Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

E xcerpt from the Quizzing Glass Gazette , October 13, 1822, the Lady Society column:

Lady Society has become aware of reports of a dangerous highwayman who hunts for jewels and coins on the road in the country throughout Hampshire. While Lady Society usually focuses on scandalous gossip of the goings-on of the ton, this tale was simply too delicious to ignore.

By all accounts, this highwayman is dangerous only to those who dare cross him. He holds the men at bay with a pistol in hand, while kissing the rings off the ladies with the other. He is without question a scoundrel of the highest order, but one can’t help but embrace the romantic imagery he evokes. Lady Society wonders what lies beneath the domino and the black cape. Who is this man who cries, “Stand and deliver!” as he collects his prizes? Perhaps he will move his hunting territory to the streets of London so that the ladies of the ton might feast their eyes on this handsome devil.

Diana Fox pulled her shawl tighter about her shoulders as she stared bleakly out of the coach window. She would be home in a few hours, but as much as she was glad to be returning, she had no good news to bring with her to those servants who had loyally stayed with her after her father died.

Foxglove Hall, her beloved family home, would soon belong to creditors if she could not find a steady source of income for the estate. They had the farming tenants, of course, but she could not take what little money they were able to earn. She’d spent the last three weeks in London, meeting with her father’s solicitor and doing her best to sort out the mess his passing had left her to deal with. At least now she had a complete list of the debts she must pay and the amounts. The solicitor had persuaded the banks to give her a month’s time to come up with at least half of what she owed. The problem was, she was without a means to earn it.

Wind whistled against the windows of the coach. Its chilliness permeated the cracks in the frame, freezing the interior of the coach, along with its passengers. Three others traveled with her on this stagecoach, two men and a woman. They were huddled together for warmth on one side of the coach, while she kept her distance on the opposite side. She had learned during their brief discussions that the other occupants were a family, with a father, a mother, and their son, Claude, who was around Diana’s age of twenty-three.

She had politely put off the young man’s attempts at small talk when it became clear he was interested in her. She had neither the time nor the inclination for romance, let alone the patience to entertain a restless young pup like this young man. He was nice enough, even pleasant looking, but his attentions only stirred a frustration deep inside her. She’d given up on love and marriage years ago, when she’d begun caring for her ailing father.

I barely have time to care for myself. How could I possibly stretch myself thin for yet another man?

It was a question she wearily voiced in her mind whenever a pang of loneliness struck her more deeply than usual. As always, she’d pushed the loneliness down, buried it so deep it could not easily claw its way back to the surface.

Other women might have married for security, but she couldn’t stomach the thought. A marriage as an agreement or contract would put Diana at a disadvantage—and ultimately at the will of the man she married. Should their relations sour, she would be the one who stood to lose everything.

Therefore, it made no sense to marry someone unless it was for love, a lasting love and friendship that would not devolve into a war of wills she would ultimately lose because she was a woman and therefore her husband’s property. If she married, it would be for love. It would be because her heart simply could not beat another second without the man she loved in her life. But that kind of man was nothing but a girlish daydream. Her home and the well-being of the servants who lived there were all that mattered to her now.

The coach dipped a little as the wheels fell into a rut on the road. Diana braced herself against the side of the coach, wincing at the jarring distraction.

Only a few miles down the road, the coach would stop in front of a pair of carved stone foxes on pillars that abutted the entrance to Foxglove Hall, her family’s home.

A bitter ache stirred in her chest as she reminded herself that she no longer had any family.

I’m all that’s left of the noble house of Fox.

Her mother had died when Diana was fifteen, and her older sister had run away from home to get married not long after. And then her father had passed from a stroke less than a year ago.

“Shouldn’t be long now,” Edwin, the older gentleman, pronounced to his wife. “Good thing to be home. A storm is coming. I can smell the rain.”

His wife nodded primly, as if she took her husband’s words as gospel. “We don’t want the road too muddy. If the coach becomes stuck, we would have to spend the night on the road.” She glanced at Diana, trying to include her in the conversation. “Do you have very far to go, my dear?”

Diana tore her gaze from the window. “Perhaps another two miles?”

“And where are you bound, Miss Fox?” Claude asked eagerly. “Perhaps I could escort you there?”

“No,” she gasped out, then calmed herself. “I mean, no, thank you. I will be quite fine. My staff will be waiting for me. My groom usually waits for me near the road.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie. Her groom, a wonderful though somewhat ancient fellow named Nelson, always insisted on riding out to meet her at the gates and escorting her home, but today he didn’t know when she would be coming home. But the last thing she needed was yet another man trying to woo her with his courtly gestures. She’d been through all this before and had seen where it ended—with a man believing he could take liberties, or force her hand into marriage. And it always started with a polite escort home.

He deflated instantly at her rejection. “Oh.”

The coach slammed down into another rut and the woman shrieked, clutching her husband’s arm.

“Miss Fox, you can hold on to me, if you like,” Claude offered with a hopeful look upon his face.

“I’m quite fine, I assure you.” She adjusted her white-knuckle grip on the faded pink curtains of the travel coach.

A crack of thunder, sharp and clear, forced the coach to a jolting stop. Diana grunted as her head bounced off the glass of the window she’d been peering through. She rubbed her forehead and looked for any sign of the storm that had suddenly descended upon them.

“That was rather close thunder,” Diana muttered. She hoped the storm would not come yet. It might be a long walk in the rain to the house, and she was already cold.

A shout outside the coach was partially muffled, but the words “ Stand and deliver! ” were clear enough for everyone to hear.

Edwin straightened, his face paling. “That wasn’t thunder. That was a pistol shot.”

His wife gasped. “Edwin, what are we to do? It must be a highwayman!”

“Unfortunately, that is likely,” Edwin agreed. “Claude, my boy, you must do exactly as we are told. No foolish heroics, do you understand? These scoundrels will shoot a man for the slightest insult.”

Claude puffed out his shoulders, but then gave his father a solemn nod. “Miss Fox, I will protect you.”

Diana offered him a wan smile. This boy couldn’t defend her, and she didn’t expect him to, not against a highwayman. And given her current mood, she was far more likely to be able to defend herself than any man, even against a highwayman. The last few months had been among the most wretched of her life, and if he dared demand a thing from her, Diana would make sure he regretted it.

More shouts came from outside the coach. The horses whinnied and the coach rocked back and forth.

“You bloody scoundrels!” the stagecoach driver shouted from above.

“Come down, now!” came a voice that carried a sharp air of command that stilled Diana’s rapidly beating heart.

The door next to her was wrenched open, illuminating them in moonlight and silhouetting the figure staring at them. A masked man peered inside the coach, his pistol raised at the occupants. He wore no billowing cloak, but a trim black wool greatcoat that sparkled with rain droplets.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” the highwayman said. He had a Scottish burr that rippled across Diana’s skin. She frowned at the unexpected reaction. Perhaps it was just the rich timbre of his voice that she admired?

Admired? Was she going mad? She didn’t admire this man. He was a petty thief—there was certainly nothing to admire about that.

The highwayman grinned, the domino he wore concealing all but his mouth and eyes.

“Please kindly step outside and form a line. If ye cooperate, this will go smoothly and I willna hurt anyone. I request that ye remove all valuable coins and jewels from yer persons.” He waved the pistol at Edwin. “Ye will exit first.”

Edwin climbed out of the coach and helped his wife down. The poor woman was trembling so hard she nearly fell.

The highwayman pointed his pistol at Claude. “Ye go next, laddie.”

“You vile thief!” Claude puffed his chest out but made no move to reach for the man’s gun. “How dare you rob us!”

The thief chuckled and spoke over his shoulder to two other riders, also wearing masks, who waited nearby, their pistols raised and ready to shoot.

“Ach, I’m wounded. The laddie thinks we are vile thieves!”

The other highwaymen laughed, unbothered by the insult.

“All right, laddie, ye’ve proven ye’re brave. Now be at ease, young pup.”

Claude reluctantly climbed down and stood beside his parents. He turned to assist Diana, but the thief nudged him aside with the barrel of his gun.

“Well now,” the man purred as he spotted Diana. “What a bonnie wee thing ye are.” He held out a gloved hand to her.

Diana scowled at him. Bonnie . She wasn’t unkind in her appraisal of her looks, but she was well aware that she possessed an impertinent chin and a slightly upturned nose that made her look more mischievous when in good spirits and quite harsh when she was in a bad mood. And right then, she was most assuredly in a foul mood.

“I do not require any assistance, nor any of your false flattery.” She braced herself on the side of the door and used her free hand to lift her blue velvet skirts out of the way as she stepped through the coach’s doorway. She’d worn her best dresses while in London, hoping to remind the bankers she was still from a noble family, and now she regretted that choice. If it rained now, her dress would be like lead weights upon her skin.

“Ye will let me help you, lass. I insist.” The man reached forward, curling one arm around her waist and lifting her off her feet.

She slid down the front of his body, all too aware of every hard, muscled inch of him, like a marble statue. She clutched his shoulders in surprise at the way her body warmed in response to his. She gazed into bright-blue eyes that seemed like clouds shot through with moonlight. As he set her down, her shawl slipped and she released his shoulders, intending to pull it back up.

“Allow me,” the Scotsman said. He took the shawl and wrapped it back around her, but his gaze lingered on her breasts as he tucked the opposite ends of the shawl into her shaking hands.

“Exquisite,” he said, his gaze still focused on her chest.

“I beg your pardon!” she hissed and covered herself.

The man’s low, rough chuckle scraped over her skin in a most erotic way, sending a flutter of heat through her. “I was speaking of yer necklace. Although, I could say the same of yer beautiful breasts. They are also exquisite.”

“How dare you speak to a lady thus!” Claude shouted. He took a step toward the thief.

Rather than feel challenged, the highwayman seemed only amused by the young man.

“Every lass likes to hear her beauty praised, laddie. Best to learn that lesson before ye start bending women over, eh? All women deserve a bit of wooing before the loving.” The Scotsman’s gaze never left Diana as he brushed the backs of his gloved fingers over her cheek and then down to the column of her throat.

She should have slapped his hand away, but she was caught still by his gaze. She’d never felt like this before. This man’s eyes held her pinned like some poor butterfly beneath a pane of glass. She was powerless before him, but why? No man had ever made her feel like this. His sinfully lush lips parted, and she tasted the sweetness of his breath as he continued to watch her. Their faces were so close now that he could almost kiss her. He seemed to realize the startling effect he had on her, and his grin grew wistful.

“Ye’re too sweet for a man like me, kitten,” he said, his lips curving into a charming, crooked grin. That singular grin unfurled a river of sweet heat that licked through her veins.

“On that, you are quite wrong,” she replied. Some of the fire came back into her blood. Fire she could use. Fire she understood. “I am anything but sweet. I spew fire and I rage,” she warned. But the words came out more breathless than she had thought they would. She was angry, wasn’t she? Why didn’t she sound angry?

“Lucky for ye, lass, I quite like to be burned.” The way he said the word burned sent a thrill through her. What could he mean by that? Were there other ways to burn other than from anger?

One of the other highwaymen spoke up with a light Irish lilt. “Come now, Tyburn, collect our winnings so we can leave.”

Had these men come from all parts of the kingdom? Joined forces to rob Englishmen and women? Given how the government had treated the Scots and the Irish in the last hundred years, she couldn’t blame them. A moment later, she realized that she’d learned the dashing Scotsman’s name.

Tyburn.

Rather fitting, since he would someday hang at Tyburn for his crimes.

“Verra well,” Tyburn said as he stepped back from her and removed a leather pouch, opening it with one hand while keeping his pistol aimed at his victims. “Ye heard him. Pocket watches, jewels, and any coins, if ye please.” He started with Edwin and his wife, who dropped their money and jewelry into the pouch. Claude reluctantly surrendered his money and pocket watch. When the highwayman held out the bag to Diana, she poured the meager contents of her coin purse into the pouch with great regret. She needed that money, blast him! He cleared his throat and stared at her expectantly.

“I gave you all the money I have!” she practically spat.

“Ye forgot yer necklace, my lovely fire drake.”

Her hand shot instinctively to curl around the large freshwater pearl that hung from the gold chain around her neck. It was the only thing of her mother’s she had left that she hadn’t sold to help her keep possession of her home. It was the one thing she couldn’t part with. Her father had given it to her mother the day she’d given birth to Diana. Unlike many men, he hadn’t cared that they’d had no male children. He’d been overjoyed to have a second daughter, and that pearl was a representation of his love for his wife and their new child.

All the fire inside her left. “ Please , I must keep it,” she begged. If she had to grovel to keep the necklace, she would.

Tyburn’s lips twitched. “Alas, love, I canna show favoritism to ye or my reputation will be ruined.” He reached up, most likely intending to break the chain in order to remove it from her.

“Wait! Let me do it.” She reached up to undo the clasp, then she cupped it in her gloved palm. He raised the pouch up for her, but rather than drop it into the pouch, she blew out a fast breath, which created a small space between her breasts and the bodice of her gown. She dropped the necklace into the valley of her bosom, then inhaled, preventing the man from being able to reach the pearl.

“Why, ye little—” The thief halted at whatever insult he’d intended and scowled, his blue eyes frosting like a lake in winter. “That wasna a clever thing to do, lass.”

“There is no way you can get to it now,” Diana declared.

“Ye think so, lass? Now ye’ve gone and tempted me.” He eyed her clothes with a measuring look that took her by surprise.

Oh dear Lord ... She’d made a terrible mistake. No gentleman would have taken that as a challenge.

“But you are a gentlemen! You wouldn’t dare.” She’d read about highwaymen in the papers. They were often men of noble or gentle birth who had fallen upon hard times or circumstances that forced them to resort to thievery. The ones she’d read about were not callous murderers, and they hardly ever forced themselves on women.

“My friends may be gentlemen, but I am not, lass. I will have that necklace, even if I must strip every inch of clothing off yer body to get it.” He reached up and grasped her throat with a gloved hand. He didn’t squeeze, but held her trapped between his powerful fingers. A shot of wild heat ripped through her body and she gasped, but not from fear. His possessive, dominating hold on her neck should have terrified her, but rather it only excited her.

I must be mad... truly mad, she thought.

His hand moved to the nape of her neck as he forced her to walk away from the others.

“What are you doing?” Edwin and Claude both shouted. “You cannot abduct a lady!”

“’Tis exactly what I’m doing,” Tyburn growled as he pushed Diana toward his horse. The moment he reached the steed, he picked her up and tossed her over the saddle. She scrambled to catch hold of the reins and briefly envisioned riding off, but he quickly mounted up behind her and seized the reins from her hands. He tucked his pistol inside his coat, well out of her reach.

“Keep a watch on them, Oxford. Then take the third route back to our meeting place,” Tyburn ordered. The man he’d called Oxford nodded. When Tyburn and the third man urged their horses forward, they reached a full gallop after only a few moments.

Diana clutched the horse’s mane, trying not to fall, but Tyburn wrapped an arm around her tight and jerked her back against him. He seemed to be quite used to riding with a hostage in front of him. His long legs settled against her own, his thighs pressing in against hers. She could tell he was laying a hard path to follow, given the varied terrain he took them over, which was far from any roads. It would be hard to track them.

Oxford, she realized, would leave yet another trail to confuse anyone who might come searching for them. Still, Diana did her best to memorize everything she saw. Although much of the countryside looked the same to her, there were places she felt she could remember if pressed.

They rode for half an hour, then slowed their horses in the middle of a field and stopped.

“Why have we stopped?” she asked.

“Cambridge, the blindfold, if you please.” Tyburn pointed to the third man’s waist. Cambridge removed a strip of black cloth from a pocket in his greatcoat and urged his horse next to Tyburn to hand it to him.

“No!” She tried to duck and slide off the horse’s back, but Tyburn held her still with his iron band of an arm. Cambridge manhandled her until he had a grasp on her head and neck. His touch then gentled as he wrapped the blindfold over her eyes. Then her wrists were bound together with another bit of cloth. She wanted to fight, but she wasn’t a fool. If she fell now, bound and blind, she could be trampled by their tall, powerful horses. It was better to bide her time and pretend she was compliant. Once she found out where they had their hideout, she would develop a plan for escape.

The two men were silent as they rode for another length of time. This was harder for her to measure because she was unable to see her surroundings. All she had was the heat of Tyburn’s body behind her and the sound of the horses’ hooves pounding upon the ground.

The rain finally came in driving sheets that soaked her to the bone, but she made no protest. She still had her pride. Still, she couldn’t stop herself from shivering. Her captor seemed to feel it because Tyburn pulled his coat close around her. But it wasn’t large enough to cover them both.

“We havena much farther to go, lass. I’ll warm ye up when we are inside,” he murmured in her ear. She found herself nodding, and her teeth began to chatter.

When they finally stopped, he slid off the horse behind her and helped her down. He then swept her up in his arms as though she were a child and carried her across a threshold, where the rain became muted and ceased to pelt down on her skin. He settled her onto something warm, which she sank back into. An old overstuffed chair, perhaps? The scents she breathed in were clean, no hint of must, nor did she hear the sounds of other people around save for herself and her captors.

The blindfold was removed. Diana blinked as her eyes adjusted to the dim light around her. It appeared to be some sort of hunting lodge, given the rustic look of the furniture, including the chair he’d set her down on. It was cozy and felt lived in, but most certainly by bachelors. It had no feminine touches, no draperies, nor matching fabrics.

The two highwaymen moved to a corner of the room and spoke in low tones while stealing glances at her. Then, the one called Cambridge nodded and left the lodge. She saw him through one of the windows as he walked the horses to a nearby stable.

“Now, lass, what am I to do with ye?” Tyburn mused as he came to stand in front of her. She shrank back in the chair, then despised herself for showing such fear, so she raised her chin and met his gaze with a stubborn glare of her own.

Tyburn was tall, and his pale-gold hair turned to a burnished filigree with the rain. His domino still concealed most of his face. In this light, she could see clearly that his eyes were a piercing blue and those sensual lips were too lush for a man’s mouth.

“You shouldn’t have taken me. The others will send the authorities after you.” She tested the restraints that bound her wrists. It only pulled tighter at her struggles.

“I suppose they will. But until they come to yer rescue, I plan to have that necklace, kitten, and ye will give it to me one way or another.” His gaze rolled over her body, and she trembled. “Lucky for me, getting ye out of those wet clothes is to yer advantage. Let no one say ye caught yer death in my arms.” He chuckled as if at some private joke.

Then he leaned over and braced his palms on either side of her chair, staring down at her. She stared back, refusing to flinch this time. She was not some shrinking violet. She was as rough and hardy as a dandelion.

Tyburn reached for her wrists, removing the binding and rubbing them to soothe the red marks that Cambridge had left when he’d tied the rope hastily around her.

“Do ye have a husband waiting for ye at home, lass?”

“Yes.”

He grinned. “So ye arna married. What about brothers?” He removed his gloves and tossed them onto a nearby table.

“A dozen,” she said. “Rather large and angry ones. They will destroy you if you dare touch me.”

“Another lie, kitten. You seem to be as alone as I am in this world.” His Scottish burr came out in a seductive purr.

“I am not alone,” she argued, even though the flash of old pain at the truth stung. She’d never let him see that, never.

The Scotsman pulled her to her feet, so they were standing before each other. “Ach, but that’s the biggest lie of all, lassie. Ye are alone. Like calls to like, ye see. There is a deep longing in yer lovely brown eyes. Looking at ye makes me feel warm.” He reached up to stroke her arms, as if to warm her, not seduce her, and she realized she had started to shiver again. “But it seems ye are still half-frozen.”

Tyburn released her and knelt by the fireplace to start a fire in the hearth. She stared down at his bent head and wondered if she could find something heavy to knock him out with, perhaps one of the logs in the iron stand beside him? No, she’d have to reach past him to get to it. Before she could locate a different weapon in the room, he was standing again and had taken her hand, lifting it to his lips.

“There’s only one way to get ye warm, lass. It’s time we get ye out of these clothes.” He kissed her hand and then removed her soaked shawl, letting it fall to the floor in a damp heap. The cool air around her shoulders and neck made her shiver even harder.

“Please...,” she begged as he unfastened the front of her gown. This was one of her easier dresses to travel in—the blue velvet could be done up the front and required no maid. But it left her feeling vulnerable to stare at his masked face as his fingers delicately slid buttons through slits.

“I willna hurt ye,” he said, sounding both amused and exasperated. “I havena forced a woman to my bed yet, and I willna start now.”

“You are a man,” she whispered. “It’s in your nature to hurt women.”

His hand stilled. “Have ye been hurt before, lass?” he asked, his voice holding a hint of quiet rage that she didn’t understand.

Flashes of memory filled her head. Hands touching her, clawing at her clothing. After her father had died, a number of local men had believed her easy prey, either for rape or ruination so that she would have to marry them. But she’d avoided falling into either trap.

He caught her chin and turned her face so that he could see her eyes again. “Who hurt ye? Give me a name, lass, and I’ll put a bullet through the bastard’s heart.” His voice was a low growl, so full of a menace that she hadn’t expected that her eyes flashed wider with fear.

“I wasn’t hurt. I wasn’t,” she insisted when he seemed to doubt her. “Most women aren’t raised to defend themselves, but for me, it’s second nature to swing a fist.” She thought back to the man who’d tried to assault her as she rode home from the market one afternoon. She’d punched him so hard he’d fallen right off his horse and lay stunned in the road as she’d ridden off.

“Ye havena flung a fist toward me yet, lass,” he said with a smug smile.

“Give me a good reason, and I certainly shall.”

Unbothered by her threat, he grinned back at her, the silence between them charged with something too strange and exciting for her to name. The moment was broken when her teeth started to chatter again. He cursed under his breath and grasped her shoulders, pushing her toward the fire he’d started. When her back was to the warm flames, heating her body, he resumed unbuttoning her gown until it draped away from her. She clutched her arms to her chest. Without a word, he gently pried her fingers away, and the velvet cloth of her dress dropped down over her hips to the floor. He tugged at the ties that kept her petticoats fastened until they too fell to the floor. She now wore nothing more than her chemise and stays.

“These are too wet for ye, lass. They’ll need to come off as well.”

He gently turned her around, letting the front of her body feel the kiss of the fire’s warmth. His fingers touched the laces of her stays.

“Please don’t take my necklace,” she said as the stays around her breasts loosened.

He slid a hand down her collarbone from behind, then moved his hand past her breasts and into the valley of her bosom until he found the necklace just below the undersides of her breasts, where it rested against the stays that hugged her lower ribs. She flinched as he lifted the necklace out from beneath her clothing. He didn’t try to grope or touch her; he simply held on to the pearl and its chain as he pulled it out from her clothing.

“What value does it hold for ye?” he whispered, his breath tickling her neck. The sensation washed over her and lit a fire inside her before she reminded herself what was at stake. He held the necklace between them, and her breath caught at the sight of something that mattered so much to her.

“It was my mother’s.”

“Ahh...,” he said. “I’m sure she can give ye another one.”

“No, she can’t. She is dead, and I sold everything of hers except for that necklace.” She nodded at the pearl resting on his palm.

Tyburn was quiet. His sparkling blue eyes were unreadable in their intensity.

“Verra well, I will let ye keep it.”

She reached for it, but he pulled his hand back.

“On one condition.”

“What condition?”

The wicked gleam in his eyes was her only warning as to what he would demand of her.

“Ye give me something ye’ve given no other man.”