The Highwayman's Bride (4 page)

Chapter Four

’Tis the season for parties

But beware, word is that a dashing and wealthy young Lord is not what he seems.

Mirabelle’s Musings

November 1813

London

“Get yeself ready, young woman, you’ve been invited to the Bancroft’s for their seasonal dance and damned lucky at that. Can’t find a husband cooped up in your bedroom with those dashed books you bury your nose in.” In her lap Luther spied
The Ladies’ Magazine
open to Mirabelle’s Musings. “That drivel. The woman is scandalous. ’Tis not decent for a female to write.”

The second her bedroom door slammed shut, Tess sagged back against the chaise, the musings of
that scandalous woman
Mirabelle falling to the floor. How she envied Mirabelle. Able to say what she liked. Able to earn an income. Oh, the freedom it would give her.

Staring at the closed door, Tess wondered whatever had possessed her Aunt Tulip to marry a man such as Luther Gibbs. The man was odious, yet when he entered a room her aunt’s face blossomed.

She couldn’t imagine being so enamored with a man that she would lose all track of thought and common sense.

Yes, you can. You’ve already met him.

Aiden Masters.

A sudden heat took hold and permeated her cheeks at the unbidden thought.

Shame on her, but she couldn’t help it. Ever since her highwayman had interrupted her that night she had daydreamed about him.

A sad sigh escaped from her lungs. Such whimsy was useless. The man was a rogue. Oh, he may have had fine manners and even finer clothes, but his occupation was definitely not that of a gentleman.

From outside her door, Tess heard the chaotic commotion that was Tulip. She shook her head. Poor Aunt Tulip. She lived in a fantasy world, choosing to ignore the distasteful origin of her husband’s newfound wealth.

Back firmly under Luther’s thumb, Tess had no choice but to do as he bid. Dear Uncle Luther wanted her firmly back in the marriage market. That her stolen goods had funded their journey to London and paid the rent on their house in St James for the coming festive parties shamed Tess even more.

Crossing the room, she stood by her dressing table and trailed her fingers over her silver-backed mirror and brush set. Once it had belonged to her mother, now it was the only reminder of her past life.

Her parents were gone, as was everything else, leaving her a penniless past-her-prime orphan about to be foisted on the
ton
. She shrugged. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered any more. What was the use?

“Are you ready, child?” Tulip didn’t bother knocking and opened the door. “’Tis such a night, I am so excited. Oh, it may not be where the earls and dukes of society will be in attendance,” she sighed, “but ’tis still Society of a sorts.” She crossed the room, her gaze lowering to the finely crafted hand mirror and then refocusing on Tess. “Your parents would be so proud of you, my dear.”

“Would they? I very much doubt it. Using ill-gotten gains to fund something I do not want.”

“Don’t be silly. We’ve discussed this. You need to marry, otherwise you will be a spinster, and what life is that?”

“A life I choose,” she countered.

“Oh, Tess.” Tulip wrung her hands, her voice tainted with disquiet. “Marriage is a life that befalls us all, whether we want it or not. It is our womanly duty in life. Surely you understand that?”

Tess clenched her fists at her side as the now familiar coil of nerves churned deep down in her stomach. “My parents left me an inheritance to use for the life I chose. Yet it has been squandered.”

Tulip’s smile faded. “It was not our fault.”

“Perhaps not yours, Aunt, but definitely Luther’s.”

“His businesses—” her aunt began to protest.

“Yes. Yes, I know.” She drew away from her aunt. “Every one of them failed. Was it any use tossing good money after bad? Now, I’m a side of beef to be hawked to the highest bidder.” It wasn’t marriage that Tess refused, but being forced to marry someone not of her choosing. Of not having control over her own life.

“You are a beautiful woman,” Tulip smiled indulgently. “And sure to find a man of means.”

“Ah…yes, means. The all-important factor.” Tulip would never understand. Tess reached for her reticule with a suddenly shaking hand.

“Good girl. Put a smile on your face.” She reached over and pinched Tess’s cheeks. “There. Much better. A lady always needs to look healthy and fresh to attract a man, and given your…” Her voice trailed off.

“My advanced age?” Tess prompted. “Too old to attract a husband at twenty-three?”

Tulip’s lips smacked her displeasure. “Well, you have had ample opportunity, my girl. You gave up a good man in Percy Harrow. I do not know what you were thinking running away like that.”

An icy shiver skittered down her spine, her arms instantly dotted as if she were a plucked goose. She kept her own counsel, however.

Her aunt reached for her hand and clutched it as if she thought Tess were about to bolt. “You are very lucky your uncle managed to extricate you from the…ah…delicate situation he found you in. The least you can do is do as he bids and be grateful.”

“And find a rich husband to support you both.” Receiving a blank look from her aunt, Tess shook her head at the futility. “I believe we have a dance to attend,” she said.

“Yes. Yes. Come now, straighten up, don’t slouch, and don’t babble. A man does not want to hear a woman speak too often. And none of your talk of independence, my girl.” Tulip hustled her from the room, down the staircase. Tess felt as if she were walking into hell.

Circling the foyer, the staff waited to send her off.

“You’ll do us proud,” Mrs. Horshall, their housekeeper, said, offering Tess a beaming smile. The homely woman had been a comfort to Tess these last few weeks. Widowed young, she had never remarried, and yet she seemed to understand Tess far better than her aunt.

Tess returned the smile, all the while hurried by Tulip at her side.

Tulip Gibbs had once been a beautiful woman, and though age and worry had taken their toll, of late there had been a renewed vigor in the older woman’s step. Reading
Ackerman’s Periodicals
voraciously and more concerned with the latest ruffle and what gossip the
ton
had to offer, Tulip reveled in reestablishing her social position amongst the
ton,
albeit to the disgruntled criticism from Luther that it was not high society enough. It seemed Luther had fantasies of grandeur amidst the country’s peerage.

Tess watched her aunt’s enjoyment. How could she disappoint her?

When Luther had dragged Tess back home, Tulip had been so wrought she had taken to her bed for days. Wracked by guilt at causing her aunt such distress and constantly watched by Luther’s servants, her failure to get away had killed her spirit, and firmly squashed any thought of another escape. Until tonight. Tonight she was determined she would find a way. Somehow.

…

The clatter of the carriage wheels over the cobbles lulled Tess into a state of flux until the moment they turned into a long tree-lined drive bordered by a blaze of candles.

“Now girl, do as your aunt has told you and you’re sure to snare a husband.”

“Sell the bride and gain an income, is that it, Luther?” she countered.

“See!” Luther turned to Tulip. “That is exactly what is wrong with her. Too much liberty. You, young lady,” he said shaking a fist in front of her, “would benefit from a sound beating.”

Tess stifled a gasp and pushed back into the cushioned seat. “Touch me and you’ll never see me again. Then where will your precious money-grubbing plans be,
Uncle Luther?
” Her voice dripped ice, yet inside she burned with a gnawing fury and the ever-present fear. She turned away from the odious man and stared balefully out the window. “Oh, Aiden.” Her highwayman’s name came softly unbidden to her lips. Only a memory now, though he haunted her dreams.

Gone. Forever.

Attended by a footman, Luther exited the carriage and turned to offer Tulip a hand, then Tess.

“A gallant show, Uncle,” she snapped, refusing his hand as her silk-shoed foot met the pebble-lined drive. Sweeping past him, she followed other guests up the wide marble steps, struggling to hold back the flurry of nerves dancing in the pit of her stomach as she neared the open doors.

Beneath the swathes of her ruby-red velvet cloak, she pressed the flat of her hand against her stomach, willing her nerves to abate. If she were to dazzle and flirt tonight she would need her wits about her.

It was imperative she find a husband because marriage, she reasoned, meant escaping Luther’s constant haranguing and evading his physical threats, for they were becoming more and more frequent.

Marriage also meant she could gain some semblance of independence—but only if he were a man of her choosing. That criteria she would not relinquish.

“Right. Best behavior, remember.” Luther wheezed in her ear as they stood waiting to be announced.

Tess refused to look at him and kept her gaze fixed on the spectacle in front of her.

Dazzling chandeliers hung from the ceiling and the flicker of candles reflected a thousand-fold in the intricately cut crystal. From one end of the room, the melodic sound of a quartet drifted along on a scented breeze, accompanied by the hum of excitement from guests.

A maid took their cloaks and Tess tucked her fan into her reticule. She sucked in a breath. “Here we go.”

Calm. Dazzle. Find a husband.

…

Introductions over, everything passed in a blur of voices and smiling faces, of admiring glances from men and assuming stares from the young women who eyed her as of no consequence. They offered no smiles of friendship or words of welcome, while the glances down their upper-class noses said it all.

They thought her too old to be competition.

Too plain.

And definitely too poor.

Tess bristled, her frustration real.

Seeking sanctuary from prying eyes, she pushed her way through the crowded room and took respite behind a lush grouping of palms in a secluded corner. Hiding from the world, a frond scraped across her nose and she suddenly found herself smiling. Perhaps she could pretend to be in the jungles of Africa, or on some deserted island. For years it had been far easier to lose herself in the fantasy of her beloved books than the harsh reality of the marriage market.

Except Tess knew now that the fantasy world in her books was just that. A fantasy. That life on the highways and byways was dark and dangerous, fear-filled and…she’d failed.

Her desperation renewed. She would not fail again.

On the other side of the room, Luther was in deep conversation with a man who had visited their St James house several times. She couldn’t remember his name, but as Luther glanced her way several times, the chilling thread of dread settled heavily in her stomach. Was her uncle eyeing the other man as another prospective husband? Certainly the man cut a rather dashing figure in a sharply angular way, but he wasn’t—

No, do not think of the rogue!

The dancing began but Tess decided to stay secluded in her private retreat. It was rather amusing to view those men who assessed the opposite sex as they nodded and smiled like prancing peacocks, while the women fluttered their lashes at the dandies.

“The reward will be enough. Plenty of pickings apparently.”

That voice!

The hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention, ice chilling the blood in her veins in an instant.

Dear God. The same voice. The same rogue. Her rogue.

“What time is the strike?”

“Uncertain yet. I await word on their whereabouts.”

Reward? Stolen reward?

Tess drew back a large palm frond.

Aiden Masters stood as bold as brass and discussed his next sortie. And
he
had condemned her as being foolhardy!

Heads bent together, Aiden and another man talked animatedly for some minutes before the other man turned and walked away.

For a few seconds that seemed long and drawn out, Tess studied Aiden, noting the fine cloth of his clothing. Obviously, robbery still proved a lucrative business.

A sudden thought occurred. Aiden Masters had a secret. And she was desperate.

The plan came out of nowhere, offering her the second chance she so desperately craved. How important was it for Aiden to keep his secret?

A tiny smile played across her mouth. She was about to find out.

Clutching her reticule with both hands to stem their shaking, she stepped from behind the palms. “Hello, Aiden.”

Her highwayman spun round, shock widening his blue eyes. “Tess!” He snatched at her wrists and drew her straight back to her hiding place. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” she countered, aware of a burning heat coursing from his fingers through her gloves and into her bones.

She tugged her hands free, folded her arms across her middle and eyed him with a mocking stare. “Am I about to ruin a ‘job’ for you?” She swiped back a palm frond and peered across the chattering crowd. “The guests may not be from the highest echelon of society, but there are men of considerable means nevertheless. I would say you’ve got fine pickings. Everyone is dressed to impress. Gold. Diamonds. Rubies, even. Whatever your fancy.”

Aiden leaned in close and she instantly edged away, only to back up hard against the wall behind her. There was no escape.

His lips were close to her ear and his breath warm and sweet against her skin. “You have no idea what is going on, Tess.”

“So why don’t you tell me.”

His lips moved, but no words came out and he abruptly stepped back, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Secrets are so valuable, don’t you think?”

“Tess…” he warned.

“I’m sure you would not want
your
secret divulged.” She fluttered her eyelashes as she’d seen some of the young girls do who fawned at the circling wife hunters. There was a playful sound in her voice and she realized with shock that she was actually flirting with him—and it was rather fun.