Flesh: Alpha Males and Taboo Tales (15 page)

The horse was a hunter type, with broad black chest and a solid, patient way of standing with no flighty tipping from one hoof to another. The man on his back sat with equal calmness. She could make out shapes in the gloom; a wide brimmed hat, a cloak, square shoulders.

"Good evening, sir," she said boldly. She had no idea of his social class but he could afford a decent horse, and there was no harm in being polite to everyone.

"Good evening, mistress," he called back, pressing his heels to the horse and urging it forwards a few steps.

As he drew level, he peered down at Eliza. She saw his face more clearly, and they both smiled in recognition of each other at almost the same moment.

"The robber!" she said and he laughed.

"Gentleman thief, if you would. Highwayman will do. Robber sounds so…base."

"Mr Highwayman then…do you have a name?"

"I do apologise. May I present…Christopher Fletcher, at your
service. Kit, to my friends. And the dreadful broadsheets. Sometimes, I am the Notorious Kit Fletcher."

"How very exciting!
To be notorious…"

"Alas, it's not so pleasant for a lady to be labelled notorious," he said with a shake of his head. Eliza wasn't entirely sure what he meant but she could understand the general implication.

"Ahh." She accepted his proffered hand. "Eliza Du Marron."

"Oh!
Du Marron's daughter? Well, had I known, I could have had my fill of money from you last night, and barely made a dent in that old goat's coffers. How lucky you are."

Eliza wondered if that were true. The way her papa was with money, it seemed as if he had none at all, so frightened was he of spending it.

Though maybe that's why he had so much.

"I am glad you took nothing," she said. "I would hate to have had to defend myself."

"You'd have fought me?" he laughed with delight. "With what hope of winning?"

"That's not the point. I would perchance die, but die knowing I did all I could for my honour and name. Like a man."

The highwayman roared with laughter then, tipping his head back and slapping his thigh with his gloved hand, and Eliza felt a red heat of anger flush her face. She hated to be mocked. She knotted her hands into fists and turned around to leave.

"Wait – wait. I am sorry. And to be fair, I have witnessed women fighting and it's not very pretty. They can be vicious. I've seen men bested.
Though generally alcohol is involved."

Eliza turned back to face him.
"Women fighting? Where?"

"
Taverns, and low places, generally. Not gentlewomen. Or at least, some may have been...once."

Eliza felt a thrill shoot along her spine. "I have never been in a tavern."

"Of course you haven't. Why should you?"

"To meet people.
Interesting people. Interesting men."

"Men?"
Kit leaned down towards her. "We men are a strange lot, and not to be trusted."

"I've heard that said of women."

"True, true. So, Miss Eliza, what's on the horizon for you? Marriage planned? Some dreadful, bloated old landowner perhaps? Is that why you're running wild on the hills, seeking out...
interesting
men... to gain experience, maybe? Before you encounter an old whig's bed?"

Eliza's mouth dropped open as the fury was swept away by sheer indignation. "Sir!" she blurted. "You misunderstand me
entirely
. It is not so much the maleness of the men I am interested in... as their... it's not... I mean. Oh. It's just not that, you see!"

"Not their maleness? What do you want?" His flirting tone had been replaced by genuine interest.

"Adventure."

"Oh well then... I may be merely a man, but adventure I can certainly provide! Shall we ride?"

"Ride...?"

Kit shifted backwards on his saddle. "You would fit up here." He reached out his arms to her, and Eliza reacted without thinking.

"Yes."

He hauled her up, her legs scrabbling in a slightly undignified manner as he dragged her up onto the pommel. She tried to hitch her leg up around as if she
were riding side saddle, but there wasn't enough purchase and she slid around.

"You'll have to go legs akimbo," Kit said with apology.
"Still. It's an adventure, yes?"

Eliza knew she couldn't refuse anything now, for fear of looking daft. So she hitched up her skirts and let her legs dangle either side of the horse. It felt extremely
transgressional to have bare legs. Bare legs pressed against the leather of Kit's boots. Something shifted in her belly, and a strange warmth bloomed. There was most certainly something sinful in all this, but she wasn't sure what. And if she couldn't put a name to it, she couldn't really be blamed, could she?

Kit wrapped one strong arm around her waist and took up the reins with the other hand. She felt his legs flex as he urged the horse forwards.

No man that was not of her family had ever touched her.

No man had ever touched her like this.

The arm around her was unlike the hug of a female friend or the rough and tumble of the childhood play with her cousins. This was a man's arm, strong and sure. This, perhaps, was part of the secret of maleness. She quivered, and pushed the thoughts aside.

"Are you ready?" Kit breathed in her ear, and that was another new sensation that sent her belly roiling.

"Ready for what?"

"This." And they leapt forward, the hunter breaking through a rough trot and quickly into a smooth and rolling canter as they hurtled alongside the road, taking the smoother way of the
cropped green grass. Eliza squeaked and grabbed the pommel with both hands, but there was no danger of falling while she was held by Kit, and she found she had to relax and curve her body back along his to maintain her balance.

The wind in her eyes made them water and she gasped with the exhilaration. In the half-light, they felt as if they were travelling twice as fast as they were. Kit's body was hard and muscular, and fitted around her like a protective carapace. The rocking motion was doing odd things to her secret place, the place between her legs that no-one had ever given her a word for. She felt damp, and she wondered if she should worry, except everything felt just so wonderful.

Impulsively, Eliza let go of the pommel with her right hand, and clamped it around the hand that Kit had on her waist. As soon as she had done so, she regretted her boldness, but she could hardly change her mind now. So she left it there, holding onto his gloved wrist. She'd made a move – touched a man – and the world hadn't ended.

Her confidence rose.

They thundered through the night, up over the lonely heath, and a yell of delight bubbled up through Eliza and she shouted out loud.

"Enjoying this?" Kit hollered in her ear.

"I love it!" she whooped back.

"How about another new adventure?" he shouted. "Are you thirsty? Would you like to go to a tavern?"

A vision of the Lady Jacqueline and her husband waiting at the dinner table flashed through Eliza's mind. She crushed it. She'd explain she had been ill.

"Yes!"

They left the sweating horse in the stables under the care of a slight boy. Outside the inn, Kit stripped off his gloves and took Eliza's small hands in his large, warm ones. At the touch of his skin she felt a blush over her cheeks, and she looked down.

"No, look up," he ordered. "Walk in here with me with confidence. Act what you don't feel, and the feeling will come anyway. Trust me. Walk as if you own it. Well, your father probably does own it."

At the mention of papa, Eliza threw back her head, tossing her dark curls over her shoulder with a shake. Kit was right. She'd walk in with the arrogance she was born to. "Lead on."

"Ahh no," Kit said with a glint, "after you, my lady."

She flashed him a dark look and accepted his challenge. Her heart was hammering but she sashayed past the highwayman and through the low door into a scene of noise, colour and strange bitter smells.

Some heads turned but many did not. People were wrapped up in their own little dramas. She paused, looking about, wondering where she was supposed to go now. Kit came up behind her and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. It should have been an imposition, but she let it rest there. "We'll find a booth," he whispered in her ear, and walked her forwards to the bar where a tall, thin, red-faced man with no hair at all was serving ale.

The barman nodded at Kit and then waved him to the far end of the crowded room. Kit raised a hand in acknowledgement and steered Eliza through the bodies. "Josiah's a good man. I come here frequently."

"With many ladies?"

"Oh, women yes. Not so many ladies such as yourself, though. In fact, you're probably the first."

"Probably?" Eliza wondered what the sharp nudge in her stomach was. Surely not jealousy – she didn't know this man. And who would be interested in a man who
hadn't
had experience of women? Women weren't allowed to have experience. So the man had to have. Or else wedding nights would be... well, Eliza thought she roughly understood the mechanics, and she felt sure at least one of the parties would have to know what they were doing.

Kit ignored her barbed comment. They found a table in a booth that was enclosed on three sides, and close to the wide inglenook fireplace. It was hot from the flames and Eliza soon slid out of her cloak, and Kit took his coat off. He was dressed in a white linen shirt and simple dark blue sleeveless jerkin, like a common labourer. He smiled at her horror.

"You've just ridden over the moors with a known...
robber
... and allowed him to bring you into a drinking den, and you're shocked that I'm improperly dressed? You'd be happier if I were in a decent doublet?"

Eliza grinned at her own snobbery, and shook her head ruefully. "
Ahh yes, the look of the thing... this is all very strange, but the further I stray, the easier it gets."

A woman brought two leather jacks of ale to the table. She, too, was not dressed for polite society – her breasts were positively straining to escape from her inadequate bodice. Eliza tried not to stare as she leaned far over the table, quite deliberately giving them both an eyeful of creamy flesh.

Kit slapped the doxy's rump and sent her away with a coin.

"Shameless, isn't she?" he said, loud enough for her to hear and wiggle her ample behind in response.

"Um. Yes."

Kit shrugged. "But, no harm
done."

Various tired old homilies about god, and souls, and heaven, and decency, sprang to her lips, but as she looked Kit in the eye, she realised that he had as little truck with Sundays as she did. "No harm done," she repeated, and tried the ale.

Ale was like transgressing. It got easier the more you drank, and by her second tankard she was very nearly enjoying the taste. The fire was making her relaxed, and she was no longer sitting nice and upright like the daughter of a Lord should. Kit had kept her laughing with his tales of derring-do as a sailor, travelling the world. And she, in her turn, amused him with the exploits of the London scene. He even seemed to know some of the people she spoke about, and was genuinely interested.

"How many footmen did she have?"

A light sparked in Eliza's mind. "Ahh, I've got you! I know why you're so keen to find out details about servants and carriages and who lives where. You're planning robberies."

Kit didn't deny it. He drained his tankard and shrugged his irritating, appealing, nonchalant shoulders. "Would you expect anything less? I
am
a professional."

She had to agree.

The barmaid bustled over as soon as she saw that Kit's tankard was empty. "More?"

Kit looked at Eliza, and shook his head. "It's time we were off.
Thank you for your hospitality; as delightful as ever." He flipped her another coin and rose to his feet, offering his arm to Eliza.

"We don't have to go," she said. She could hear the petulant tone in her voice but it seemed far away, filtered through a fog of strong ale.

"We do," he insisted.

Eliza lurched to her feet and grabbed his arm as he used his free hand to pass her cloak over her shoulders. She fumbled at her neck and hitched it closed. "I suppose so," she grumbled.

Once out into the cold night air, her head cleared somewhat. "Oh. Oh dear, yes, I really had ought to be home," she admitted, clinging to Kit's arm as they walked around to the stables. The boy had long gone, and the hunter stood alone in the middle stall. Eliza struggled as they stepped over the stone sill of the doorway, stumbling against Kit. He caught her in his arms and flung her around to face him, pressing her against his chest.

Time slowed, coalescing to one single moment of balance. Eliza tipped her head back to gaze up at Kit, illuminated by a yellow lantern on the wall at the far end of the stables. His face showed sharp angles in the shadowy light, with cheekbones of menace. His usual smile faded as he looked down at her, and her heart flipped. What was wrong?