Read Online The Landlord's Black-Eyed Daughter by Mary Ellen Dennis - Free Book Online Page B

do?”
    â€œShush up and let me think,” Elizabeth hissed. Too bad she had packed her ladies’ pistol in her trunk, tied topside. She would have to settle upon something other than murder to rid herself of the highwayman. But rid herself she would. She had no intention of relinquishing so much as a shilling.
    â€œStand and deliver, I said!”
    â€œGet out, Grace,” Elizabeth whispered, thrusting her book beneath the straw. “Tell him I’m ill. Tell him I’ve fainted. Tell him I need his help.”
    â€œâ€™Tis a lie, Mistress. He’ll know I’m lyin’ and shoot me.”
    â€œJust do it, damn you.”
    While Grace scurried from the coach, Elizabeth removed her plumed hat. Then she pulled free her hair pins and shook her head. She hoped this highwayman, like so many others, had a weakness for women. A feeble distraction at best, but it might grant her enough time to formulate a proper plan.
    She heard Grace’s words tumble, one over the other.
    In response, the highwayman hollered, “Get your arse out here, ye poxy bugger, before I drag ye out.”
    Perhaps this highwayman hasn’t read his own press, Elizabeth thought. She saw the muzzle of a pistol, thrust through the coach window.
    â€œI’m sorry to be a bother, sir,” she said, “but I’m so frightened. If you could only help me—”
    â€œOut now, before I blast ye from here t’ York!”
    This highwayman was definitely not one of the chivalrous types. “Hold on a minute, you bloody bastard,” she muttered.
    Retrieving her parasol, she placed Penelope’s bronze within easy reach of her right hand. Then, flinging open the door, she studied her enemy. He was positioned only a few feet away, his horse facing her. A skittish animal, the horse snorted and stomped, especially when the coach door slammed against the coach’s frame. Leaning forward, Elizabeth raised her parasol and snapped it open, directly into the horse’s eyes. It whinnied, shied, and swung its haunches. The highwayman swayed in his saddle. Elizabeth grabbed the muse statue and cracked the highwayman over the head.
    He toppled to the ground.
    She jumped from the coach and ran toward his prone body. Exhilarated by the ease with which she had foiled the robbery attempt, she poked the man vigorously with her parasol. He appeared to be unconscious. Such a huge fellow, yet she had bested him with minimal effort.
    The brute groaned and stirred.
    â€œI wonder if I should hit him again,” Elizabeth said to nobody in particular.
    â€œI wouldn’t if I were you.”
    She spun around. A second highwayman sat astride a black stallion. This one was hatless, and his hair, black as the cloak he wore, curled untidily around his head. A mask hid the lower half of his face, and his pistol was pointed at her breast.
    â€œDamn,” she breathed. Then, louder, she said, “I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I told you that I didn’t mean to hit your friend.”
    â€œI don’t suppose I would, dear-r-r lady.”
    His voice possessed a Scottish burr, and there appeared to be something vaguely familiar about him. Was it the way his hair curled upon his neck? Or was it something about his demeanor? He was tall, not as tall as the other man, but tall enough. His eyes… dark blue, she thought, or perhaps black .
    â€œYou’re a dangerous woman,” he said, “which means you ha’ something to hide.”
    â€œNo, I’m poor.” Tossing her parasol back inside the coach, she cradled the statue across her bodice. “I was angry at your companion because he frightened my maid and disturbed my journey. I swear I have nothing.”
    â€œYour coach looks first-rate, m’lady.”
    â€œThe coach was an extravagance I could ill afford.”
    He gestured with his pistol toward his prostrate companion. “You strike me as a most resourceful