Chapter One

1816

T he moon was a ghostly galleon looming beyond the dark drapes of the carriage window.

Elizabeth could not sleep in these conditions, not with the worry eating away at her stomach. They had been warned to stay at the inn. They had been warned that dark would fall before they reached their destination and that it would not be wise to travel once the moon was out.

Mr. Dawson scoffed at the warning and bundled his womenfolk into the carriage, claiming he would sleep in his own bed tonight.

At the time, Elizabeth had agreed. Mr. Dawson was not a gentleman to be trifled with. That was a lesson she had learned early on, a large sacrifice to pay for the small comfort of knowing that he would keep them safe while traveling.

She was safe from everyone except him.

As the moon slowly rose in the distance, looming large, the coming of night casting purple shadows over the moors, Elizabeth's assurance dwindled. It would be dark soon. Although the moors usually allowed their party to see a good distance, this part of the road, as they came closer to the estate, had a black, looming forest to one side.

Anything could be hiding in there, monsters or men.

She knew better. There were no monsters as she had surveyed the forest herself, even at night. Last year, the forest had been her escape, her haven, her reminder of times when her life had been better.

Her nervousness was running away of its own accord, giving images to the shadows.

She did not know if a man was hiding in the forest. But if he was, he wouldn't be just any man, he would be a highwayman.

Across from Elizabeth, Mr. Dawson's mother jostled with each bump, her gray hair coming slowly unpinned. The bumping of the carriage calmed as it slowed and then stopped. Mrs. Dawson snorted and then yawned. "Are we finally home?"

Elizabeth peered out the window. "No. We are still on the road."

Mrs. Dawson, fully awake now, asked, "Then why have we stopped?"

The blame in Mrs. Dawson's sharp voice grated against Elizabeth's tired mind. She had been traveling for just as long and wanted a real bed just as much as Mrs. Dawson. She did not need to feel as if their sudden halt was her fault.

Crisply, she said, "I do not know."

Voices muttered outside the carriage and then Mr. Dawson shouted, "Hold them steady!"

A shot rang out, loud and clear in the still night.

Outside her window, their footman stopped next to the carriage, holding a pistol and staring forward. Since he held his gun up and ready, she assumed he had not been the one to shoot. She tapped on the window with a shaking hand and called out, hoping her muffled voice would be noticed by the footman. "Jack? What is going on?"

He looked at her and shook his head, then held his hand up to motion to her to stay in the carriage.

Still peering out the window, she said to Mrs. Dawson, "He wants us to stay in here. I do not see your son, though. Mr. Dawson must have shot at something."

Or someone.

Surely it would not be a highwayman. One man would not risk himself while both Jack and Mr. Dawson held their weapons ready.

A shadow behind Jack lunged forward, a darkly clad arm grabbed him and yanked him back. In the scuffle, the gun dropped to the ground and Jack was pulled back out of sight.

Elizabeth screamed and fumbled for the door handle. "Jack!"

Mrs. Dawson smacked her hand. "What do you think you are doing? Is a useless woman like you going to run out into the fray? Let Timothy handle this."

Her tense muscles and her instincts told her to run, to get out of the carriage while she still could.

She grabbed for the latch again but paused when Mr. Dawson came back into view. He strode forward, the lantern on the carriage illuminating his side. His hair, a dark blond that never saw enough sun, was pulled back and tied at the back of his head. His thin face ended with a pointed chin and his large and equally pointy nose reminded her of a hawk. He was, if she equated him to the animal, powerful, predatory, and dangerous. His arm was raised, gun ready, and he stopped just in front of the carriage door.

He yelled, "Leave him!"

She tried to peer out and could see an arm holding Jack in place. She gasped.

Mrs. Dawson pulled aside the other curtain. "What? What is it?"

Elizabeth said, "Someone is using Jack as a shield. That is why Mr. Dawson hasn't used his other pistol."

Mr. Dawson yelled again, "I will shoot! I have very good aim and your shield does not intimidate me."

He would shoot at Jack? Elizabeth swallowed against the growing lump in her throat and gasped a ragged breath into her shaking chest.

There was another shot and a yell. Elizabeth peered out, her nose against the glass, trying to see what was happening in the pitiful light of the lantern.

A shadowy, large man dressed all in black strode into the hazy light. Why wasn't Mr. Dawson doing anything?

The shadowy man lunged at Mr. Dawson with speed and an astounding sense of controlled movement. He pinned Mr. Dawson against the carriage and Elizabeth pushed away from the window with a cry, pressing into the far side of her seat, staring at Mr. Dawson's smashed cheek against the pane.

Mrs. Dawson cried out, "Timothy!"

Just as suddenly as he was there, he was yanked away. Elizabeth felt a thud in her chest and realized it was her heart beating. One, two.

The door was thrown open and the shadowed figure appeared. He wore a tricorn hat with the front pulled low so all she could see was the stubble of a strong jaw and a small cleft in the highwayman's chin.

He leaned forward, impossibly wide shoulders filling the doorway as he invaded their space.

She should have run when she had the chance. He could do anything. He could grab at them. He could injure them. She gasped at the glint of his pistol butt as he waved it around inside the carriage.

His voice, low and scratchy as if he was trying to disguise it, said, "The valuables, if you please."

Mrs. Dawson screamed and lifted her hand to hit at him but he caught her arm easily with his free hand and pointed the pistol at her nose.

Elizabeth didn't have any rings. She didn't have a necklace or any kind of trinket that this man wanted. She didn't even have a coin purse.

She had nothing and this highwayman may kill her for it.

He angled his head just enough that she could see a small upward tilt to the corner of his mouth. He said, "The valuables, ma'am."

He slid a ring off Mrs. Dawson's hand and in a blink, the jewelry was gone in some pocket or another. He left the gun pointed at Mrs. Dawson's nose but he tilted his head up even further to turn his shadowy eyes over to Elizabeth. She could barely see them but could feel the piercing stare as surely as if he had turned a weapon upon her.

She couldn't suck air into her lungs, her body felt as stiff as stone as she struggled to breathe, her heart thudding wildly in her chest.

His long arm reached for her easily, grasping her wrist and holding up her hand. His voice eased from his scratchy tone to a deep rumble that carried across the carriage. "Well, well, well. No jewelry here but you are a valuable yourself, aren't you?"

He held her firm in his grip but not too tightly. She pulled and he let her go, her back smashing onto her seat. She hadn't expected him to let go.

For a wild moment, his eyes caught hers. This time, the gaze wasn't piercing, it was softer. He stared for the moment of a heartbeat and then grinned at her. A slow, dangerous grin that transformed his face from a dark intruder to a handsome daredevil.

Who was he?

She pressed further away from him. She wanted to say something, to demand he leave, to show him that she would not be easily toyed with.

His eyes widened and his smile grew as he suddenly reached forward. She screamed but his hand reached past her and tugged at a wooden chest at the opposite side of the carriage.

He hauled it over to him and murmured, "This looks promising."

His gaze cut over to Mrs. Dawson and Elizabeth realized his hand holding the pistol still had not wavered. He laughed. Laughed! "Your mother should have told you your face would stick that way when you were a child."

With astounding speed, the gun was pulled back, the chest tucked under his arm and he was gone from the doorway.

He was gone.

Something thudded at her feet and for a moment, Elizabeth wondered if her struggling heart had dropped out of her chest. No, that didn't make sense. It was impossible.

She felt down by her feet and her hands met solid, cool metal. She picked up a long object and held it up.

A key.

Outside the carriage, the men were screaming at her. Had they been screaming the whole time? Elizabeth blinked at the key.

She couldn't remember if there had been a world at all outside of the carriage while that highwayman had stood at the door.

Mrs. Dawson snapped at her, "Girl! Go help Timothy!"

She stumbled out of the carriage on rubbery legs, wildly looking right and left. Just outside of the light of the lantern, Jack and Mr. Dawson were trying to get up from the ground.

Still in a daze, Elizabeth looked over, ahead of the carriage and past the horses. In the glow of the moon dangled a man in a crimson-colored coat with a ruffle of lace spilling from the chest.

But it wasn't a man. It was stuffed clothing, a distraction to get them to stop.

Someone was yelling again.

"Elizabeth! Miss Innsworth! Elizabeth!"

Many voices were yelling her name and she finally turned to them and focused on Mr. Dawson.

"Elizabeth, the key!" She looked down at her hand then back at Mr. Dawson in confusion.

"He put us in handcuffs, and you are holding the damned key!"