No Other Love. Candace Camp
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I think I should escort you home. We would not want any harm to befall you while you were out playing Lady Bountiful, now would we?”
“Since you are the only person around here who would harm me, I see little point in your escort.”
“I? Wish you harm? You wound me.” His teeth flashed white in the dimness.
“What else would you call stopping my carriage and robbing me at gunpoint?” Nicola responded tartly.
“But I offered no harm to your person. Surely you realize that.”
Nicola shot him a hard look. “You forced yourself upon me.”
“Forced myself!” He began to laugh. “My dear lady, stealing one little kiss is hardly ‘forcing myself upon you.’ Besides, I believe you paid me back well enough for that.” He rubbed his cheek ruefully. “You pack quite a wallop.”
“What nonsense. I didn’t hurt you.”
“Oh, but you did. Imagine my wounded pride after you gave me such a setdown—and in front of all my men, too.”
“Is that why you are here? To exact revenge on me? To salve your pride?”
“You are an exceedingly suspicious woman. I thought I had established that I was not here to harm you but to make sure that you get home safely.”
“Oh, yes. Silly of me to think otherwise.”
Nicola glanced sideways at him. He looked the personification of wickedness and danger, masked and dressed all in black, yet the way her pulse quickened was not entirely due to fear—there was a strange sort of excitement coursing through her, as well, a tingling, eager feeling that unnerved Nicola even as she relished it. She felt quite sure that this was not the kind of reaction she should have to a man like this. His height and the breadth of his shoulders, even the husky rumble of his voice, should inspire fear, not this unfamiliar heat deep in her loins.
As if he could sense the direction of her thoughts, the highwayman turned toward her and smiled—a slow, almost taunting smile.
“Who are you?” Nicola asked abruptly, seeking a subject, any subject, that would break the thrum of sensual tension his smile set off.
“Do you really expect me to tell you that?”
“It seems absurd to call you nothing. It would be better to have a name to put to your face—or, I should say, your lack thereof.”
A brief dip of his head and a wry smile acknowledged her thrust. “God help us, a clever woman.”
“No doubt you prefer a foolish one.”
“Oh, no, my lady, not a foolish one. Indeed, you are to my liking, wit, temper and all. I am a man who likes to live on the edge, you see.” He paused, then added, “One could say the same for you.”
“Nonsense. I am sure the edge would be much too uncomfortable for me.”
“Ah, yes, you are such a conventional—one might even say timid—sort. Running about the countryside alone on horseback after dark.”
“Being in a carriage with a driver and groom did not exactly help me last night, did it? I would say I am as well off on my own. And no one around here would harm me, anyway—present company excepted, of course.”
“I believe that most women would have elected to stay indoors today—and especially this evening—if they had had such a harrowing experience as being stopped by a highwayman last night.”
“I presumed a highwayman would not bother with a solitary horseback rider, particularly one who is not on the main road…if anything hereabouts could be considered a main road. You know, it strikes me as a little odd that an accomplished thief such as yourself would be roaming about the wilds of Dartmoor. One would think that the London area would be a much more profitable place—Blackheath Moor, for instance.”
“Ah, but the days of Dick Turpin are dead now. Blackheath Moor is no longer a healthy place for those of my profession.”
“Still…Dartmoor? How many carriages do you stop a week?”
“You are concerned for my welfare. I am touched. However, you need not worry. We manage to get by.”
Nicola grimaced. “You persist in misunderstanding me. I have no concern for your welfare. I merely wonder why you would choose such an out-of-the-way place as this for your thievery.”
“Less opportunity, perhaps, but also less chance of getting caught. And the mines provide a steady stream of cash and goods being transported.”
“One might almost think that you have a personal vendetta against the Earl of Exmoor.”
“I? How could anyone carry a grudge against such a pleasant man as the Earl of Exmoor? So kind to his workers, so understanding with his tenants.”
“I realize that he is an easy target. It is difficult to feel sympathy for the usurer when he is robbed, too. Still, it is theft, pure and simple. And when you are caught, you will hang just as readily as if you had stolen from a saint. Nor, I think, will you be quite such a hero to the local inhabitants when some of their own men are hanged with you.”
“Ah, but that makes the assumption that we shall be caught. I do not intend for that to happen.”
“I am sure few criminals do,” Nicola retorted. “But they are nabbed, anyway. You will be, too.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“How can you be so full of yourself as to think anything else? You delight in tweaking Richard’s nose. You think he will not come after you? He is a very powerful and wealthy man.”
“Let him come after me,” her companion said, his voice rich with satisfaction. “I would delight in meeting him.”
“You think he will come after you personally? Don’t be absurd. Men like Richard hire other men to do their dirty work. It is they who will hunt you and your men down like dogs. But he has hired them. He doesn’t mind the cost. You have insulted him, practically dared him to stop you. It is infuriating enough to him that you have been stealing his money. Last night, when you stopped his own carriage, it was like rubbing his nose in it. He won’t rest until you are swinging from a gibbet. He has already hired a Bow Street Runner.”
“Has he indeed?” His voice was thoughtful.
“Yes. I met him this morning. His name is Stone, and he looks to be a man to live up to his name.”
“Well. That makes the game more interesting. Still, I think I can hold my own against a Bow Street Runner.”
“Don’t you understand? Richard will not stop. Maybe you can handle this Runner—elude him, kill him, whatever you plan to do. But it will not end with Stone. If he fails, Richard will hire more. He will put out rewards for your capture. Someone, sometime, will betray you for the money, no matter how highly the people around here regard you. He will put guards on his wagons.”
“He already has.” The highwayman’s teeth flashed whitely in the dark. “Yet still I have come away with the strongboxes.”
“Then he will hire more—and ones who are not terribly concerned about killing a man over a strongbox. Why won’t you see? Richard Montford is not a man to cross! He is willing to do anything to protect his possessions.”
“I am sure he is. No doubt you are one of his prize possessions.”
“I?” Nicola swiveled sharply to glare at him. “How dare you! I am no man’s possession.”
“No? I dare swear your husband would look at it differently.”
“He would not,” Nicola retorted sharply. “If he did, he would not be my husband, I can assure you.”
“I would not have thought the sort of man you would marry would