Chapter Ten
Elizabet twitched her fan open, sending a faint breeze across her heated face. How she could be so thrilled and excited and yet so full of despair at the same time bemused her. A ball at the palace of Whitehall in London with the merry court of King Charles II would dazzle the most ardent critic. The fact that it might be the last ball she’d attend made the experience bittersweet.
Fergus apparently preferred to devote his energies on murder and mayhem rather than merriment. Or so she’d deduced when he’d informed her of his interest in restoring Rutherdale Hall and spending most of their time there. Had she not been aware of his smuggling operation and her estate’s role in his activities, she’d have been very confused by his interest in burying himself so far from the court. Keeping her tongue about it proved more difficult by the day.
The proximity of the estate to Jack’s hideout did console her somewhat. Though pointless and foolhardy, Elizabet couldn’t help but hope she might catch another glimpse of her highwayman someday. She missed his charming wit, his shameless flirting. Those intense eyes of his focused only on her. The touch of his hand, his lips. Oh, those lips! The strength of his arms about her, keeping her warm, safe.
The music swelled, and she watched the swish of the women’s skirts as they danced. She longed to be back on the dance floor herself, but any more exertion and she might make a complete disgrace of herself. She probably shouldn’t have had her maid lace her up quite so tight. But Mother had wanted her looking her best. For him. The man she’d soon be shackled to for the rest of her life. Though she doubted Fergus cared much what she looked like, so the effort seemed wasted.
Then again, as he’d failed to make an appearance she could enjoy herself for one more evening. And at least one man seemed to appreciate the efforts that had gone into her dress. Her eyes met his once again, and their icy-blue depths had her heart jumping in her chest. The man exuded a vitality that seemed to draw women to him like bees to a banquet. But he ignored all of them, his attention only on her.
“Alice,” she said, nudging her friend in the ribs.
Lady Alice Chivers, belle of nearly every ball they’d attended since they were old enough to lace up their first gowns, turned to her.
Elizabet held her fan high enough to hide her mouth as she spoke. “Who is that man over there?”
Alice looked with interest in the direction Elizabet indicated. “You mean the large one who fills out those breeches so well? That satin is no match for the strapping body it’s encasing, is it?” she asked with a giggle.
“Shh,” Elizabet warned, her eyes darting about for signs of her mother.
“Oh, have a little fun, Bess. You’ll have little enough of it once you’re wed, that’s for certain.”
Elizabet sighed. “That’s true enough.”
“Poor Bess.” Alice wrapped her arm around Elizabet’s waist and hugged her, her perfect auburn ringlets tickling Elizabet’s face. “You must be optimistic. Mr. Ramsay seems the sort to live dangerously, take risks. Perhaps one day he’ll take one too many. And then you’ll be a rich widow, free to do whatever you please.”
“Alice!” Elizabet said, though she couldn’t hold back her laugh.
“Oh, you know you’ve thought it. And if you are too miserable in the meantime, perhaps a discreet dalliance with a sinfully handsome gentleman will cheer you.”
Alice nodded in the direction of the man Elizabet had indicated. “He certainly seems taken with you. I wouldn’t mind a bit of a distraction with him myself.”
Elizabet gaped at her, and Alice winked. “Devilishly handsome, isn’t he? And rumored to be richer than Croesus with several sizable holdings and laird of some godforsaken pile of rock in Scotland with a name I cannot pronounce. Lucky for us, he prefers his English roots and stays mainly with the court. Very good friends with the king, though not one to flaunt it. Too bad your parents couldn’t have made you a match with him.”
Elizabet sighed. “Like most eligible men in court, he’d have expected a decent dowry and a wife without a hint of scandal to her name. Which, apparently, after my ‘outing in the woods with a known criminal’ and mysterious absence from court for two months afterward, is not me. According to my father, Mr. Ramsay was the only man of any substance willing to take me without one. He’s gained enough wealth from somewhere that he’s not too concerned with accumulating more. What he still hasn’t managed to get is a son. The only thing he’s interested in is a new wife young enough to get an heir on and pretty enough to make the deed enjoyable.”
“Your father told you that?” Alice asked, horrified.
Elizabet nodded. “Nearly verbatim.”
Alice’s eyes flashed with fury. “It’s too bad the Highland Highwayman is such a gentleman. Your father certainly deserves a harsher lesson.”
She released an exasperated breath and nodded at the blond gentleman who was now staring at them with a slight frown. Perhaps Alice’s anger had piqued his curiosity.
“That is Laird MacGregor,” Alice said.
Elizabet’s head jerked up. MacGregor?
“Ah, and it looks as though he’s curious about you as well.”
But before Elizabet could respond, MacGregor stood before them. He politely greeted Alice and then turned his full attention upon Elizabet. She gazed up the long, muscular length of him, her eyes finally meeting his. He bowed his head, his gaze hidden from her briefly.
He dressed as most of the men at court. Silk hose and knee breeches covered legs that looked as strong as tree trunks. His waistcoat, shirt, and elaborate coat were of the finest material, embroidered and embellished until they gleamed under the light of the chandeliers. His curled wig lay over his shoulders, but there was no hint of powder or rouge on his face. Against fashion, maybe. But it suited him. Even in his finery, he managed to look rugged. Dangerous.
Familiar.
She blinked, her cheeks reddening, but she couldn’t look away. Something in the depths of those bright-blue eyes hinted at a power barely restrained. He turned that piercing gaze of his to Alice and bowed politely, tipping his hat. “Good evening, Lady Alice. I trust ye are well.”
Alice curtsied, snapping open her fan with a practiced flick of her wrist. “I am indeed, my lord. Allow me to present a dear friend of mine, Lady Elizabet Harding, daughter of Lord Dawsey.”
He focused his attention back on Elizabet. She gave him a shallow curtsy, not sure her knees would hold her if she tried anything deeper.
“Good evening, my lady,” he said, his cultured voice flowing through her like molten gold.
That voice…she knew that voice…
He took her hand, bringing it to his lips to press a lingering kiss to its back. His thumb rubbed across her knuckles. Each stroke sent tiny embers swirling through her veins, igniting a heat inside her she’d known before with only one man.
Alice grinned and turned to speak to another gentleman at her side, her presence apparently no longer necessary now that she’d satisfied custom and acquainted them with each other.
“May I say how beautiful ye look this evening, Lady Elizabet?”
The echo of his deep, Scottish brogue rang through her ears. She’d been replaying every moment of her time with her enthralling highwayman over and over in her mind since it had happened. She hadn’t been able to forget him. Damn him. She’d never forget that voice. It haunted her dreams, chased her every waking hour. Turned her into a fanciful, scatterbrained chit who wanted nothing more than to hear her name on those honeyed lips again.
And now she had. She didn’t have a shred of doubt. The way he said it, with the same inflection, as if he were savoring every syllable on his tongue.
Jack.
She met his gaze again. Those eyes. They were the same eyes that had stared at her so many times. The same eyes that had watched her from behind a worn leather mask. Deep pools of dangerous secrets that tempted her to all manner of folly. Oh, it had been difficult to see their exact hue under the shadow of the mask. But the shape of them, the way they moved when he spoke, couldn’t be hidden.
She froze, her body tightening, envisioning those eyes behind a mask, not framed by a long, curled wig and bejeweled linens. An emotion she couldn’t name flashed across his features, so quickly she might have imagined it. One thing was certain, though. She recognized him. Knew him. And he knew it.
Other than that fleeting look, however, he showed no indication that they’d ever spoken before, let alone touched. Kissed. Slept in each other’s arms. He gazed down at her and spouted off some more nonsense in that accented and oh-so-deep voice of his. He took her hand, giving it another light kiss. Elizabet squeezed her hand tighter before she could stop herself.
“I had thought to take a stroll around the gardens. Would ye care to join me?” he asked, his eyes daring her to accept.
Two could play his game. “We’ve only just met, my lord. I’m not certain my mother would approve.”
“What objection could she make? The proper introduction has been made. I’m merely requesting yer delightful company for a turn around the gardens, that I’m certain are well populated, as it’s so warm in here.”
She fanned herself a little harder, completely agreeing with him on that point. She wanted to go, very much. But the last thing she wanted was either of her parents spotting her with him. They would bring trouble to him for lesser infractions than speaking with her in the gardens.
“Come,” he coaxed. “We can even stay within sight of the terrace, if strolling alone with me frightens ye.”
Her lips tightened. “I am not afraid of you, my lord. I simply don’t make it a habit to go traipsing off with every gentleman who asks. I’m a bit more discerning than that.”
“Och, of that I have nay doubt, my lady. It wouldna do to associate with any poor rabble who would be too far beneath ye, after all.”
“That’s not at all what I meant,” she said, resisting the urge to kick him in the shin. “I simply find the company of some more tedious than others.”
His laughter rang out, catching the attention of her mother whose eyes narrowed dangerously as she saw with whom Elizabet chatted.
That laugh. Oh, Jack…you can’t hide from me…
“I assure ye, my lady, I am anything but tedious. I will try my utmost to be as entertaining as possible.”
He offered her his elbow. Taking it would be a mistake. Not taking it somehow felt worse. His smug smile decided it for her. The man had an uncanny knack for knowing the thoughts in her mind. She’d have to try harder to stay a few steps ahead of him. She took his arm, jutting her chin into the air at his amused surprise. A shiver ran through her at the glint in his eye that had nothing to do with being cold.
They turned, and Elizabet caught her mother’s disapproving gaze again. She fought down the bubble of unease that threatened to erupt. They were doing nothing wrong. Harmless. Perfectly acceptable.
Well, harmless might be a stretch. After all, her current predicament could most likely be blamed on the man before her. Both her savior and captor. Under circumstances that had cast a shadow upon her once perfect pedigree. And stolen her heart right along with her father’s gold. But she should be safe enough in the palace gardens with courtiers and servants wandering all about. Surely even he wouldn’t be so bold as to try anything nefarious with so many possible witnesses. More’s the pity. She missed his nefarious ways.
And his company. Young, handsome, and charming, he made her body sing with a mere look. With fiercely intelligent eyes that appeared blue upon first inspection, but without the mask darkening their depths, subtle shades of green were apparent. The man beside her might be a scoundrel, but he made her heart pound with excitement. How many more chances would she have for private conversation with him? Not many. If any at all. So she’d make the most of this opportunity. And enjoy every second of it.
For the price on his head had nothing to do with why her heart pounded so, no matter what lies she might tell herself. Many men had taken her hand, pressed their lips to her skin. Many were scoundrels, some downright criminal. Yet her heart had never soared in their company. Her blood would never heat at the merest brush of her intended husband’s hand against her skin. She would never stare at his lips, longing to feel them pressed against her own. In fact, she imagined she’d do quite a lot to avoid Fergus from touching her at all.
“What are ye looking for so intently, my lady?” he asked, the sensation of his breath on her skin as he leaned down to talk to her sent a fine tremor through her.
Why could she not be betrothed to a man such as this? One who would stir her interests and passions? Minus the slight detail of his outlawry, of course. And the small matter of his guilt, according to her father, in causing her family’s financial ruin. And, of course, his stubborn quest to see her father brought to justice for his supposed crimes.
Why must she fall in love with the one man who should be her greatest enemy?
She tried to ignore her traitorous body and glanced down, away from his penetrating eyes, shocked at the course of her thoughts. But the imminent announcement of her engagement meant she could no longer hide from it. Once the knowledge became public, she’d be trapped.
He wanted to know what she sought?
“An escape,” she whispered. And though she hadn’t meant him to hear, the sudden tightening of his hand upon hers told her he had.
“From what?” he asked, his voice intent, almost fierce.
Elizabet looked around. They were alone, protected by hedges on one side, the path winding through shrubs and fountains clear ahead of them. She let go of his arm and turned to face him.
“From the nightmare of a future to which you’ve condemned me.”