come all this way in search of entertainment? Surely you could find some other means to amuse yourself.” She pushed at his shoulder with both hands. “Might I suggest fishing? Or cards? Or stamp collecting?”

  He didn’t budge. “You’re a rather prickly person. Have you always been this way?”

  “How the devil did you even know to look for me in Northampton in the first place?”

  “That’s not important,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. He took off his tricorne and gloves, dropping them on the table. “What’s important is that I’ve discovered new information that may have consequences for our alliance. I needed to discuss it with my partner.”

  Elizabeth wasn’t listening, too busy trying to wriggle away under the table. “Where must I go to be free of you? A South Seas island? The Far East perhaps? Name the place and I shall go there.”

  “You could join your husband in Italy,” he suggested dryly, reaching down to haul her back up to a sitting position. “Except, of course that you don’t have a husband.”

  Elizabeth gasped, her throat suddenly dry. “Oh Lawks.”

  “Indeed.” He pinned her with a cool stare. “That, my devious lady, is the new information I mentioned. With time on my hands in London, I decided to pay a visit to the College of Arms in Derby Square. They’re the gentlemen appointed by the King to maintain a registry of all emblems, pedigrees, and genealogies relating to the peerage. I made inquiries about a certain Lord Barnes-Finchley and they provided a most interesting report.” Marcus frowned at her. “He doesn’t exist. There is no one by that title in all of Great Britain, Elizabeth. I think you made him up as part of your disguise.”

  “I-I… h-he… that is—”

  “So all that nonsense about ‘I am a married woman, my lord’ and ‘I will not break my vows’ was nothing but one lie after another.”

  “B-but…”

  “If you’re not going to admit it,” he continued lightly, shrugging, “I could ask more questions here in Northampton. It shouldn’t be difficult to find out more about this Geoffrey Thornhill—”

  “All right!” she hissed, glancing over her shoulder and keeping her voice low, mindful of the handful of other customers scattered about the tavern. “You’re right, I’m not married and I’m not an aristocrat. He’s dead. Geoffrey’s dead. I’m a widow. We concocted a husband as part of my Lady Barnes-Finchley disguise, because Georgiana said it would make it easier for me to move about freely in society.” She glared at him. “But you have all the scruples of a tomcat, pursuing a woman you thought was married.”

  “But you’re not married. It was a complete fabrication.”

  “But you didn’t know that!”

  “Very well, yes, I’m a sinner and a rogue beyond redemption. I seem to be willing to break a commandment or two where you’re concerned. But at least I admit to my nefarious ways. You, on the other hand, apparently feel no shame at all for the lies you’ve told—”

  “I had to lie to you!”

  “Why?”

  “Because I… we… because you are handsome and gallant and a poet and entirely too appealing and you make me forget everything! And I am not going to allow myself to become all swoony over you!”

  He blinked at her for a moment.

  Then he smiled, a broad grin that revealed the dimple in his stubbled cheek. “Swoony?”

  Elizabeth clapped a hand over her mouth. The accursed ale had loosened her tongue in a most distressing way. “It’s… complicated,” she said between her fingers.

  He reached out to take her hand away from her lips. “Well, here is something simple and uncomplicated, Elizabeth.” His dark eyes smoldered in the candlelight. “I’m glad it was a lie.” He stroked his thumb beneath her chin, tilting her head up, his voice low and husky. “I’m glad you don’t belong to any other man.”

  Before she could take another breath, his mouth covered hers. It was a heated, ravishing kiss—different from the way he had ever kissed her before. Possessive. Potent. As if he meant to brand her with his fire, to claim her as his own.

  Unable to bear the warring emotions she felt, Elizabeth could only think of how much she had missed him—and suddenly she was grasping handfuls of his coat, holding him close, welcoming his kiss with a low sound of longing.

  Her lie about being married had been her last defense against him. And now it was gone. She felt herself tumbling, lost, aware only of the exhilaration of his mouth on hers, of his nearness—the strength and heat of his body, his scent surrounding her.

  He tore his mouth from hers and nibbled at her lower lip, her jaw, her neck. “My sweet lady.” He pressed his mouth to her ear. “God, how I missed you.”

  “Marcus…” She let go of his coat and reached up to cup his beard-roughened cheeks in her palms, turning his face toward hers. Looking into his eyes, she saw
a vulnerability there she had never seen before. She tried to remember all her wise and sensible intentions to keep her defenses up, to keep her distance.

  Instead, she drew his head down to hers and parted her lips.

  “Yes,” he growled against her mouth. He tangled his fingers in her hair to hold her still and kissed her thoroughly, hot and hard and demanding. The stubble of his beard felt rough against her skin. His tongue thrust against hers, igniting sparks of sensation at her core. They cascaded through her, sent reason spinning away beyond reach.

  He slipped one hand inside her frock coat, his touch burning through the fabric of the waistcoat and shirt she wore underneath. His palm cupped her breast and she arched against him.

  “Marcus,” she gasped, “we’re in public—”

  “I don’t care.” His fingers made quick work of the buttons on her waistcoat, his voice as searing as his touch.

  “But they’ll see.”

  He reached out to extinguish the candle between his thumb and forefinger, plunging the corner where they sat into shadows.

  Then he pushed aside the fabric of her waistcoat, bent his head, and suckled her breast through her shirt, dampening the cloth until it was wet and sheer, her pebble-hard nipple jutting forward to meet every darting touch of his tongue. The fiery sensations clenched tight at the center of her belly.

  “Oh God.” She grasped at his arms, her fingers digging into his taut muscles. “Marcus, please, we have to stop.”

  He lifted his head, breathing hard, and rubbed his bristly cheek against her throat. “Where are your lodgings?”

  “If you think—” He kissed her before she could finish the sentence. “—I’m going to share my room with you—”

  “What I think,” he told her in a whisper, nuzzling her neck, unfastening the top buttons of her shirt, “is that we need to open new negotiations…” His tongue teased the hollow of her throat. “… regarding certain terms of our alliance.” A well-placed kiss stole her breath. “Such as that part about keeping things strictly business. And staying away from each other the whole damned summer. I mean to keep you safe, Elizabeth, to protect you—”

  “Protect me from what?” She pulled away from him. “Marcus, I haven’t gone raiding once since we made our agreement. If you’d care to notice, I’m not even in the same city as Montaigne and his coaches at the moment.”

  He placed a finger against her lips. “I suggest you keep your voice down, my lady highwayman, lest we attract unwanted attention.”

  She turned away from his touch. “I do not need a man to watch over me!” she said in an annoyed whisper. “It’s the same as before—you giving orders.” She started buttoning her clothes. “I have no need of a guardian or a protector or—”

  “A lover?”

  She secured her shirt firmly at her throat. “That least of all.”

  His wicked grin flashed in the darkness. “Why don’t we go somewhere more private and open our negotiations?”

  “No. No, no, no.” She pressed one hand against his chest to hold him at bay. “We will not be opening anything and I am not going anywhere private with you. That’s exactly when the trouble begins! Every blessed time I’m alone with you, I seem to take leave of my senses and get… and get—”

  “Swoony?” he supplied helpfully.

  “Yes! Oh no.” Elizabeth felt her stomach lurch and suddenly realized that the ale she had downed did not want to stay down. She covered her mouth with one hand. “Oh Lawks, I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Really? You don’t look the least bit green. In fact, that’s a lovely blush on your cheeks.”

  “If I don’t go outside at once, my lord, I’ll be forced to demonstrate all over your lap!”

  “By all means, let’s leave.” He scooped up his hat and gloves as he slid to the edge of the bench. “Where are your lodgings?”

  She hiccupped. “I already told you—”

  “Elizabeth, you are in no condition to be wandering the streets alone. Especially at this hour. You’ll have to at least accept my escort back to wherever it is you’re staying.”

  She whispered a curse and pushed past him, walking rather unsteadily toward the tavern door, Marcus right at her heels.

  “Here now, lad!” A serving woman stepped in front of Elizabeth before they could reach the exit. “Ye haven’t paid fer yer ale yet.”

  Elizabeth stopped in her tracks, struck by sudden inspiration. “Do you mean this establishment doesn’t extend credit?” she slurred, searching through her pockets. “I didn’t realize. I haven’t any money.”

  The tavern owner, a burly man with onion breath, stepped up beside them. “We got plenty o’ work in the kitchen for them what ain’t got money.”

  Elizabeth turned and smiled up at Marcus. “But that won’t be necessary. My friend here will gladly pay you.”

  With a suspicious look, Marcus placed a firm hand on her shoulder, already reaching into his coat.

  The tavern owner seemed to think he was reaching for a pistol. “No ye don’t, guv.” He grabbed Marcus’s arm. “Just pay up.”

  Elizabeth took advantage of the momentary confusion to wriggle free of Marcus’s grasp. She made a speedy—if somewhat tipsy—departure out the door. “I shall see you tomorrow, friend,” she called back over her shoulder.

  Outside, she darted around the corner of the tavern and down a nearby alley, disappearing into the darkness.

  But it took Marcus only a moment to settle the bill and give chase.

  “Elizabeth,” he called out. “Stop playing games.”

  From the shadows of a pewter shop, Elizabeth bit her tongue to stop a retort. He intended to appoint himself her guardian? And share her room? No and no. She edged along the building, moving away from the sound of his voice as quietly as possible. He called after her again, then fell silent, as if realizing she was using his voice to guess his position.

  All the shops were long since closed for the night. She felt her way along the street in the darkness, trying to remember the way to her lodgings. With the ale clouding her head, she couldn’t make out much of anything.

  It was also most distracting the way her body still tingled from Marcus’s touch and his kiss. Dear God, the exquisite way he used his mouth…

  Her foot splashed in a puddle and she froze, holding her breath. But she paused only a second before hurrying forward. At the end of the row of shops, she dashed around the corner—and almost collided with a pair of armed men.

  Who were apparently in the midst of a robbery.

  With a startled exclamation, she stopped in her tracks. A third man, expensively dressed, was up against the wall with his hands in the air.

  Marcus ran around the corner seconds later. “Damn it, Eli—” Her name died on his lips as he halted just behind her.

  “What be this, now?” One of the armed men demanded. “Eh, mate, are these fellows with you?”

  His partner turned twin flintlock pistols on Elizabeth. “Drop it, boy.”

  Realizing only then that she had instinctively drawn her little gun—her empty gun—Elizabeth hesitated. The man raised his weapons so that one was aimed at her head, one at her heart.

  A chill skittering down her spine, she let her pistol slip from her fingers.

  He knelt to pick it up. “Maybe the three of ’em was plannin’ an ambush.”

  Marcus silently moved in front of Elizabeth.

  “You’re barmy-brained.” The one with his hands in the air snarled. “I’ve never seen neither of them before.”

  The first man uttered a cackle of laughter. “That proves it. He’s tryin’ to keep ’em safe from the likes o’ us. Well, Alfie, with the Crown payin’ thirty apiece for footpads an’ such, I’d say we just made ourselves ninety pounds.”

  “Not a bad night’s work.” The one named Alfie stepped closer to Marcus, both pistols now aimed at him. “Who are ye? Are ye in with Lowe or nay?”

  Elizabeth’s heart hammered against her ribs. She’d ha
d the situation all wrong! It seemed the man against the wall was a criminal, and these two were bounty hunters.

  She tried to think of some plausible way to explain her garb and her gun.

  “I assure you, we’re no criminals, sir,” Marcus said, sounding like a thoroughly insulted London lord. “My nephew here has simply imbibed too much. I’ll be taking him home now.” He reached back and took Elizabeth’s arm. “Our apologies for the interrupt—”

  “Not so fast, guv.” Alfie pressed one pistol against Marcus’s chest. “Yer fancy talk don’t convince me ye ain’t part o’ Lowe’s knot. They’re known for takin’ on the manners and dress o’ their betters.”

  “If it’s a matter of money,” Marcus replied smoothly, “I am willing to pay you much more than thirty pounds each for our release.”

  “Wait a minute, Alfie,” the other bounty hunter insisted. “If he’s tryin’ to bribe us, and they ain’t willin’ to tell us their names, they can’t be up t’ no good, even if they ain’t part o’ Lowe’s gang. These two might be worth lots more than thirty apiece.”

  “Yer right, Cyril. I think we best let the magistrate sort this out. Hands in the air, if ye please,” Alfie ordered, taking in both Marcus and Elizabeth with a wave of his pistols. “I hereby place ye under arrest in the name of the Crown.”

  Chapter 11

  The gaol loomed atop a hill at the north end of town. Elizabeth shivered as they drew near the gates in the darkness, her hands tied behind her with rope, her fingers nearly numb. She could remember every awful tale she had ever heard of this place. Be good or you’ll be sent up the hill was a phrase often used to persuade disobedient Northampton children to behave.

  It was little more than a dungeon, deep in the ruins of a castle that had protected the town in centuries past. The thought of being imprisoned again made Elizabeth’s heart beat erratically. She cast a nervous look at Marcus walking beside her.

  Even though his hands were tied and he had a gun pointed at his back, he looked as cool and confident as ever. He mouthed the words, “Trust me.”