At the Highwayman's Pleasure(2)

       
           



       

A new town, new roles and a new audience. Once the idea would have  filled her with excitement, but for some reason Charity could not raise  any enthusiasm.

Am I getting old? she wondered. I am seven and twenty and all I want is  a place of my own-not the lodging houses I own in London, but something  more....

The carriage was rattling through a village and she saw a little  cottage set back from the road. Golden light shone from the downstairs  window, and the door was open. A woman was standing in the threshold,  arms thrown wide to welcome the two little children running up the path  towards her. Charity watched her catch the babes in her arms and look up  at the man following them. Even in the dying light it was possible to  see happiness shining in her face, and Charity felt something clutching  at her heart.

That was what she wanted: a home and a loving family.

She turned in her seat, pressing her head to the glass to look at the  cottage until it was out of sight. The scene had been a happy one, but  it was no more than a single moment, and she knew only too well how  deceptive appearances could be. Once they were all indoors, out of  sight, the children might shrink behind their mother's skirts as the man  towered over them, Bible in one hand and riding crop in the other. He  would demand complete obedience and reward any defiance with a  thrashing. Shivering, Charity huddled back into her corner and closed  her eyes, struggling to repress the memories. Perhaps it had been a  mistake to come back to Allingford, so close to her roots.

The sudden slowing of the coach and raised voices from outside caused  the farmer's wife to shriek. Charity heard a mutter from Betty, her  maid, who was sitting beside her.

‘Oh, lordy, what's amiss?'

‘Most likely a cow on the road,' Charity replied calmly. She let down  the window and leaned out. ‘No,' she said with equal calm. ‘It is not a  beast. Well, not a four-legged one, at any rate. It is a highwayman.'

Betty gasped and the farmer's wife began to gabble hysterically, her  hands clasping the silver locket resting on her ample bosom, but Charity  felt nothing more than a mild excitement as she regarded the horseman  who was standing beside the road and brandishing a pistol towards the  driver and guard. In the gloomy half-light he presented a menacing  figure with his hat pulled low over his brow, throwing his face into  deep shadow. Everything about the highwayman was black, from his tricorn  to the hooves of the great horse that carried him. In a rough, cheerful  voice he ordered the guard to throw down his shotgun and hand over the  mailbag.

Charity felt a touch on her arm.

‘I pray you, madam, come back into the shadows,' muttered the farmer in  an urgent whisper. ‘Mayhap once he has the mail he won't bother with  us.'

She sat back at once but made no attempt to put up the window again,  lest the noise and movement should attract the man's attention.

‘I think it pretty poor of the guard,' she whispered. ‘He's made not the least attempt at resistance.'

‘There must be a gang of them,' breathed Betty.

‘No, I don't think so.' Charity leaned closer to the window again. ‘I can only see the one man.'

The rider dismounted and picked up the mailbag, throwing it over his saddle. Charity turned to the farmer.

‘Surely between you and the two men on the box, you could overpower him?'

The farmer immediately shrank back farther into his corner.

‘Not if he's armed,' he declared, a note of alarm in his voice.

‘He's coming over,' hissed Betty. ‘Oh, lordy!'

She clutched at Charity's sleeve as the door was wrenched open and the  stranger said jovially, ‘Well, now, let's be seein' who we have in here.  If ye'd care to step down, ladies and gentleman!'

The farmer's wife whimpered and shrank back against her husband as the  lamplight glinted on the pistol being waved towards them. With a little  tut of exasperation, Charity climbed out, sharply adjuring Betty not to  dawdle. The farmer and his wife followed suit and soon they were all  four of them standing on the open road, with the winter wind blowing  around them. She glanced towards the box, where the driver and guard  were sitting with their hands clasped above their heads.

‘Will that be everyone?'

‘Unless there is someone hiding under the seat,' retorted Charity,  rubbing her cold hands together. ‘If you intend to rob us then please  get on with it so we may be on our way.'

The man's face was in shadow, but she could feel his eyes upon her. Now  that she was closer to him she could see the deeper black of a mask  covering his upper face. It did not need Betty's little gasp of dismay  to tell her that drawing attention to herself was not the wisest thing  to do.                       
       
           



       

‘And who might you be, ma'am, to be making demands?'

‘That is none of your business.'

‘Ah, well, now, beggin' your pardon, ma'am, but I have to disagree with  you.' He waved the pistol. His voice was still cheerful, but there was  no mistaking the note of steel in his tone or the menacing gesture. She  drew herself up.

‘I am Mrs Weston.'

‘The devil you are!' He stepped a little closer and she had the  impression that she was being scrutinised very carefully. ‘You'll be on  your way to Beringham, then?'

‘I have no business in Beringham.'

‘No?'

‘No, I am going to Allingford.' She hesitated. ‘To the theatre. I am an  actress.' She held out her reticule. ‘Here, if you are going to rob us,  take it!'

She saw the flash of white as he grinned. ‘No, I don't think I will. 'Tis a charitable mood I'm in this evening.'

‘Are ye not going to rob us, then?' The farmer goggled at him.

‘I am not. I've decided I'll not take your purse, nor the ornament  that's a-twinkling on your lady wife. Get ye back into the  carriage...ah, except you, ma'am.'

Charity's heart lurched as he addressed her. Not for the world would  she show her fear, and she said with creditable assurance, ‘I have  nothing for you.'

‘Oh, but I think you have.'

Betty stepped up, crying, ‘You'll not touch my mistress!'

Charity caught her arm. ‘Hush, Betty.'

The pistol waved ominously.

‘Send your maid back to the carriage with the others, Mrs Weston.'

‘Do as he says, Betty.' Charity held her maid's eye and put her hand  up, her fingers touching the discreet pearl head of the hatpin that held  her bonnet in place. ‘I'll deal with this.'

She saw the understanding in the older woman's eyes and with a grim  little nod Betty walked away, leaving Charity alone with the highwayman.

‘I've changed my mind,' he told her. ‘I'll take that fancy brooch you have pinned to your coat.'

It was a small cameo and of no particular value. Charity supposed he  would present it to his sweetheart and found the idea did not please  her. He reached out his hand to pluck the brooch from her breast and she  forced herself to keep still while his fingers fumbled with the catch,  but after a moment, and with a huff of exasperation, she brushed his  hands aside.

‘Here, let me.' She unfastened the cameo and held it out to him. ‘There, take it. Now may I go?'

‘Not just yet, lady.'

He stepped closer and she was enveloped in his shadow. Charity was a  tall woman, but he towered over her, the caped greatcoat making his  shoulders impossibly broad. A tremor ran through her, but she told  herself he was only a man, and in her profession she had dealt with many  such situations.

She said calmly, ‘Surely you will not attack me here, in front of everyone.'

He laughed, and again she saw that flash of white teeth.

‘Attack? Faith, me darlin', that suggests you ain't willing.'

‘Indeed? Well, I-'

Her words were cut off as he reached out and dragged her to him. She  found herself pinioned against his chest, one arm like an iron band  around her shoulders. She looked up to protest and at that moment his  head swooped down and he kissed her.

Through luck or expertise his mouth found hers immediately and her  senses reeled from that first, electric touch. She could not move and he  continued to kiss her, his tongue plundering her mouth and causing such  a rush of sensation through her body that it was impossible to resist  him. The stubble on his face grazed her skin but she hardly noticed, her  mind spinning with such irrelevant thoughts as the fact that he did not  smell of dirt and horses. Instead her head was filled with a succession  of scents. First there had been the unmistakable smell of leather and  the wool of his greatcoat, but when he pulled her closer she recognised  the pleasant tang of soap and lemons, spices and clean linen. As his  tongue explored her mouth her bones dissolved and hot arrows of pleasure  drove deep into her body. The sensations were new and unnerving. She  wanted to cling to him, to push herself against that hard, male body.