Summer Lovin' (8 page)

"Poppet!"

The highwayman sprang forward, before Marisa's cry of dismay was past her lips. His gloved hands caught her at the waist, and in the next heartbeat Marisa's arms reflexively encircled his neck. Once assured that she was safe, the rogue should have placed her feet on the ground, and stepped away. Instead, he slid his arms around her, placing her flush against his chest in a very scandalous fashion.

Marisa's heart pounded, most likely with relief at avoiding disaster, though she had to admit her pulse raced anew at being held in such a protective embrace. She felt the muscled strength in the way he cradled her, yet it was tempered with gentleness, banishing any fear.

A hint of sandalwood rose from his warm skin, mingling with the virile scent of a man accustomed to doing whatever he wished with his life. It was a combination both exotic and comforting. For the first time in a long while Marisa felt safe, and she had to fight the urge to lay her head on his shoulder.

She closed her eyes, thankful he could not see her reddened face, or divine her wayward thoughts. He was a means to freedom, nothing more. If only Aunt Althea had not filled her head with romantic notions throughout her childhood. . .

The highwayman lowered her until her half boots touched the ground, and only then did he release his hands. Marisa nearly sighed her disappointment.

"I must thank you for preventing a most disastrous episode," she said.

"I am delighted I could be of service to you, Mistress."

The merriment in his voice caught her off guard. She glanced up, impatient to see this man who had been heaven-sent to aid her.

Her breath stopped in her throat. In the next instant, she could not remember the correct sequence of breathing, or how to restart it now that it had halted.

He was beyond handsome. Her brother Bernard was considered handsome, as were her other five brothers, so she was accustomed to seeing comely men on a daily basis.

This man was in a category of his own making.

His strong jaw and elegant cheekbones denoted noble bloodlines, yet it was unlikely a man of aristocratic lineage would become a knight of the road. Perhaps he had been born on the wrong side of the blanket, and his only opportunity in life was to take up this lawless profession. Still, he wisely wore a strip of leather to conceal his identity, though it did nothing to disguise his appeal.

His long blond locks fluttered, as if the light breeze found them as irresistible as Marisa did. His thigh-high leather boots, and the black cape which swirled around him, made her heart skip more than once. She glanced again at his face, to see amusement sparkling in his blue eyes. He tossed her an impudent wink.

Clearly he enjoyed her detailed perusal.

Her face heated, earning her a broad smile. The dimple accompanying his upturned lips completely captivated her.

The highwayman executed a magnificent bow, never taking his eyes from hers.

Delighted, Marisa sank into a formal curtsey, as though they were ready to commence a stately minuet for the entertainment of the brigands surrounding them.

"Come, Mistress.” The highwayman extended his hand towards her, and Marisa took it, glad for his assistance. Her knees wobbled more than she anticipated when she impetuously responded to the highwayman's gallant gesture.

"Poppet, perhaps you should stand here with me."

Marisa glanced over her shoulder at Bernard, reading the unspoken warning in his expression. His mouth was pursed with annoyance rather than fear, so she dismissed his silent reprimand. She would not be dissuaded from her purpose.

"I should so hate to be deprived of her company," the highwayman said, his lips turned down in a mock pout. He kept her small hands in his, the twinkle in his eyes demonstrating he felt no urgency to release her. Marisa was in no hurry either.

"I can scarce imagine you stopped our carriage merely to clasp my hands."

The highwayman smiled, bringing a great deal of bliss to Marisa's heart when his dimple reappeared. He touched one of her errant blonde curls, seemingly enchanted as he twirled it around a gloved finger. Marisa felt her heart speed up once more, and she was grateful the cool night air soothed the heat threatening to overtake her body.

"Had I but known what a jewel resided in this coach," the highwayman replied, his voice a caress.

Bernard coughed, but before Marisa could investigate, the highwayman captured her full attention again.

"Perhaps I should receive a small boon in return for my heroic deed," he suggested.

Before she could respond, he turned her hand over, exposing the pale skin of her wrist above the kid glove. He raised it to his lips with infinite slowness.

Marisa's knees trembled, but she had yet to swoon in her short life. She did not intend to do so now, lest she miss the heady experience of being kissed by a knight of the road.

His eyes never left hers, daring her to call a halt to his audacious act. She returned his gaze, her breathing ragged, her feverish skin impatient for his touch. When his lips finally brushed against her, she closed her eyes and allowed the exhilaration to wash over her.

Why had she not been forced to wed a man such as this one? There would be no need for defiance or escape plots if her father had decreed this man was to be her husband.

A horse nickered in the background, diverting the highwayman's attention, ending the kiss much too soon for Marisa's taste. Her eyes fluttered open, and she ached to return to that delicious moment of pure sensation.

Bernard stepped forward to retrieve her, but a rogue with unruly red hair waved him back with a large pistol. Her brother frowned, unhappy at being bested by a young man whose menacing glare was accompanied by a rash of freckles.

Marisa turned to hide her smile, but the highwayman saw it and he chuckled.

"You have distracted me from my original purpose, angel." He brushed her hand with a quick kiss before releasing it.

"You have done the same to me," she replied.

"Indeed? And how might I serve your purposes?"

"Poppet," Bernard growled. He shot her another warning glance, but she ignored it as before. He had left her with no option, despite her repeated pleas. Marisa's future was not the only one at stake.

"I am to wed Lord—"

"Here," Bernard said in a rush, reaching inside his greatcoat. "Take these. They are all we have in the way of valuables." He extended a jewel case toward the highwayman. "You may have these so long as we are free to resume our journey."

Marisa gaped at her brother. He was a younger son, one of many in her large family, and not likely to possess jewels of any kind. The majority of his meager allowance was spent on ensuring he was in the first stare of fashion. How had he—

Realization knocked the air from her chest. Bernard could have utilized the jewels to finance a very comfortable life for both of them, preventing her upcoming nuptials. Yet clearly he had not been motivated to do so. His betrayal stung, for he had allied himself with Father, even knowing how desperately she needed his help.

The highwayman grasped the case and opened it. He stepped back a pace, his eyes wide. Surely jewels and jewelry cases were the norm, indeed, the
raison d'etre
, for a man who robbed the king's highways each night. Yet this man appeared as astonished by their presence as Marisa had been.

The rogue guarding Bernard raced to the highwayman's side, eager to view the treasure. Bernard clutched Marisa's arm, and pulled her towards the carriage. She twisted away from him, dragging her heels, determined to depart with the highwayman. He was her only remaining chance at freedom. She had to find her way back to London, before it was too late.

She curved away from her brother, but he was too quick. He tightened his grip and hurried her to their equipage, determined to leave before Marisa divulged her valuable status.

 Marisa glanced back at her erstwhile rescuer, but he was transfixed by the jewel case in his hands. She opened her mouth to call to him, but Bernard propelled her into the coach, slamming the door behind them. The coachman slapped the reins against the mounts, eager to make up for the time lost during their misadventure. Perhaps the horses sensed the driver's fright, for the carriage bolted down the highway, leaning precariously to one side.

Marisa spied the highwayman in the coach's path ahead of them, oblivious to the danger speeding towards him. She swallowed her scream. Was this part of her dire future too? Not only must she wed a man she feared, she must also witness the destruction of this cavalier, the embodiment of her romantic dreams.

In the next instant, the red-haired brigand grasped the highwayman's cape and dragged him to safety.

Marisa's heart fell back into place, resuming a somewhat normal rhythm, though it would be a while before the pangs of disappointment subsided.

Yet another failed attempt at escape.

At least the knight errant was in no further danger. He would live to steal kisses from another impressionable miss one day. Perhaps, if she were lucky, he would include their midnight tryst in his memoirs, when he was in his dotage, recalling the stirring adventures of his youth.

She peered out the side glass once more, craving a final look at the dashing highwayman as they raced past. Their hasty departure twisted the covering on the carriage door, exposing Lord Westbrook's crest. The highwayman's eyes lit up with instant recognition. He looked up at Marisa, and his lips curved into the most delicious smile.

A heartbeat later, the darkness erased him from her sight. Marisa was once more racing towards Westbrook Hall, certain she had imagined the entire escapade. She wiped away a tear before Bernard could see her in a rare weak moment, and report on it to their father.

Why had the Fates dangled the hope of escape in front of her, only to wrench it away in such a cruel, heartless fashion?

***

Gabriel DeVault adjusted the leather strip around his eyes as he glanced down at Westbrook Hall. He had viewed the estate from this promontory many times over the years, memorizing every detail. It was an impressive home of Palladian design, with curved staircases of York stone flanking the main entrance, and statues from antiquity balancing atop Corinthian columns. The house was surrounded by acres of parkland, as well as parterres, and gardens of every variety, all designed to reflect the family's wealth and status.

Tonight, Gabriel saw Westbrook Hall in a completely different light, thanks to a chance encounter on the king's highways.

"Gilbey, I must thank you for preventing my demise this evening." Gabriel tugged at the knot of his cape, not quite able to find a comfortable spot. "Though your rough manner calls to mind a hangman's noose about my throat."

"I noticed you were a mite distracted," Gilbey answered, a wide grin covering his freckled face. "And that kiss you stole. I thought I might need help from the lads, to wrench you away from the young beauty."

"I paid her scarce more attention than the other ladies we encounter during a night's work," Gabriel retorted. "It was a mere kiss."

In truth, the angel's pulse had throbbed under his lips in a most entrancing fashion, creating an answering ache in his loins. Her rosewater-scented skin, and the gossamer curls, elicited the most delicious thoughts.

"Aye, a mere kiss. I can see you scarce remember her."

Gilbey's grin widened, but Gabriel chose to ignore him. His attention was centered on something a great deal more important.

Lord Westbrook's carriage rolled to a stop in the pea gravel driveway. Liveried footmen rushed out with torches to usher the passengers into the grand entryway.

Gabriel's breath caught at the sight of the blonde woman descending from the traveling coach, albeit in a more decorous fashion than when she had landed in his arms earlier that evening. His body reacted at that delectable memory, and he shifted in his saddle, disturbing his horse's grazing. The inky-black horse reared its head, snorting its displeasure. Its heated breath mingled with the crisp night air, creating a swirling fog around them.

"Come, Eclipse," Gabriel said, smoothing his gloved hand over the stallion's sleek muscled neck. "Surely you can permit me one more glimpse of Lord Westbrook's betrothed."

She was possessed of such an angelic demeanor, yet it was paired with an unexpectedly devilish manner. He could not help but be enchanted by her beauty. The pale blonde curls, unwilling to remain confined in the topknot she wore, coupled with the cobalt-blue eyes, were enough to distract any man from rational thought. The first time she smiled, his heart had ceased beating for several long seconds.

Yet it was the mischievous sparkle in those innocent eyes, and the utterly bold manner in which she had inspected his costume, which made him smile now. She had not swooned or fainted when he kissed her. Instead she had accused him of distracting her from her purpose. He laughed at the unexpected notion.

What could such a spirited miss want from a highwayman?

Gabriel reached into his boot for the jewel case. He opened it, catching his breath once more at the display of rubies, the pigeon's-blood-red gems given to the Westbrook brides for numerous generations.