Chapter Eight

H e had almost kissed her. He couldn't, though, until he gave her options. She deserved to know about the lies the Dawsons were feeding her and the money they were stealing from her.

Her brows scrunched and she pulled away from him. "What do you mean you can take me away?"

Lysander patted his breast pocket. "I have information that you need to know." He reached his hand inside it and withdrew the folded papers, handing them over to her. She took them and he stood to retrieve her lantern and hold it behind her, illuminating the sheets. "If you have questions about these, I can answer them."

She held up the trust document. "There is a lot of very tiny writing here. I can't possibly read all of this in the dark."

He leaned forward to point at a couple of key sentences. "This says the land is being held in trust on your behalf." He pointed further down. "Here is where it explains that the property is in trust until either you marry or you reach a certain age."

She flicked her finger at the number. "Six-and-twenty!" Then she was quiet, her fingers gripping the sheet. "I can't hold off marrying Mr. Dawson for that long. I need this money now." He could practically feel the thoughts churning in her head from his position behind her. "Where is the money going?"

He couldn't keep the dark anger from his voice when he answered her. "Mr. Dawson." He fingered through the corners of the sheets of paper she held until he reached one in particular. "This is a letter from your father's solicitor handing the trust over to Mr. Dawson. It indicates that Mr. Dawson should be managing it for you but doesn't indicate in which account the money should be deposited."

In the lantern light, her eyes flickered with something he recognized, something that called to his own bruised soul. She said, "You are saying that Mr. Dawson has been depositing the money into his own accounts. He is," she drew a breath and shuddered, her voice lowering, "he is taking the money from my estate."

He nodded.

The more pieces she put together, the more he could see her anger rise with every tense movement and every clipped word. "He has given me nothing. He is taking my money and, per the trust document, he is pushing me to marry him, and then," she had to pause and take another shuddering breath, "and then the estate will be his and I will be trapped. No!" Her voice rose. "Duped! Duped into marrying him." Her dark eyes lifted to his, full of challenge. "I will not do it."

He nodded at her.

The anger turned frantic, the excited emotions roiling within her and spiraling in her voice. "That is what you mean. You can take me from here. You can help me." She stood and backed away from him, clutching the papers close to her. "Or you mean to take me away and, what, marry me yourself? Somehow steal the land that is mine? "

He cursed at the way her thoughts had turned. It was his own fault that she saw him first as a highwayman. She had every reason to doubt his intentions. He shoved his hand through his hair because it was difficult to stand still while she was crumbling.

He said, "If I was going to steal from you, I already had all the pertinent documents. Why would I reveal them to you if I intended to betray you?"

Elizabeth looked down at the trust, muttering, "Six-and-twenty. If he hadn't…"

Her father. If her father had lived just a few more years, then the trust never would have been a problem. Her father would have helped her understand her land instead of signing it off to strangers.

He had watched her go through so many emotions and all of them sliced at him like tiny papercuts, infecting him with things he had pushed away long ago. He had that challenge, that rage, that grief piled up within him, and seeing it in her eyes, hearing it in her voice, watching the grief overcome her while she stood in the middle of the clearing, shaking, barely able to contain the confusing barrage of feelings thrashing around inside of her…

"They left my brother to die."

Her gaze snapped up to his. "What?"

He stepped around the log, closer to her. "I seek revenge. I am not here by chance. I do not care about stealing from random passersby on the road. I am not just a highwayman. I am here with a purpose."

"H-how?"

Lysander wasn't sure what she was asking and he thought she might not be sure of her own question.

She had stilled so he took another step forward, taking a deep breath of air into his lungs. If she was calm, he could remain so, too. He was tuned into her, into her body and her reactions in a way that riled his senses. He couldn't stop thinking about her, wondering about her, itching to get closer to her.

And the more time he spent with her, the worse his affliction.

He had never felt possessive of a woman before, but a large part of him didn't want to let her walk back to that manor. He wanted to haul her away on his horse and promise her that he would never fail her.

And it was all irrational.

Lysander continued, "If I take you away, you ruin my plans. I was going to make fools of those idiots in front of the whole town."

Her chin quivered and he reached up to gently brush his fingers over hers. She clenched the papers so tightly he worried she would unwittingly destroy the very things that could save her.

Her hands relaxed and she glanced down at the trust.

"Do you understand what I am saying?" he said, "I can take you away from here, but do you know what that entails?"

She whispered, "Protection?"

He slid his hand down her arm to her elbow and stepped directly in front of her, the papers between them. "Yes."

Elizabeth swallowed, then did it again and blinked, her eyes staring forward at his chest. Did she even see him? She said, "This is another deal. We have to decide if we can trust each other. You want a part of my income in exchange for offering me protection."

"No." He growled. Some animalistic predator in him clawed forward with a surge of injured pride and anger.

It was too much. He struggled to leash his control, to get a hold on his need for vengeance, his desire to touch the woman in front of him, and the complicated tangle of information between them. He pushed aside her arm holding the papers and closed the space between them, wrapping his arm around her back. "No. If anything, I will give you the money you need to get away. What I want is…"

He couldn't say it. If he did, the last taut string holding his control together would snap. But she was speechless and he needed to say something. "I will keep you safe and I do not need anything in exchange."

She held so still. "Your body seems to indicate there is something you want."

His muscles felt like stone, rigid, and almost belonging to another person as he couldn't believe he was pulling himself away from her. He took a step back. Then another. He stomped his feet into the ground as if he could root his boots to the spot and stay far enough away from her. He repeated, "I will keep you safe. I do not expect anything in return."

Black tendrils of hair from her chignon were falling free down her neck, her skin glowed in the light of the lantern, and her wide eyes flickered with disappointment, her lower lip dropping open. He heard a breathy sigh and his foot stepped forward again.

She watched him move, her disappointment transitioning to relief and then to desire. Her body swayed toward his and her eyes pulled him forward, intent on his face. He caught her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her against him. One of his hands found the back of her head, tangling in her silky hair and holding her steady so he could drop his lips down to hers.

She said, "Lysander."

He paused, taut. Had he read her wrong? "Yes?"

Her arms wound around him and drifted up his back to his shoulder blades. She felt delicate yet sturdy, like he wanted to be careful with her but if he got lost in her, she could hold him together.

Her eyes flicked back and forth between his, but then her lids lowered and her gaze settled on his mouth. He held still, waiting for her. She hadn't answered him and he felt suspended in the shadows.

Then she raised her head, her lips meeting his, consuming him in fiery waves of passion.