Chapter 15
Rob sat in his coach, waiting for it to roll forward. But given the choke of traffic before the opera, such a thing was taking longer than he liked.
He tried to relax, but it was almost impossible. Every day that passed was bringing him closer to facing the reality of the promise he’d made to his mother.
Truly, he couldn’t delay.
In fact, it would be the wisest course of action to make an offer to one of the ladies on the list immediately and find a bishop straightaway. All his problems would be solved then.
Except. . .
But what about Harry?
The mad thought danced through his brain, a tantalizing temptation. She was happiness. She was springtime. She was all that was beautiful before it had turned to winter.
He shook his head. He couldn’t think such fanciful things. He had a duty to perform and dragging Harry into his family situation was the worst thing he could do.
He liked her.
He liked her a great deal and that was the very reason he couldn’t marry her.
Leaning his head back against the coach squab, he sighed. He didn’t particularly like the idea of a life spent with a woman who was naught but a symbol of duty. But he would never, ever risk Harry to the drama that unfolded in his family. Not when she had a chance at real happiness.
Just as he was about to pound on the roof and tell his coachman he’d walk, the door swung open and a cloaked woman swept up into the coach.
He froze.
Despite the fact that the dark hood was drawn low over her face, he knew exactly who it was. He did not have to guess, for his entire body responded to her presence. It hummed with her nearness, and it was all he could do not to seize her and throttle her. . . or kiss her.
“Harriet,” he growled. “Get out of the damned coach. Now.”
She slipped her hood back, curls wild, eyes defiant. “No.”
His teeth ground together even as his body warmed to the proximity of her. God, she was a sight. A balm for his tired soul which had once been so full of hope.
There was no getting around it. She was a promise of happiness. A happiness he’d once known and been certain he’d always have.
But happiness didn’t last. He had to remember that above all else.
“Are you absolutely mad?” he demanded.
“Possibly,” she said, adjusting the long folds of the cloak, briefly baring her deep décolletage. “But we did not properly conclude our last conversation.”
He dug his hands into the seat. “We did.”
She snorted. “We did not.”
Forcing himself to draw in a breath, he said lowly, “We did—”
Harriet arched a blonde brow. “No—”
He closed his eyes, completely torn. Arguing with her was, no doubt, pointless, but she was here. With him. Alone. “Harriet—”
“Rob—”
He groaned. God how he loved her determination and sense of loyalty. Somewhere along the way, she’d decided he was still the boy she’d known. The friend she’d had. But that wasn’t the case. “Do you have no sense of self-preservation?” he growled.
“Of course I do.” She sat a little straighter. “Don’t be foolish.”
Gaping, he echoed, “I, foolish?”
She nodded.
“You’re the one in a stranger’s coach,” he pointed out.
“Don’t be absurd.” She eyed him up and down and said as if it proved her point entirely, “You’re not a stranger. I’ve seen you nude.”
A strange note of agonized frustration came from his throat. “Ladies aren’t supposed to say such things.”
She rolled her eyes. “The truth?”
“We were children.”
“Yes, but we are not strangers,” she reiterated. “And I know you. You’ve always been kind, Rob. And I believe you always will be. It’s why you don’t hurt any of the people you stop on the road.”
His mouth dried. “I beg your pardon.”
She waved at him. “When you do your highwayman bit—”
“I never admitted—”
She gave him a tired look. “Must we? You all but admitted it. You simply refused to explain why and you said some rather unflattering things about me.”
“Which are proving to be true,” he said without apology. “You are so bloody naive.”
“I am not,” she said indignantly, her skirts rustling as she adjusted on the seat.
“You are,” he countered, leaning forward. “It’s why you confronted a potential highwayman and why you are sitting in my coach alone now. Because you assume I’m good.”
“Well, aren’t you?”
He pressed his lips into a tight line. “You don’t know that I am.”
She leaned forward, too, looking him right in the eye. “I know it down to my very toes.”
He threw up his hands. “I should toss you out onto the street.”
She grinned. “Once again, you’re too good to do that.”
“So, why the devil are you here?” He folded his arms across his chest. “To hear my confession?”
Matching him gesture for gesture, she, too, folded her slender arms beneath her breasts, unwittingly plumping them and drawing his gaze. “I’d like to hear you say it.”
“What?” he asked, transfixed.
She sighed then said dramatically, “Why, yes Harry, I am the Gentleman Highwayman. And I’m not a selfish ponce. I have a very good reason for risking my neck weekly on the high road, which is. . .”
He glared at her. God. Could she truly be this impossible? Yes. Yes, she could. She’d always been stubborn, and clever. He’d liked that about her. Oh, he and Harley might have pretended she was a nuisance, but they’d always loved having her following them about. She’d been such a good companion romping through the fields and forests. Never complaining. Getting into more trouble than himself or her older brother. Did he trust her? Did he have a choice?
After all, she knew. There was no question and he just had to pray he could keep her from revealing it to her brother or mother.
“Fine then,” he said with a slow smile. “I am the Gentleman Highwayman.”
Her eyes sparkled with triumph. “Thank you for finally admitting it. Now, why?”
He looked askance. How the hell did he admit something which would, no doubt, diminish his status in her eyes? Maybe it was for the best. At last, he shrugged. “Because I’m skint.”
“Skint?” she echoed.
“Ruined. Done.”
“But you’re a duke,” she all but piped.
“That does seem to be what everyone thinks,” he agreed easily. “It’s been incredibly difficult keeping it a secret but every last sou of the family fortune is gone.”
Her eyes widened, her mouth opened, then closed. For once, she seemed flummoxed. But then she said, “How terrible for you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
She shook her head, eyes darkening with sympathy. “To return from war, like Harley, witness your father’s death, and rather than inherit a dukedom which is difficult enough, you inherit—”
“Debt,” he finished, uncertain what to do with the onslaught of her understanding. “Crippling debt.”
“I’m so very sorry,” she said sincerely. “What a terrible year this must have been for you.”
He should have loathed her words. But they didn’t sound pitying. They sounded factual. And that. . . that struck a chord in him and he looked away. “Well, now, you know my secret.”
“I must admit, I thought it would be more scandalous.”
“You think it not scandalous?” he challenged. “To be so entirely indebted that my mother and sister are on the verge of ruin?”
She reached out and touched his hand. “It is not uncommon. I have heard many stories of lords gambling their entire fortunes away in a single night.”
He winced. Why wasn’t she appalled by what his father had done? She was so bloody accepting.
“So, you took to the roads?” she asked softly.
He nodded. “I’m good with a pistol and rapier and really there was no way to come upon ready funds quickly without alerting to the world the dire straits we are in.”
“But you must stop,” she said firmly, her hand still resting upon his.
He studied those gloved fingers atop his, so delicate yet so capable as they attempted to comfort him. “Oh?”
Squeezing his hand she said passionately, “You will be caught eventually. Even my brother said so.”
He snapped his gaze up, alarm racing through him. “You’ve discussed it?”
She gave him a cheeky smile. “Oh, the Gentleman Highwayman is a source of great conversation.”
“Am I, indeed?”
“Eglantine and I have spent many hours attempting to deduce your identity.”
He groaned. “Why did it have to be your coach the other night?”
“Why, indeed.” She shrugged then leaned back, her fingers slipping from his. “I believe it happened for a reason.”
The moonlight slipping into the coach turned her hair a glorious silver as the coach suddenly began to move quickly down the road. She was so beautiful by moonlight. But she’d always been intelligent. She couldn’t really believe this wasn’t all but chance.
“You can’t be serious,” he countered.
“I am.” She cocked her head to the side, baring her long, slender neck. “And surely, I have the answer to your dilemma.”
“And what is that?”
“Marriage,” she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
His eyes flared, not sure what he was feeling except that he was at sea. He longed to take her in his arms, to kiss those soft, pink lips, to cease all discourse. But that? He couldn’t do it. Could he?
He banged on the roof of his coach and all but bellowed, “Park Lane, Harley House.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” his driver called.
“You’re taking me home?” she gasped.
“Should I do something else?” he challenged, his breath slowing.
“All because I said you should marry?” she asked, stunned.
“It is my intent,” he growled softly. “Marriage.”
“Truly?” she asked happily, her distress at his direction fading. “How marvelous that we are in accord.”
“Not to you,” he said quickly, realizing with sudden concern where her thoughts tended.
Her brow furrowed. “But—”
“There are three ladies in consideration.” Conveniently, he did not mention his mother’s addition of her name. “You aren’t one of them.”
“Why?” she asked, aghast but also genuinely curious.
His heart slammed against his ribs, seeing the hurt and confusion upon her face. “Does it matter?”
“Yes, it matters.” She licked her lips, her whole being virtually vibrating with determination. She gestured back and forth between then with her gloved hand. “You. . . I. . . it is clear we have an affinity.”
“What does that have to do with my marriage?” he asked, again, knowing he was shocking her with his bluntness. But he had to make her understand that he would not be asking her to marry him.
Harry was meant for happiness, and he knew that marriage into his family was almost a promise of misery. So much so that with every day that passed, he grew more determined to be the last Duke of Blackstone.
“Don’t you wish to have a happy marriage?” she asked quietly.
He stared at her for a long moment, his throat tight before he asked, “And you think you could make me happy?”
“Yes,” she said emphatically, with the optimism of untried youth. “I think it quite possible.”
“Oh, Harry, you have seen far too little of the world—”
“Don’t,” she cut him off fiercely. “I am not so very innocent. And while I have not seen as much as you have, my life has not been entirely sheltered. You, sir, insinuate that I am no more than another member of the herd which I am so determined to escape.”
“The herd is safe,” he replied gently, wishing that she would choose mundanity. Mundanity would see her comfortable.
“I do not wish to be safe!” she blurted, her hands shooting up.
A muscle tightened in his jaw and he did not relent. He couldn’t. She had to understand, even though she could probably never understand the pain that permeated his family. And he was glad of that. “Then you are, indeed, a fool.”
They stared at each other, silent.
He drew in a slow breath. “Harriet. . . you are a beautiful young woman with so much ahead of you—”
“You make it sound as if you have no future when, in fact, your future is also just beginning,” she interrupted, arguing as though she sensed terrible sadness might be coming. Yet, she refused to yield.
He tensed. Was she right? In a way, yes. But he would never be free of the knowledge of how cruel this world could be. He hoped she’d never learn of it.
“So, you wish me to leave you alone,” she said at last.
He nodded, unable to reply.
She bit her lower lip then observed, “How very sad.”
“Is it?” he queried, though his heart did, indeed, feel heavy. “We have seen little of each other in the last years.”
“True.” Her eyes danced. “But when we came together again, it was like. . .”
It was like coming home. But he daren’t say such a thing or she would never see that he was not the best choice for her. No, she needed a good man from a family without scandal. From a family where the men weren’t largely complete scoundrels.
She shook her head. “I really thought. . . I thought you liked me.”
“Like you?” he whispered, stunned that she could say such a thing.
She gave a curt nod.
“Harry, the very reason I am determined that you are not for me is that I like you so well.”
Her mouth fell open and she sputtered, “That makes no sense.”
“It does.”
“Not to me,” she replied hotly, with the sort of passion he adored so well.
He shrugged, though his heart ached. He was unwilling to explain. It was better that she didn’t know the complete darkness that had led him to where he was now. If she did, she might determine to rescue him.
She looked down at her hands. “When you kissed me. . .”
“Yes?” he prompted softly.
“I have never felt like that.”
“Nor I,” he confessed.
“What if I never feel like that again?”
It was so tempting to promise her she would, but he found he could not lie to her. For their kiss had been so much more than just an exchange of lips. It had been earth shaking. Awakening.
“It was. . .” Despite his intention, his gaze lingered on her lips. “It was a thing of chance.”
“Kiss me again then,” she whispered.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked, lifting his gaze to her wickedly intelligent eyes.
“To see if it was just chance.”
Bloody hell, he knew logically what he should do. He should stay on his side of the coach, his hands to himself. And yet, the very possibility of kissing her again was compelling and suddenly, he wondered. . . had the kiss been just an odd fluke?
If he kissed her now, would they be consumed in the same fire as before?
There was only one way to find out.