At the Highwayman's Pleasure(18)

She broke off, choked by rage and frustration.

His hold on her relaxed and after a pause he said gently, ‘Then I'll be  beggin' your pardon, Mrs Weston, I did not mean to insult you. I  perceive I was in error.'

‘A common mistake,' she retorted bitterly, ‘and one made by better men than you!'

They travelled in silence for a while, but when the carriage slowed he  tightened his grip on her arm as he pulled the muffler from his neck.

‘We'll be reaching our destination soon, I'm thinking, so if you'll forgive me, Mrs Weston-'

She held him off, saying in some alarm, ‘What are you going to do?'

‘Blindfold you. 'Tis best if you don't know where you are.'

The Irish brogue had lessened and something in his tone again touched a  chord in her memory. If only she could remember! He pushed back her  hood, then gripped her shoulders and turned her away. The next moment  the woollen muffler covered her eyes. She flinched as she was once more  plunged into blind darkness and had to fight down a whimper, determined  not to show fear before this horrid creature.

‘Is this really necessary?' It took all her training to keep a quiver  of uncertainty from her voice. ‘Just how far do you expect me to travel  like this?'

‘To be sure, 'tis not far, but I can't take a chance on you seeing where you are, in case you try to cut and run.'

Cut and run. An Irish seaman, perhaps? It was a nautical expression and one she had heard recently, in Allingford...

‘I know you!' She reached up to snatch the blindfold from her face. ‘You are Ross Durden!'

She ended on a gasp, wondering belatedly if she had been wise to speak  out. The silence within the rocking, jolting carriage seemed to stretch  on for ever, but at last he laughed.

‘I knew I should have stayed away from you. I have held up dozens of  local people and none has yet made the connection. What gave me away?'

The lilting brogue was gone, but his tone remained relaxed, easy, as if  they were enjoying an everyday conversation. She did her best to reply  in kind.

‘That term, cut and run. But I was already suspicious because of your  voice, the timbre of it and a certain inflection that I had heard before  when I visited you at Wheelston.'

‘I see. Well, then, there is no point in blindfolding you.'

She looked towards the window.

‘Your precautions would have been quite unnecessary,' she told him. ‘I cannot see a thing through this snow-covered glass.'

‘I didn't know it was going to snow so hard,' he said reasonably. ‘And  there is some good news for you. Now I need not put you in the cellar.'

‘Cellar?'

‘Why, yes. I couldn't risk you looking out of the window and  recognising Wheelston, so I had decided you must be kept below ground.'

The very thought of it made her shudder, but she refused to show fear.

‘And where did you acquire this equipage-is that stolen, too?'

‘As a matter of fact, the carriage has been languishing in a corner of  the Wheelston stables for years. You may have noticed the horses are not  the fine, high-stepping cattle one sees on gentlemen's carriages. These  two are more used to pulling a farm cart.'

The carriage slowed and turned, and when it bumped and swayed she  guessed they were on the neglected drive leading to Wheelston. At last  they came to a halt and the coachman climbed down to open the door. She  assumed from his small stature that the figure huddled beneath the hat  and snow-covered greatcoat was Jed, the stable hand she had seen on her  previous visit. Her mind was racing. If there were only two of them,  perhaps she might have a chance of escape. She put up her hood as her  companion jumped out, but when he turned and held his hand to her she  said icily, ‘Thank you, I am quite capable of alighting on my own.'                       
       
           



       

Charity stepped down. The snow was already ankle deep and beginning to drift. Soon the roads would be impassable.

‘Oh.' She turned back to peer into the dark interior of the carriage.  ‘My reticule, I must have dropped it. Can you see it, Mr Durden?'

As soon as he leaned into the carriage she took to her heels. Jed's  shout of alarm spurred her on and she had almost reached the open gates  before Ross Durden caught up with her and grasped her shoulder.

‘Oh, no, you don't!'

Charity tried to fight but her tormentor put an end to her struggles by  sweeping her up into his arms and marching back to the house.

‘Put me down, you monster!' She had only one arm free, but she brought  up her hand to slap him hard across the face. His step did not falter  and he did not loosen his grip. With his hat shadowing his face she  could not even tell if he had flinched under her assault. The carriage  moved off towards the stables, so she knew she had only Ross Durden to  deal with, but his size and weight made him a formidable opponent and  the ease with which he was carrying her told Charity that he was no  weakling. As he pushed open the door she reached up beneath her hood and  pulled the jewelled pin from her hair. It was nowhere near as long as a  hatpin, but it was the only weapon she had and she would use it.

She was unprepared for the sudden way he dropped her onto her feet, but  as soon as she regained her balance she flew at him, aiming the sharp  point of the pin directly at his face. His hands shot up and grasped her  wrists, twisting her arms behind her back. The jewelled pin fell from  her fingers and clattered onto the floor.

‘Enough, madam, or I shall forget I am a gentleman!'

She was pinioned against him, every ragged breath forcing her against  his chest, which was surely heaving more violently than his recent  exertions warranted. An inner voice urged caution, but Charity was in no  mood to heed it. She stared up boldly into his shadowed face.

‘Gentleman? Ha! You are a rogue, an abductor, a-a thief!' When he did  not reply, she drew in another breath and added at her most scathing,  ‘An unconscionable wretch!'

He did not move, his hold on her did not slacken and his very silence  began to unnerve her. She strained to pierce the gloom that hid his  countenance, but with only one lamp burning in the hall the shadow cast  by his hat was too deep. The darkness was drawing her in. She found  herself leaning against Ross, raising her face, running the tip of her  tongue over her parted lips.

Stop it-you are inviting him to kiss you!

This was not her, it was some wild, abandoned creature he had roused,  something inside her that she had not even realised existed until she  had met the Dark Rider. There was a tug of attraction in her bones so  strong she could not control it and she knew, she just knew he could  feel it, too. The thought both thrilled and frightened her. It was in  the very stillness that surrounded them; the air crackled with it. She  watched, transfixed, as his head slowly dipped closer. He would kiss  her; she knew it. There was an inevitability about it that defied  reason. He still held her captive with her wrists behind her back,  pressing her against him, and despite the layers of clothing between  them she could feel his body, hard and tense. Like a predator, ready to  pounce.

A sudden gust of wind blew in, enveloping them with an icy blast, and  the open door creaked on its hinges. The effect upon Ross was like a  douche of cold water. He jerked his head up and tore his eyes away from  that tantalising, upturned face, so pale in the lamplight. By God, did  she not know how bewitching she was?

Cautiously he freed one of her wrists and stepped away from her to  close the door. He half expected her to attack him again, yet when he  turned back she had not moved, but stood as if rooted to the spot. The  angry challenging look had gone and she now looked dazed and forlorn. He  quelled the sympathy that began to unfurl inside him. He scooped the  hairpin from the floor and put it in his pocket before releasing her  other wrist.

‘Despite what you think of me, I was born a gentleman,' he said curtly.  ‘You can remove your pattens now, madam. You will not need them in the  house.'

She did not move. He gestured towards a bench, and like one in a dream  she sat down and began to take off her outer shoes. By heaven, she had  taken the wind out of his sails, first by seeing through his disguise  and then by simply standing before him looking so damned alluring! His  body had reacted violently to having her stand so close, but it was not  just the physical arousal, the longing to possess her body. He had felt  her heart beating against his chest, as if it was some small, wild bird  fighting for its freedom, and it had awoken in him a fierce desire to  cherish and protect her, to lay his life at her feet.