Read Online His Mask of Retribution by Margaret McPhee - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Margaret McPhee
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gleaned of the highwayman from his room and possessions.
He was a gentleman, tall and broad-shouldered and strong. A man who wore a black-silk kerchief across his face. A man from whom one glance made her shiver, and of whom his scent alone made her heart beat too fast. A man for whom she felt both wariness and fascination. Nothing in the room had told her anything more than she already knew.
* * *
Knight did not return to his town house until dinnertime that night.
‘Did you win?’ Callerton asked, serving up the stew he had prepared.
‘Your money’s safe,’ replied Knight.
‘Nice to know I made a bob or two without leaving the house.’ Callerton grinned. ‘Shouldn’t Rafe Knight, gentleman and rake, be out celebrating his victory?’
‘They have arranged an outing to a gaming hell tonight.’
Callerton screwed his face up.
‘If I don’t go there’ll be questions. And we don’t want questions.’
Callerton shook his head. ‘Especially not this night.’
‘Is Lady Marianne in the yellow bedchamber?’
‘Took her back through at four just to be on the safe side. Thought I heard her having a rummage earlier in the day, but there was nought for her to find. I made sure of that before I put her in there.’
Knight gave a nod of gratitude. She had not succumbed to tears or tantrums. With a calm logic, of which he himself would have been proud, she had undertaken a search of his room.
‘Been a long time since you had a woman in that bedchamber.’
A vision of Marianne sprawled naked in his bed popped into his mind, her blonde hair splayed across his pillows, her bare breasts peeping from between the rumpled sheets to tease and torture him. He pushed the image away and clenched his jaw, knowing that he could not afford to think of her in that way.
‘Maybe too long.’ Definitely too long if he was having inappropriate thoughts about Misbourne’s daughter. He forced his mind to think of tomorrow and all that lay ahead. Once Misbourne gave him the document he would not see her again. And that could only be a good thing. He would not allow his thoughts to stray to her again.
‘Let us run through the plan again. We’ll not have another chance. And then we’ll send the boy with the meeting place and time to Misbourne so that he has not enough time to think up anything clever.’
Callerton gave a nod. ‘Even Misbourne isn’t bastard enough to risk his daughter a second time.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ Knight replied, unrolling the crudely drawn map. For his own sake, and for Marianne Winslow’s. He did not wish to consider what he would do if they were wrong.
The two men bent over the map and began to talk in earnest.
* * *
The morning was still dark when the highwayman’s accomplice led Marianne out of the back door and across a few streets. They travelled on foot, keeping to the mews and alleyways, so that she did not recognise where they were or the direction they took. In a narrow alley that ran down the side of what looked to be a hospital building, a black coach was waiting. They hurried over to it and she thought they meant to climb inside, but the coachman jumped down and she saw that it was the highwayman in his greatcoat and hat. His accomplice climbed up to take his place.
‘God keep you safe, friend,’ he said to the highwayman.
‘And you,’ replied the highwayman and glanced to the sky. ‘Dawn is breaking. It should be light enough by the time I am seen being trundled home three sheets to the wind.’
The accomplice nodded and with a flick of the reins was gone, leaving Marianne standing alone with the highwayman.
‘Are you ready, Lady Marianne?’ he asked.
She nodded, and he took her arm and guided her out on to the street. There was the smell of a dye house in the air. The houses were small and a little shabby, but this was not some rookery, and even if it had been she felt safe with the highwayman by her side. Ironic, she thought, but true.
They did not
He was a gentleman, tall and broad-shouldered and strong. A man who wore a black-silk kerchief across his face. A man from whom one glance made her shiver, and of whom his scent alone made her heart beat too fast. A man for whom she felt both wariness and fascination. Nothing in the room had told her anything more than she already knew.
* * *
Knight did not return to his town house until dinnertime that night.
‘Did you win?’ Callerton asked, serving up the stew he had prepared.
‘Your money’s safe,’ replied Knight.
‘Nice to know I made a bob or two without leaving the house.’ Callerton grinned. ‘Shouldn’t Rafe Knight, gentleman and rake, be out celebrating his victory?’
‘They have arranged an outing to a gaming hell tonight.’
Callerton screwed his face up.
‘If I don’t go there’ll be questions. And we don’t want questions.’
Callerton shook his head. ‘Especially not this night.’
‘Is Lady Marianne in the yellow bedchamber?’
‘Took her back through at four just to be on the safe side. Thought I heard her having a rummage earlier in the day, but there was nought for her to find. I made sure of that before I put her in there.’
Knight gave a nod of gratitude. She had not succumbed to tears or tantrums. With a calm logic, of which he himself would have been proud, she had undertaken a search of his room.
‘Been a long time since you had a woman in that bedchamber.’
A vision of Marianne sprawled naked in his bed popped into his mind, her blonde hair splayed across his pillows, her bare breasts peeping from between the rumpled sheets to tease and torture him. He pushed the image away and clenched his jaw, knowing that he could not afford to think of her in that way.
‘Maybe too long.’ Definitely too long if he was having inappropriate thoughts about Misbourne’s daughter. He forced his mind to think of tomorrow and all that lay ahead. Once Misbourne gave him the document he would not see her again. And that could only be a good thing. He would not allow his thoughts to stray to her again.
‘Let us run through the plan again. We’ll not have another chance. And then we’ll send the boy with the meeting place and time to Misbourne so that he has not enough time to think up anything clever.’
Callerton gave a nod. ‘Even Misbourne isn’t bastard enough to risk his daughter a second time.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ Knight replied, unrolling the crudely drawn map. For his own sake, and for Marianne Winslow’s. He did not wish to consider what he would do if they were wrong.
The two men bent over the map and began to talk in earnest.
* * *
The morning was still dark when the highwayman’s accomplice led Marianne out of the back door and across a few streets. They travelled on foot, keeping to the mews and alleyways, so that she did not recognise where they were or the direction they took. In a narrow alley that ran down the side of what looked to be a hospital building, a black coach was waiting. They hurried over to it and she thought they meant to climb inside, but the coachman jumped down and she saw that it was the highwayman in his greatcoat and hat. His accomplice climbed up to take his place.
‘God keep you safe, friend,’ he said to the highwayman.
‘And you,’ replied the highwayman and glanced to the sky. ‘Dawn is breaking. It should be light enough by the time I am seen being trundled home three sheets to the wind.’
The accomplice nodded and with a flick of the reins was gone, leaving Marianne standing alone with the highwayman.
‘Are you ready, Lady Marianne?’ he asked.
She nodded, and he took her arm and guided her out on to the street. There was the smell of a dye house in the air. The houses were small and a little shabby, but this was not some rookery, and even if it had been she felt safe with the highwayman by her side. Ironic, she thought, but true.
They did not
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