Chapter 2

Leah slowly allowed consciousness to intrude. That was, until she recalled a very important fact that sent her sitting upright instantly.

She moaned as she put a hand to her head. She could feel a slight lump, but it didn't hurt nearly as badly as before. Not only that, but her focus was sharper, her vision clearer. Before, it had seemed as if she'd been in a sort of fog, speaking through a tunnel to the man in the mask.

The rather intriguing and mysterious man in the mask…

His deep voice reverberated through her mind and she blinked at the intoxicating way it had slipped into her memory. She must have hit her head harder than she'd imagined, because such thoughts were quite unwanted. Weren't they?

She shook her head and set her legs over the side of the bed. She might have been concerned that she'd woken up in a strange bed with no recollection of how she'd gotten there if it hadn't been for the fact that she was still fully clothed in her layers of petticoats and deep blue skirts.

She got to her feet and after testing to ensure that her legs were still in full working order, she gathered her courage and decided to find out where she'd been taken. She had no idea how long she'd been unconscious, but seeing the light streaming through the windows, she had to wonder.

Leah walked over to the door and wasn't surprised to find that it was locked. Disgruntled, she should have known it wouldn't have been so easy. If only she had a hair pin left to her name, but most of those had fallen out somewhere along the way.

She glanced about the room and smiled when she spied a letter opener on a small desk. Obviously, the men who had absconded with her didn't think that a woman knew how to pick a lock properly, but having grown up with a father who had enjoyed traveling, she had been exposed to any number of talents at a young age.

Thankfully, the letter opener was just small enough to slide through the keyhole. After a bit of maneuvering, she was able to hear the satisfying click of the latch being released. Smiling broadly, she decided to keep the makeshift weapon. It wouldn't do much more than wound an adversary, but it would distract someone long enough to release her.

Slowly opening the door, she heard the sound of mumbled masculine voices coming from down the slight hallway. It was just enough that she couldn't make out what was being said. Leah was thankful that they appeared to be in a discussion that gave her time to inspect the rest of her surroundings, which wasn't much at all. It appeared to be a modest dwelling with very few rooms, but there was a backdoor that was conveniently located at the opposite end of the hall.

She immediately got to work on that lock, hearing the satisfying click when it released. But when she would have reached out and grasped a taste of freedom, a firm, familiar voice behind her said, "Where are you planning to go, Miss Lindquist?"

Startled, Leah spun around and put the letter opener behind her back. Her eyes widened slightly, because she not only faced one man, but five of them. All wearing masks and all looking terribly forbidding as they stood there and waited for her reply.

Attempting to use some charm, she smiled brightly and batted her lashes. "Out for a stroll?" she suggested.

One of the men chuckled, but when the leader shot him a look he quieted instantly. Turning back to her, the man she'd shared a carriage ride with strolled forward slowly. When he was still a short distance away, he held out his hand. "The weapon you have secured. Hand it to me. Slowly."

Leah gritted her teeth but brought her arms to her sides. She took a step forward and offered the letter opener to him with a slight smirk. "Your wish is my command."

He took the item and handed it to one of the men behind him. When he regarded her once more, she couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking. He seemed to be pondering the same question when he asked, "How are you feeling?"

She wanted to offer another mocking retort, but she decided it was a sincere enough question. "Well enough."

"Good. Then you won't mind if I have a few chores for you to attend to while you're here."

He turned on his heel and she gaped at his retreating back. "Excuse me, but I am not planning to stay—"

He paused and half turned to glance at her. "You told me that you didn't have anywhere pressing to be, and I could use a woman's touch around here. Tell me, do you like to cook?"

Harlan could almost seethe smoke rolling out of her ears. Her fists clenched and her brilliant amber eyes sparked with vengeance. He knew he was courting danger by allowing her to remain, but he certainly couldn't let her go now, not when she could be working for the rebellion.

He had no doubt that Hugh had locked her inside that chamber, and yet, she'd managed to find a way out quite effortlessly. The same could be said for the door through which she had nearly escaped before he'd caught her. For someone who was capable of such talents, it made her an intriguing suspect.

The men parted as she stalked after Harlan to the small kitchen area off of the parlor. Harlan had the feeling they were enjoying the entertainment he was providing for them. No doubt she was about to set him straight about her role in his house. "Pardon me, sir, but I will be doing no cooking, cleaning, or… whatever else you might believe me to excel. I am a gently bred lady and I refuse to cater to such ruffians!"

He stopped and faced her once more but addressed his men. "We shall reconvene at a later time, gentlemen."

With a bit of a grumble that they wouldn't be there to observe the exchange, they filed out the door one by one. Hugh was the last to leave, and he offered a slight smirk upon his departure.

Harlan's mouth kicked up at the corner, and then he conversed with his lovely captive once more. "The way I see it, you have little choice in the matter, as it appears you are at my mercy."

She crossed her arms in a mutinous fashion. "Then why act as though you cared about my wellbeing if you were just going to keep me as a prisoner?"

"If you are injured, you are no good to me. I needed to know what sort of information you might possess."

"I already told you who I am and my purpose for traveling beyond London. Is a lady's word not good enough for you?" she challenged.

Harlan wanted to smile but suppressed it. He had to admit that this female had pluck. Which was why she had to be watched closely. If she was a spy intent on doing harm to the Crown, then he needed to ensure she didn't pass along anything vital to members of the rebellion. "I have found that a lady's word can be broken as easily as that of a gentleman." He turned back around and started to gather a few things from the kitchen cabinets. He was aware of where all the knives and other sharp implements were, and his senses told him to be on alert. This woman was resourceful. "Tell me," he murmured. "How did you learn to pick a lock?"

"My father had a friend in Egypt who was adept with certain activities, some of which weren't all that honorable."

"Egypt?" She was becoming more intriguing by the moment. "Was your father an explorer, then?"

"Something like that," she noted with a bored sigh. Then, her voice turned sharp. "What is it that you hope to acquire from me? Other than housekeeping and cooking skills, that is."

Once he had everything laid out to his satisfaction, he turned to her and replied to her mocking retort with a lazy grin. "I will let you know if you spark something of interest to me." He waved a hand to the spread he had laid out. "Everything is here for you to make a tasty mutton and vegetable stew." When she didn't move, he added, "If you care to eat, this is the way to accomplish that."

She set her hands on her hips and glared at him, but then she stalked over to the plain white apron that hung on a peg and tied it around her waist with angry movements. She snatched the handful of carrots off of the counter, along with the wooden cutting board, and the paring knife he had intended for her to use. It was too dull to cause much damage, but although the blade might not kill him, it would cause a bit of discomfort if it was plunged into the middle of his back.

Harlan watched in silence as she made quick work of the carrot peelings and sliced them quite neatly. After she marched back and added them to the pot on the counter, she gathered the potatoes and started to attack them with the same furious precision.

"Did your mother teach you to cook?" he asked.

"No," she clipped out. "She died when I was a child. A woman my father entertained from time to time in Italy showed me how to do most of what I know now. The rest was taught by a lady in India."

Harlan's brows lifted in surprise. "You have been fortunate to have traveled as much as you have. Most people would love the experiences you have enjoyed."

"I would have gladly exchanged them for a chance to know my mother." A slight frown creased between her brows and Harlan knew that she spoke the truth. He'd been around enough charlatans in his time that he recognized true regret. "It was because of her death that my father couldn't settle anywhere for long."

"It sounds like a hard life for someone so young," he noted softly.

She shrugged and started on the onions. "It could be, but it was rewarding as well." She glanced at him and with a sparkle of mischief in her gaze. "Like learning to pick locks. I never thought I would need to know something like that, but it served me well enough today."

He snorted. "Indeed."

She finished the onions and set them in the pot along with the rest of the vegetables that she had prepared. Since Harlan had already added the water and meat, she added a few seasonings that he had laid out and carried it over to set it on the hook in the chimney where it would start to boil.

Once she was done, Harlan murmured. "That wasn't so difficult, was it?"

She brushed off her hands on her apron as she turned to him. "It was obvious I wasn't going to expect the luxury of a tray in my room."

He snorted. "You have a sharp tongue, but you are also very astute." He regarded her steadily. "You might be of some use to me."

The wayhe spoke made Leah's heart thrill for some odd reason. She shouldn't want anything to do with this man at all, but if she was honest with herself, he unnerved her. And not in an entirely unwelcome manner. She yearned to know what he looked like beneath that concealing mask—and dare she admit—the rest of his attire?

She felt very wicked, indeed. No doubt her brother would frown heavily upon such scandalous thoughts. However, for someone who had never been kissed, moving about from place to place too much to dare to form any sort of lasting attachments, Leah had always yearned for the sort of connection she had witnessed around the world. From passionate stolen kisses in alleyways to gentle hand-holding, she wanted to experience it all. She decided that this man might be the one to offer the temptations she had only imagined. But first, it would be wise if she knew more about the man behind the mask.

"What should I call you?"

He crossed his booted feet at the ankles and tilted his head to the side. "Does it signify?"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't be so stubborn. It doesn't have to be your real name. Just a pseudonym so I don't have to call you ‘the highwayman,' or scoundrel, or—"

He held up a hand. "You made your point." He paused. "You may call me Harlan."

"Mr. Harlan?" she guessed.

"No. Just Harlan."

"Harlan." She repeated the double syllable and decided that it was a rather nice name. "I would ask if it was passed down through the generations, but I know better than to ask the impossible."

Grabbing a wooden spoon from the counter, Leah returned to the pot and stirred it slightly. It was just starting to heat, the combination of the items inside starting to make her stomach gnaw with hunger. She realized that she hadn't eaten since before she'd boarded the ship in France. That had been the previous evening, and it was well past the time she normally broke her fast.

"What are you thinking?"

She set the spoon aside and narrowed her gaze. She wasn't about to admit to any sort of weakness, even if it was just hunger, so she wondered, "I'm curious why you sent the other men away. I thought I was meant to cook for everyone."

His gaze flickered for a moment. "No. Just you and me."

She shook her head. "How ever did you manage to provide for yourself before you took on a captive? Or perhaps I'm not the first?"

"You are the first." His gaze shuttered. "And not exactly a planned one."

She waited for something further, an indication why she might be held there, but that was all he offered. Deciding that she must not be going to swing the pot at his head, he walked over and sank down at the small, two-seated table. His every movement told her that he was weary. No doubt he'd been awake most of the night. She told herself she shouldn't care, but empathy shot through her.

Instead of falling into his spell, she remained standing and asked, "Will I ever learn the reasons you absconded with me?"

"Perhaps in time."

She crossed her arms. "That's all I'm to gain from you? No explanation at all?"

He watched her carefully. "For now." His lips flattened into a tight line. "Tell me about your brother."

Leah remained standing. "Henry is a vicar and the son from my father's first marriage. He is twelve years my senior."

"You speak as though there is no love lost between you."

Leah tried to remain guarded. "We have never been particularly close."

He continued to regard her steadily. "Then why are you going to Birmingham?"

"I have no other alternative," she noted softly. "My aunt recently passed, and I was evicted from our home in Calais."

He slowly leaned back in the chair. Laying his hands on the table, he murmured, "Then it would appear that both of us have had little choice in the course our lives have taken."

"I doubt that is true," she countered with a sardonic twist of her lips. "If you are stopping coaches for profit, then I find no glory or pride in stealing. If you are doing it for other reasons you think are honorable, I can assure you they are not. If you wish to pretend you are some modern-day Robin Hood with your band of merry thieves, I would caution you against such foolish deeds in search of such empty notoriety."

He laughed. "You aren't the sort of female to imagine such a man as a hero?"

"Hardly." She rolled her eyes. "I can think of many other ways that might earn more respect without resorting to criminal means."

He lifted a brow. "That is good to know, Miss Lindquist." He steepled his hands before him. "I shall take your advisement into consideration."

She wanted to scoff, because the fact he might absorb anything she said was unlikely. Turning the subject, she said, "You must stop this ‘Miss Lindquist' nonsense. I have always gone by Leah. I have never been one to stand on ceremony, whether it be friend or foe."

His eyes glittered beneath his mask, and from this close distance, she could see that they were actually hazel, a soft brown shade tinted with the slightest shade of green about the center. "Very well. Leah, it is."

Leah.It was a simple enough name, but it hardly suited the complex woman before him. He found it difficult to imagine her living a life so full of knowledge, but yet denied the one thing she most desired—a family. Harlan would never have made it to the age of nine and twenty without his parent's tutelage. He had been something of a hellion, sowing his wild oats and daring to challenge death at every turn. It was at his mother's behest that he finally decided to use his efforts for good, rather than pleasure. But there were times, like now, sitting across from a tempting woman like Leah, that he considered falling back into the same routine.

He told himself those days were long past, because he had vowed to his mother, on her dying bed, that he would be the son she could be proud of after she was gone. To this day, Harlan had kept that promise by joining the navy. He'd worked his way up the ranks to captain, earned his fortune by honorable means, and returned to England a decorated hero following the Crimean wars.

Because of his service during those dark days, he was well aware of the poor conditions that most soldiers faced, the ones that had decided to turn to rebellion. He had suffered beside them all, but he'd never blamed his country for the lack of supplies and treatment. The entire world seemed as though it was under one affliction or another. Times were difficult for everyone, but the age of technology was upon them. He could see the hope in a brighter future, but there were some who were disgruntled about the change happening around them and wished to halt the progress.

Hence the reason he was forced to continue this masquerade as a thieving rebel, so that he might protect the England of his birth from those that wished to usurp the rightful authority. As a newly minted queen without a husband to aid her and an heir to offer promise to this wounded nation, times were perilous indeed for Victoria. It was Harlan's job, and that of his men, to see that they assisted where they could. If that meant donning a mask and riding about the countryside to find the true threat, that's what they would do.

Harlan returned his drifting attention to the enchanting woman before him. "How is it that you are not yet married?" From the first moment he'd beheld her, it had been difficult to think of little else but her loveliness. That was dangerous in his current occupation. He had to keep his mind focused on the task at hand—uncovering a traitorous spy and foiling a growing rebellion—or risk failure. But he was compelled by curiosity to wonder more about her life before now.

"Perhaps for the same reason I have never been kissed." Her face instantly turned pink after she made that statement. She must have realized that she'd spoken without considering her words first. "Forgive me, I don't know why—" She returned to the soup and prayed that he would ignore her error.

Harlan froze, his entire conscience telling him to remain where he was.

He slid his chair back and found himself approaching her. He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder that caused her to turn toward him. "Such a travesty shouldn't go unheeded."

The look of shock on her face was expected. The flicker of desire in her amber eyes was not. "You can't surely be suggesting—?"

"It is a kiss, nothing more. And then your current dilemma will be solved."

She blinked. "But… I don't know who you are."

"Sometimes the mystery is half of the enticement," he whispered. Reaching out, he traced her lower lip with his thumb and was rewarded with her shiver.

"This is madness," she breathed, and yet, Harlan noticed that she didn't pull away.

Watching her for signs that he should stop, he slowly closed the distance between them, until his lips pressed against hers.

It was the worst mistake he'd ever made.