“You’re eighteen as well,” she retorted, glaring at her twin, “but I don’t see you being dangled before every eligible lady in the county.”
Ford rolled his eyes. “It’s different for men, Kendra, and you know it.”
She did know it. But she didn’t have to like it.
“We only wish to see you live a life of comfort,” Jason put in. Crammed onto the bench seat between Kendra and his wife, Caithren, he tried unsuccessfully to stretch his long legs. “Or would you prefer to travel this way all the time?”
As if to drive home his point, the springless vehicle lurched in and out of a rut, rattling Kendra’s teeth. She gritted them. Though Jason was careful with money, he was, after all, the Marquess of Cainewood, and they did own a much more luxurious carriage. But one of its wheels had broken on their way out of London, and they’d been forced to take public transport—or else risk missing an urgent appointment back home at Cainewood Castle.
An appointment to introduce Kendra to the latest “suitable” man her brothers planned to foist upon her.
“Better the public coach than the Duke of Lechmere’s,” she said stubbornly. “I vow and swear, I’ll not become a duchess and be ‘your graced’ for the rest of my life.”
“And what, pray tell, would be wrong with that?” Jason shook his head. “I’ve never understood what you have against dukes.”
Kendra turned her glare on her eldest brother. “You may not understand my feelings, but plainly you were aware of them—and yet you approached Lechmere anyhow.” She noticed the other passenger, a stranger dressed in simple clothing, was observing their argument with frank interest. She glared at him, too.
A noise of agreement rose from Caithren’s corner of the coach. “I told you, Jase, that his grace wouldn’t suit Kendra,” she said in her Scottish brogue.
“And I told you, Cait, that she’s got no good reason to refuse him.”
Kendra huffed. “But he’s a—”
“Yes, he’s a duke,” Jason snapped, “that most abominable of creatures.” He began gathering the cards from the hand of piquet they’d just played. “You’ve dithered long enough. This is your last chance to make your own choice. If you won’t marry Lechmere, you’ll have to select one of the other gentlemen who have offered for you. Or I will do the selecting.”
“The other gentlemen?” Scoffing, Kendra tossed her head of dark red curls. “Old but well-off, or widowed and settled with children, or young but just plain boring. Stable, wealthy gentlemen in the good graces of King Charles, every last one of them.”
Jason’s green eyes flashed. “Yes, perfectly acceptable, every last one of them.”
“As it should be,” Ford put in, earning a kick from his twin sister. She would have kicked Jason, too, if she thought for an instant he meant to enforce his ultimatum. The wretched day had put him in a bad mood, that was all. He’d never marry her to someone she disliked.
Would he?
In any case, Caithren wouldn’t let him.
Kendra leaned forward to give her sister-in-law an imploring look. “They’ll never understand, will they?”
Cait’s eyes filled with sympathy and a bit of shared exasperation. She laid a hand on her husband’s arm. “I’ve told you before, Kendra wishes to marry for love, not—”
“Stand and deliver!” a deep voice interrupted from outside.
With an unnerving suddenness, the coach ground to a halt. Stopped in mid-sentence, Cait’s mouth gaped, and Kendra’s stomach clenched in fear.
Ford leaned forward and pushed open the door. A man on horseback—a highwayman!—poked his head inside.
The most gorgeous head Kendra had ever seen.
“You?” Jason and Ford said together.
They knew this villain?
Since Kendra hadn’t heard that either of her brothers had been hurt—or even robbed, come to think of it—most of her fear dissipated, and her heart lifted with excitement instead.
Nothing like this had ever happened to her!
Looking slightly disconcerted, the highwayman dismounted. “Aye, it’s me,” he said slowly. Beneath the mask that concealed the upper half of his face, a grin emerged, a slash of perfect white.
Well, not precisely perfect. One of his front teeth had a small chip, but she found that tiny imperfection charming. And he was dashing, not to mention dangerous. Why, if any of her hopeful suitors had been like this highwayman, she’d have married him in a trice!
She wanted to say something to make him notice her. But for the first time in her memory, her mouth refused to work.
His gaze swept the coach’s dim interior as though she weren’t even there. “You,” he said succinctly, motioning to the ashen-faced stranger seated beside Ford. “Get out.”
“There be five of us in here, three of them men, likely with pistols,” the man said stiffly. From his haircut, plain clothes, and the short, boxy jacket beneath his cloak, Kendra knew he was a Puritan. “Perhaps thee had better think again.”
“Oh, it’s violence you threaten, aye?” The highwayman’s voice was deep and a little husky, with, curiously, the barest hint of an accent. “Perhaps you had better think again. My friends,” he drawled, gesturing toward the hill behind him, “would make certain you cease to exist within the minute. Get out. Now.”
Kendra looked out the door and up. Sure enough, there were a dozen or so men at the top of the hill, their guns trained on the coach.
The Puritan must have recognized the threat, for he reluctantly climbed down. Kendra shifted within the coach, the better to see out.
The victim was a good foot shorter than the robber, who looked impossibly tall and elegant in a jet-black velvet surcoat. Close-faced and resigned, the Puritan emptied his pockets and handed over his money, then turned to reenter the coach.
The highwayman reached to grab the victim’s sleeve. “Not so fast.”
Visibly shaken, the smaller, older man stilled but said nothing.
The highwayman hesitated. “Surely a…man of business, such as yourself, will be carrying more gold on his person than this. Where is it? Sewn
