Chapter Two

A fter the incident with the highwayman, Mr. Dawson had been in a rage the entire way back to the house. His pale skin stained an angry crimson for quite a while, the color popping even in the candlelight. Mrs. Dawson, thankfully, wanted nothing to do with Elizabeth, barking orders at a maid and a footman while Elizabeth slipped away.

Before, she had thought she wanted nothing more than to finally sink into bed. Now her thoughts were too riled. Her energy wasn't coming out as anger, like with Mr. Dawson, or cool callousness like with his mother.

She vibrated with a barely contained excitement that pushed all thoughts of going to bed far from her mind. Pacing around her room, she felt as if her skin could barely contain the bubbling feeling pouring through her. As with a glass of champagne, eventually, the bubbles rose to the top and burst.

And Elizabeth wasn't sure what exactly that would look like when her bubbles couldn't be contained any longer.

She had never felt this way before.

Grabbing the cloak she had just flung off, she made a decision. She picked up her hidden lantern, checked it was ready, and then cracked open her door. The hall was empty as she sneaked out and down the servant's stairs. At the bottom, a back door led out to the rear of the house and from there it was a short distance to the forest.

She needed somewhere she felt safe. She needed something familiar to calm her and, of all things, she wanted a reminder that someone had once loved her. Last year, she had discovered a small clearing in the forest, not too far from a trail but far enough that it felt like a secret.

It was a secluded place to be herself, to feel safe, to remember that at one point, she had been happy. After tonight, she could use a bit of all those things.

She could still perfectly picture the highwayman's seductive smile.

Why had he tossed the key to her? Or had he simply tossed the key into the carriage, not caring which woman grabbed it?

Why leave a key at all?

Highwaymen were not the problem they used to be. There were better patrols and the sentence for being caught as a highwayman was death. It didn't matter if the highwayman never killed any of his victims, if he was caught, he was dead.

But this man…

She took a deep breath of cool forest air and rearranged her thoughts. He was not just a man, he was a criminal. This criminal risked his life for what? A gold ring? A small chest?

Elizabeth didn't think the chest had any treasure in it. If anything, she had noticed that it was full of papers.

He had smiled at her. That smile should have felt evil. It should have sent her heart racing with fear. It should have gripped her reasoning and left her trembling.

It had done that last part, but not because she sensed evil. It had been something else.

She liked his smile.

This man…

She corrected herself again.

This criminal gave new meaning to the words "handsome devil."

He was the type of man that a good woman like her should stay far away from. He was no Claude Du Vall, flirting with the women he stole from. There was nothing romantic about being bad. To imagine being attracted to a man like that, a man with a strong, very capable body, with an enticing smile, with an aura that pulled at a woman and made her intrigued , was wrong.

He was a bad man.

He could have killed her.

Instead, he had smiled.

She turned left, leaving the forest path behind and venturing down a trail carved out by other animals. She knew this path well but it involved holding her skirts close and walking carefully, letting her cloak protect her from the scratching sticks of the narrow trail.

A little farther and she would reach her clearing. She would be somewhere she could sit and let out whatever thoughts were bottled up inside.

The forest was quiet, tonight. Not that she usually encountered other creatures, but there was a stillness that followed her the deeper she traveled.

Her clearing wasn't far. Just a bit longer. She passed a large and familiar ash tree that marked how close she was and picked up her pace.

Something warm slid around her mouth and her stomach. Her body was hauled back against someone tall and solid and she tried to scream but it was muffled by the hand pressing over her mouth.

Someone had her.

Mr. Dawson? Had he followed her? If he found out she was venturing into the forest, he would be irate.

She tried to thrash out of the man's grip but he held on tight and his low voice rumbled in her ear, "Easy now and I'll move my hand so we can talk. Scream, and I have a list of things that I can do to make someone regret their actions."

Not Mr. Dawson.

Breathing wildly through her nose, she stopped thrashing. His hand eased from her face and she accused, "Highwayman."

His fingers wrapped around her throat. She was locked in tight against him and even though he wasn't pressing, she didn't dare move.

He said, "I want to know how you found me."

She swallowed against his hand. " You found me."

This was her forest, her clearing, her safe place.

How dare he? Anger simmered in her. He was defiling the place that was most precious to her in the entire world. She had nowhere else to go. She was trapped in a life she hated, living with people who scared her, and now this highwayman had taken the one bit of solace she had dared to find.

He must have sensed the change in her emotions. He whispered in her ear, "Easy now, I don't want to hurt you."

She seethed, a part of her ready to fight for what was hers. She snapped, "Stop talking to me as if I am a horse."

He laughed behind her. "As moody as a mare."

"You are in my clearing."

His hands eased down from her neck a little and rested over her collarbone. "Your clearing? I take what I want. When I want something," she could feel his warm breath on her cheek, "it is mine."

He was not the first man in her life to indicate ownership over her. Her anger receded, taking with it all the warmth of the emotion and leaving behind a very cold fear. "Let me go and I will not tell anyone that you are here."

He said, "We walk." Pushing her leg with his thighs, he guided her forward. She could feel every inch of her body pressed against his as he deftly maneuvered them forward through the dark forest until they came out into her clearing.

He had lit a very small fire and in the glow, she could see a rapier leaning against a tree, a ruby on the hilt glinting in the light.

That was when she realized that she still held the lantern. Her fingers had clutched around the handle and she hadn't given it a thought this entire time.

He guided them over to a log. "I am going to let you sit while we work this out. If you run, know that I am faster than you and that when I catch you, I will make things much less pleasant than they are right now."

Less pleasant? Less pleasant than being dragged around by a criminal? "What would you do?"

"Truss you up like an animal so you can't move. You can sit now on your own accord or you can lie on the ground at my will."

He let her go and she plopped down hard onto the log, folding her arms over her stomach.

He pointed at her side. "You can set that down."

Set what down? Oh . She leaned over to set down the lantern.

He sat on a log and pulled his knife out of his boot. She stared at the blade, frozen, wondering if this was the moment she should bolt but also worried about what he could do with the blade in his hands if she did.

Or what he could do with it if she stayed.

She should run.

He said, "You have my life in your hands."

What? He was the one holding a knife.

He slid a rock down his blade, the metal tinging with a shink sound as he worked at sharpening it. "If I let you live, you could turn me in. If I were an actual criminal, you would already be dead."

Dead. She swallowed, trying to process the words he was saying while he worked but all she could hear was the scrape of rock and metal. Shink.

He looked over at her, his eyes locking with hers but they weren't hard or deadly like the steel he held in his hands. His eyes were open, soft, and assessing. They roved over her as if they saw every fold of her clothing and every curve of her body.

He said, "I don't want to kill you. But then, what do I do with you?"