Jason shrugged, absently running a hand through his wife’s straight, dark-blond hair. “Almost anyone can afford one nice suit of clothes, if he makes it his priority. You cannot judge a man by his looks, Kendra.”
But of course she had. Judged him, and liked what she saw.
Jason raised Cait’s hand and brushed a kiss over her knuckles, earning a smile in return. “Perhaps we should turn him in,” he suggested playfully. “This is getting to be somewhat of a nuisance.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” Kendra burst out. “He’s so…well…um, he’s obviously a Royalist. He robbed only the Roundhead.”
“There could be a reward for him. And Lakefield House is in sad shape,” Viscount Lakefield, otherwise known as Ford, lamented half-seriously. “I cannot live with Jason forever.”
“Oh, yes, you can,” Kendra said heatedly.
Jason turned to her. “Is it that important to you, then? I didn’t realize your Royalist loyalty ran so deep.”
“Well…it does,” she declared, thinking about the highwayman’s broad shoulders.
“Well, then.” Ford’s deep-blue eyes gleamed with mischief. “I suppose we’ll have to leave him be. At least it provides him with a stake for the card games.”
Jason glared at their brother.
“What?” Kendra asked. “What card games?”
“All highwaymen play cards,” Jason said firmly. He picked up their own deck and shuffled it expertly, then dealt out new hands.
Kendra arranged her cards slowly, her mind not on the game.
She remembered the highwayman’s voice. He’d spoken cautiously, as though he were considering each word. Not like her family. The Chases, as a rule, blurted everything that came into their heads, generally at the tops of their lungs.
“What was his accent?” she asked. “Did you hear it?”
“Scots, aye?” Cait said, exaggerating her own burr. “Though I’d guess he hasn’t been home for many a year. I’m surprised you even noticed.”
When Jason looked up sharply, Kendra pretended to study her fan of cards. He frowned back down at his own hand. “Why do you want to know?”
Why? She could scarcely comprehend such a stupid question. She wanted to know everything about the mysterious highwayman.
“Just curious,” she said lightly, leading with a jack of hearts. “Your turn.”
KENDRA AWOKE the next morning with a massive headache. Jason couldn’t be serious. After her disastrous interview with the Duke of Lechmere, he'd laid down the law: she would be wed by summer's end.
He and Ford were off to a monthly house party they attended—no females allowed—and when they returned, they'd be expecting to hear whom she'd decided to marry.
She stared up at the underside of the mint-green canopy she'd begged for in her girlhood. Although their parents had depleted the family fortune financing the king in the Civil War, Jason had always seen to it that she'd never wanted for anything. To the best of his abilities, he'd indulged her every whim. Would he really force her to marry now?
He did seem rather serious…
With a huff, she rose and pulled on her new hunter-green riding habit. She ran a comb through her hair, not bothering to call her maid in to curl and pin it. In no time at all, she was mounted on Pandora, her mare, galloping across the Sussex Downs.
Her brothers would be mightily vexed if they knew she was riding unescorted, but the three of them could go hang for all she cared right now.
Besides, they were away all weekend and would never know.
The fresh country air eased her aching head, but just thinking about that weasel Lechmere made her shiver. And the rest of her prospects weren’t much better.
The Earl of Shrewsbury came complete with a meddling mother—the “shrew” in her title was all too fitting. The Marquess of Rochford was a widower and kind enough, but his hair was completely gray—doubtless from dealing with his seven unruly children. Viscount Davenport didn’t talk, he whined. The Duke of Lancashire lived in, well, Lancashire—which was entirely too far from her family. The Earl of Morely was wealthy and kind, but nearing fifty. Lord Rosslyn was young, handsome, and fun loving, but lacking somewhat in brains. She wondered if he could read.
Jason couldn’t be serious.
Coming out of her thoughts, she slowed to a stop. She hadn’t realized how far she’d ridden. In fact, she noticed with a start, she was at the same spot where they’d seen the highwayman yesterday.
His friends had been atop that hill, lying on their stomachs, their hats pulled down to conceal their faces, training an impressive assortment of pistols on the hapless Puritan.
This morning, the hill was deserted and the highwayman nowhere in sight. In an attempt to judge the time, Kendra glanced at the sky, but it was all clouded over. The day was turning beastly. Not cold, but muggy, with a definite threat of rain. With no sun to confirm it, she guessed the time to be about ten o’clock. Perhaps highwaymen slept in.
Plainly, highway robbery wasn’t a full-time occupation. Not that she had any idea of what she’d have done if the highwayman had been here. Run for her life, in all probability. But she drifted into a vague reverie, seeing herself riding down the road at breakneck speed, her long, dark red hair floating on the breeze, impressing him with her horsemanship and her grace. In her fantasy he stared after her, openmouthed with surprise and appreciation, struck temporarily dumb by a bolt of…love at first sight.
Well, second sight, actually—but he hadn’t paid any attention to her the first time, so surely that didn’t count.
Then she would turn around, ride back, stop in the middle of the road, right in front of him, and slide off Pandora slowly…so slowly. Still gazing at her, he’d come forward, reaching her in two or three of his long strides, his large, strong hands spanning her waist as he eased her to the ground. And then…
She had no idea. Inexperience didn’t make for detailed fantasies. And she certainly wouldn’t have anything to do with a highwayman, anyway. Her reverie wasn’t only
