Read Online Stand and Deliver by Leda Swann - Free Book Online
Authors: Leda Swann
Tags: Romance
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in the middle of nowhere.”
“I most certainly would. Your purses now, if you please.”
Hutton handed over his first, the leather worn shiny with use. A couple of smal coins jingled disconsolately at the bottom.
“Yours too, my good woman.”
Her eyes nearly popped out of her face at the insult, but she dug a fat purse out of the pocket in her skirt and handed it over.
He flicked it open, grinning at the profusion of gold inside. That was more like it. “Your necklaces,” he said, as he tucked it away safely into his waistcoat.
Her fingers hesitated at her throat.
“I do not have al night.” His voice was a growl of warning.
It did the trick. Her fumbling fingers unfastened her necklaces and one by one she dropped them into his waiting hand.
“And your rings. The diamonds in particular. I have a lady friend who would appreciate a fine diamond ring or two on her pretty white fingers.”
Her mouth fel open in outrage. “You would give my diamond rings to your whore?”
“That was not wise of you,” he said, his voice as cold as ice. “Take them off quickly, before I cut off your fingers and have done with you.”
In the corner of the coach, he saw Hutton’s hand creep toward his waistcoat pocket. Fearing the man had a pistol hidden away and was planning to play the hero, he almost laughed with relief when the fel ow brought out a smal bottle and took a surreptitious swig. Traveling with such a woman would make a little Dutch courage a necessity.
The woman was holding out a handful of rings. She dropped them into his palm and hid her hands in her skirt.
“You stil have one more,” he reminded her at the glimpse of gold he spied on one hand before she had time to hide it away.
“That is my wedding ring,” she replied stoutly, though her voice quavered a little. “No man wil take that away from me. Not even if you threaten to cut off my finger for it.” She held out her hand to him. “See, it is but a plain gold band, not worth the trouble of cutting off me.”
“I would not rob a woman of her wedding band,” he replied gal antly, touched at her bravery in defending what she held most dear. “Fare thee wel , and I thank you both for your gifts tonight.”
With that, he wheeled his horse about. At the last moment, he tossed Hutton’s pitiful purse back through the window on to the man’s knees before he rode off through the trees. The poor fel ow looked as if he had more need of it.
It had been foolish of them to travel without a guard, relying on nothing more than good luck to keep them safe.
Everyone’s luck ran out eventual y, as theirs had tonight.
Such coaches were fine, easy pickings. His pockets were heavy with loot. He’d made more in this one haul than he often did in a month or more.
He had more than enough now to set up as a horse-trader in the colonies. Better that he take his own advice and get out of the game before his luck ran out. Besides, if he rode hard, he could be back at Bess’ side by tomorrow night as he had promised.
A single stolen day with her was worth more to him than another pocketful of bright gold guineas.
Tim crept into the stable just before dawn, his feet sore, but his heart singing. The magistrate, though at first suspicious of his story, had eventual y been convinced of his truthfulness. He had refused to change his tale even on the threat of being whipped to within an inch of his life if he proved to be a liar.
He had missed a whole day of work and the head ostler would drive him into the ground as a punishment, but he did not care.
Bess would soon be his. He could almost smel the sweetness of her above the dung and oats smel of the stable, and the taste of her mouth was burning on his tongue.
Soon, very soon, he promised himself, as he sank down on to a bale of hay and closed his eyes in utter exhaustion.
As he drifted off to sleep, he
“I most certainly would. Your purses now, if you please.”
Hutton handed over his first, the leather worn shiny with use. A couple of smal coins jingled disconsolately at the bottom.
“Yours too, my good woman.”
Her eyes nearly popped out of her face at the insult, but she dug a fat purse out of the pocket in her skirt and handed it over.
He flicked it open, grinning at the profusion of gold inside. That was more like it. “Your necklaces,” he said, as he tucked it away safely into his waistcoat.
Her fingers hesitated at her throat.
“I do not have al night.” His voice was a growl of warning.
It did the trick. Her fumbling fingers unfastened her necklaces and one by one she dropped them into his waiting hand.
“And your rings. The diamonds in particular. I have a lady friend who would appreciate a fine diamond ring or two on her pretty white fingers.”
Her mouth fel open in outrage. “You would give my diamond rings to your whore?”
“That was not wise of you,” he said, his voice as cold as ice. “Take them off quickly, before I cut off your fingers and have done with you.”
In the corner of the coach, he saw Hutton’s hand creep toward his waistcoat pocket. Fearing the man had a pistol hidden away and was planning to play the hero, he almost laughed with relief when the fel ow brought out a smal bottle and took a surreptitious swig. Traveling with such a woman would make a little Dutch courage a necessity.
The woman was holding out a handful of rings. She dropped them into his palm and hid her hands in her skirt.
“You stil have one more,” he reminded her at the glimpse of gold he spied on one hand before she had time to hide it away.
“That is my wedding ring,” she replied stoutly, though her voice quavered a little. “No man wil take that away from me. Not even if you threaten to cut off my finger for it.” She held out her hand to him. “See, it is but a plain gold band, not worth the trouble of cutting off me.”
“I would not rob a woman of her wedding band,” he replied gal antly, touched at her bravery in defending what she held most dear. “Fare thee wel , and I thank you both for your gifts tonight.”
With that, he wheeled his horse about. At the last moment, he tossed Hutton’s pitiful purse back through the window on to the man’s knees before he rode off through the trees. The poor fel ow looked as if he had more need of it.
It had been foolish of them to travel without a guard, relying on nothing more than good luck to keep them safe.
Everyone’s luck ran out eventual y, as theirs had tonight.
Such coaches were fine, easy pickings. His pockets were heavy with loot. He’d made more in this one haul than he often did in a month or more.
He had more than enough now to set up as a horse-trader in the colonies. Better that he take his own advice and get out of the game before his luck ran out. Besides, if he rode hard, he could be back at Bess’ side by tomorrow night as he had promised.
A single stolen day with her was worth more to him than another pocketful of bright gold guineas.
Tim crept into the stable just before dawn, his feet sore, but his heart singing. The magistrate, though at first suspicious of his story, had eventual y been convinced of his truthfulness. He had refused to change his tale even on the threat of being whipped to within an inch of his life if he proved to be a liar.
He had missed a whole day of work and the head ostler would drive him into the ground as a punishment, but he did not care.
Bess would soon be his. He could almost smel the sweetness of her above the dung and oats smel of the stable, and the taste of her mouth was burning on his tongue.
Soon, very soon, he promised himself, as he sank down on to a bale of hay and closed his eyes in utter exhaustion.
As he drifted off to sleep, he
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