The Highwayman (Rakes and Rogues of the Restoration Book 3) by Judith James Page A

notice the slight tightening of his jaw, nor the dark look that shadowed his eyes, but the mare felt his tension and pranced and snorted in protest.
    “If I were like you, Jack, I could come and go as I pleased and answer to no one. No one would try to steal me and force me into marriage. If I were like you I could challenge him to a duel.” The strain she’d been under for the past several days was clear in her voice.
    “I could do that for you.” It was said quietly. Matter of fact.
    “What? Oh, no! No! I wouldn’t want that on my conscience. Or on yours. You must promise me, Jack. I will find my own way of dealing with my cousin.”
    Bess tossed her head and pawed the ground, annoyed with them both and ready to move on. A slight blue cast to the sky presaged the coming dawn.
    “No duel. I give you my word.” Jack tightened his grip around her waist and gave the mare her head. They set off at an easy canter.
    Lulled by the rocking motion and completely exhausted, Arabella leaned back and yawned.
    “Go to sleep, Bella. You’ve had a long day.”
    She sank against him, closing her eyes, and they thundered down the road toward London.

 
     
     
CHAPTER SEVEN
     
     
    Arabella awoke to a bruised sky, outside a large, three-story, galleried coaching inn surrounded by fields. It was a mullion-windowed building with a magnificent arched carriageway and a shadowed courtyard enclosed by projecting wings. A splendid sign hung overhead, featuring the Angel of the Annunciation depicted in vivid hues. On the horizon she could see the spires and rooftops of London. They were at the Angel Islington, the first stop on the Great North Road that ran all the way to Scotland, and she was nearly home.
    “Is it morning already?” she asked, her voice still rough with sleep. She felt a sudden chill, though she was wrapped in his coat and he was warm behind her. She gathered the coat tight around her, inhaling his scent.
    “No. It’s nearly dusk. You slept all day.” Their voices were hushed and hollow, as insubstantial as the wisps of evening mist rising from the ground. He slid from the saddle and reached for her, and she slipped easily into his arms. He lowered her to the ground, holding her a bit too close against his large frame, and lingering a little longer than he should before putting her down. “You’ll be safe here. Mary Tully and her husband Nate are friends. You can trust them. They will swear by whatever truth you choose to tell, and they will see you safely to your door.”
    Arabella nodded. She brushed off her clothes, straightened her skirts and attempted to smooth her hair as if those simple rituals might somehow have the power to return her to the woman she had been before. The woman whose most daring act had been to slip into her father’s library and read scandalous poetry, or force her way in to attend and vote in local meetings of the parish vestry. The woman who had never known a man’s warmth, his breath in her ear, or his solid bulk pressed against her.
    Jack gave a sharp whistle and a stable boy came on the run, skidding to a stop with gaping mouth and eyes as round as saucers. “I seen your face on the broad sheets I have. You be him! Swift Nick the highwayman!”
    “Aye, lad.” Jack flipped the boy a coin. “But highwayman no more. Pardoned and fast friends with King Charlie himself. Swift Nick is a changed man now.”
    The boy turned his attention to what really interested him. “Is this her? Black Bess? The one that—”
    “Aye, this is she. Fetch your master for me now, boy, on the sneak, mind, and when you get back you can walk and water her while he and I talk.”
    “How is it you use every name but your own, Jack?” Arabella asked as the boy scurried off.
    “I’ve a mind to keep my freedom and my head for as long as I might, Bella. I’ve avoided using violence against those I rob, and I usually wear a mask. England is a big land. The more names I’m known by, the faster I move,