The Highwayman's Lady (18 page)

“Are you not delighted to see me then? I had the impression a few moments ago that you might be.”

“Of course, but I had never expected… How did you know where I am?”

“You told me. You said you were coming to Stirling to seek the support of your mother’s cousin, Lady Beatrice, countess of Kirkleven.”

“Did I? I do not recall.”

“You did. It was merely a matter of riding north. But enough of that, what about this babe you are expecting? When is it due?”

“In five months’ time.” She pauses to glance at me over her shoulder. “Are you angry at me? Disappointed?”

Her questions surprise me. Am I such a monster that she believes I might blame her for the trick nature has played on us both? “Of course not. It was a likely enough outcome, I daresay. Are you well?”

“A little tired, I suppose. And I have been sick some mornings.”

“Thank you for telling me earlier. If I had hurt you or the babe…”

“I know. At least, I hoped.”

“Apart from not taking my belt to your arse, what else may I do to aid you? Do you need money? Lodgings?”

There is a long pause before she answers. “No, I expect I shall be fine.”

I do not believe her for a moment. She desires more of me, expects more, though she will not say it. I consider it best to set matters straight between us. “I cannot marry you, Imogen.”

“Do you have a wife already?” Her voice is hesitant, as though she knows she must ask the question but dreads my answer. At least I may put her mind to rest on that score.

“It is not that. But no, I am not married.” I pause, seeking the words to make her understand. “Imogen, you know what manner of man I am, what the future is likely to hold for me. I dance but inches from the hangman’s noose much of the time and will not elude him forever. You would be a widow before you know it.”

“At least then it would be the truth, not a tale made up to protect my reputation.”

I am losing the thread of this conversation. Give me an honest highway robbery to deal with any time. “A tale? What tale is this?”

“That is what Beatrice wants me to do. She suggests we tell everyone that I am a young bride, tragically widowed within months of my wedding. I expect I shall have to wear black and look suitably sad for a few months, but we shall contrive to make the tale stick.”

I consider this plan for several moments. “You have told Beatrice about the baby then?”

“Yes. Just this evening, in fact. And Sir Phillip.”

“Ah.” I find myself somewhat lost for words. “And did they take the news well?”

“Sir Phillip wonders if he might need to extend Kirkleven to accommodate his expanding household, but on the whole they were sanguine enough. More so than I had dared to expect. I am to remain here and we shall put about the story of my poor, dead husband to discourage gossip, at least to my face. So you see, I
shall
be fine. Really.”

Why does the prospect of my brother offering the care and protection I should provide leave such a sour taste in my mouth? Imogen is my responsibility and has been so since the moment I first espied her struggling for her life on the floor of her stepbrother’s carriage.

“They asked about my baby’s father, naturally, but I did not tell them about you. Even so, Sir Phillip offered to seek you out for me. He believed you might like to know of the baby.”

I consider that for a moment before replying. “He was correct on that score. And did the accommodating Sir Phillip say how he intended to find me?”

“I… I told him the name of the inn we stayed at that night. I expect he would have started there. He has influence and I expect he is known in York. He could make the necessary enquiries without involving the constables.”

“I daresay. Why did you not tell them of me though? You did not have to keep my secret. You never expected to see me again. Or did you?”

“I swore that I would not and I owed you that after you helped me. Beatrice and Sir Phillip asked about my baby’s father, but I refused to say. They are not best pleased with me, but have allowed me to keep my secret. I do not wish them to think ill of me, at least no more than is absolutely necessary. I owe them the truth and I do believe I can trust them, but I gave you my word and I would not break it. I should not have revealed the name of the inn and I am truly sorry for that. And, you have spanked me so perhaps you can forgive me now.” She stops, lies silent in my arms for a few moments, then, “Please, Gray, I need you to understand. I did not betray you. I will never do that. It could not have been anything I did or said that caused the soldiers to come to The Blue Man. I did not breathe a word of it until today, yet the attack was two weeks ago.”

“Shite!” I mutter the expletive into her hair, my stomach clenching at the injustice I have done her. “Why did you not say?”

“I did. I told you there was no need to hurt me, that I had not betrayed you. You did not believe me.”

She is right, I did not. But neither did I allow her sufficient time to articulate her defence. I was too quick to act, to condemn and to punish. Had we had this conversation before I took my belt to her delectable arse, I daresay she would have escaped unscathed.

“I am sorry. I treated you unfairly. I should have listened.”

“Yes, you were unfair, but not entirely. I did tell them about the inn. You should have let me explain. But… I could have made you hear. If I had wanted to, truly, truly wanted you to not spank me, I could have convinced you of my innocence. I told you I was with child to stop the whipping.”

“Aye, you did. And it worked.”

“I could not let you harm my baby.”

Our
baby, but I deem it unwise to remind her of that fact since I do not intend to assume responsibility for the bairn.

“But… I wanted you to spank me.”

My little Imogen never ceases to amaze me. “You gave the impression you did not, if I may say so. I recall I had to gag you to stop your squalling.”

“I would have preferred you not to spank me quite so hard, sir, but I learnt during the brief time we spent together that I sort of like it. A bit.”

“A bit?”

“Well, quite a lot, I suppose. Really. Just not so hard. Or for quite so long.”

I adopt my stern voice. “It was intended as a punishment.”

“One I did not entirely deserve.” Clearly she is not impressed by my carefully cultivated dominant growl. I must work on that.

“Very well, you are in credit to the tune of one hard, long spanking. Perhaps I might contrive to make amends by fucking you again and I will be less rough this time.”

Imogen rolls onto her back. Her smile is soft, seductive, and completely artless. She has no idea how tempting she is, how delightfully and how innocently wanton. My cock responds at once and I shift into position between her thighs.

“Are you sore? I was not especially gentle with you before.”

“No, sir, not sore at all. But I believe I may scream anyway. Do we have that silk stocking still to hand?”

* * *

Imogen is sleeping, her beautiful brown hair spread across the pillow. I take a handful and twist it around my fist, though not hard enough to disturb her. I lean up on one elbow to watch her as she slumbers and wonder at the bizarre set of circumstances and sheer bloody coincidence that brought us here.

I have never entertained even the slightest desire to sample the delights of married bliss for myself and I do not intend to do so now, however pressing the need. It is not that Imogen is unattractive, quite the reverse. If I were to consider taking a bride it would be she, without a shadow of doubt. The wench is quite lovely and shares my somewhat unusual tastes in the bedchamber. We are entirely compatible and I could become accustomed to sharing my bed with her on a permanent basis. I suppose I could even become quite fond of any children we might create between us. Indeed, I have been astonished at the way fatherhood mellowed my brother, so I know the potency of the domestic state. In the right circumstances. Which these are not.

My reasons for not ensnaring Imogen in marriage to me are genuine and I find I regret the necessity. I could rather warm to the notion of remaining at Kirkleven with this little sweetheart at my side.

I release her soft tresses and slide from the bed. It would not aid Imogen’s somewhat delicate status within my brother’s household if the maids were to discover me in her bed as they come to make up the early morning fires. The least I can do for her is leave that applecart upright, though I have yet to determine how I intend to deal with the inevitable confrontation at the breakfast table when Imogen realises that her elusive highwayman and the earl’s prodigal brother are one and the same.

I had intended to enlighten her, but by the time I gathered my wits sufficiently after I fucked her for the second time this evening, she was asleep in my arms. It seemed a pity to wake her.

I dress as silently as I am able in the flickering light of the one remaining candle and exit the chamber with my coat dangling from one hand and my boots still under my arm. I shall no doubt find plenty of unoccupied chambers and may take my pick. I believe I may even be able to recall the location of the linen press if pushed, since I hid there often enough as a boy when I considered it necessary to evade my tutor.

“If you would follow me, sir…?” Masterson’s tone drips with disapproval as the man emerges from an alcove along the hall. “I took the liberty of preparing the mauve room for your use.” He casts a meaningful glance in the direction of the door I just closed behind me. “If you wish it, I am certain the young lady will relinquish her accommodations to you. Shall I arrange to have her things moved in the morning?”

“Damnation, man, do you always creep about so?” My tone is sharp and one that has been sufficient to stroke terror into many a breast in my encounters on his majesty’s highways.

Masterson is unimpressed. He does not answer, merely eyes the boots tucked in the crook of my elbow. “Would you like me to assist you in carrying your things, sir?”

“No, I bloody would not. The mauve room, was it? And you will leave Miss Bennett’s belongings where they are.”

“Aye, sir. This way.”

“I know the bloody way.” I move to step past him.

He withdraws to make way for me, offering me a polite bow as he does so. “My apologies, sir. I thought you had perhaps become a little disoriented, confused perhaps regarding which chamber is yours.”

I turn to face him and meet his cool gaze. “I would appreciate your discretion, Masterson, as would Miss Bennett, I am sure. You will agree, no doubt, that it is best my brother does not learn of this—misunderstanding.”

“Of course, sir. That will be best. I trust the—confusion—is quite cleared up now?”

I lean in, the better to fix him with a glare. I am well past the stage of allowing my conduct to be dictated by puritanical servants and will not be reprimanded in the upstairs hallway of my own family home. “You need not concern yourself on that score, Masterson. Now, go to bed. I shall.”

He inclines his head, still not in the least intimidated. I cannot help but admire his courage since I have put bullets in men for less provocation.

* * *

The mauve room is comfortable enough and I succeed in gaining a few hours’ sleep. I waken to see autumn sunlight streaming through the window as I omitted to close the shutters when I came to bed. A fire crackles merrily in the grate and the chamber is pleasantly aired. I sit up in bed to survey my surroundings properly. I know this room of course, though it was not one I frequented overmuch in the past. Still, the furnishings are practical and the decorations subdued enough not to jar. I decide to make do with this accommodation for the duration of my stay.

That matter settled in my mind, I apply myself to my next and perhaps more pressing problem, that of Imogen and the coming awkwardness when we meet for breakfast. The encounter is not far off, for I believe I might detect the distinctive aroma of smoked mackerel. I missed dinner last night so I am ravenous. I get out of bed and find further cause to bless Beatrice’s hospitality as I splash warm water on my face from the pitcher and bowl provided. She must have instructed the servants and her cook to see to my comfort, in order to ensure my welcome back into her home is not in doubt.

My ablutions complete, I dress and head downstairs. The chatter from the dining room reaches me long before I come anywhere close to the foot of the stairs. The children must be eating with their parents. Beatrice has always preferred minimal formality around mealtimes and when the younger members of the household are at the table, chaos usually reigns. It is one of the things I loved most about living here. I pause for several moments outside the door, then reach for the handle.

“He is here! Papa, papa, Uncle Francis is here!”

I barely have time to register the excited shriek before a diminutive figure launches across the room to hurl herself into my arms. It is the younger girl Lucy, I surmise, since the older girl, Beatrice, is busy helping herself to more smoked mackerel. I resolve not to be so tardy in a morning in the future, for this bunch of hungry little imps can clear a sideboard more effectively than a plague of locusts.

“Papa told us you had come back. I knew you would, I knew it. Where have you been? Have you been in prison? Did you see the prince? Is he handsome? I heard he was the most handsome prince in the world. We have kippers and mama says we must save you some.”

I silently bless my sister-in-law, who has risen to her feet to greet my entrance. The bundle in her arms must be the latest addition to the family who so nearly brought disaster to the house. Beatrice hands the baby to Phillip as she rushes forward to rescue me.

“Lucy darling, would you fill a plate for your uncle? I am sure he must be hungry.”

The child disengages and trots off to do her mother’s bidding, leaving me to marvel at the passage of time. The mite was but five years old when last I saw her and the youngest, Charles, just a toddler. I have missed so much.

“Thank you, that will be most welcome,” I call after the retreating child, then turn to catch my sister-in-law in a heartfelt hug. “Hello, Beatrice. It is good to see you again. I trust my wastrel of a brother has not beaten you recently nor sold any of your numerous offspring into slavery.”