Chapter 1 #2
That open sore of rejection didn’t stop him from being unnecessarily attractive, however.
Dark stubble crept over a sharp jawline, a bold nose and hooded brows making his features seem more angular in the low moonlight.
Thickly lashed eyes—silvery gray in the dappled darkness—shone with something that unsettled me.
I resisted the urge to check to see if my cowl was intact, shielding my features from view.
“Come now, don’t be shy,” I told him audaciously, fighting for poise. “Your pockets seem heavy tonight.”
His eyes narrowed as he tilted his head to one side. “Who are you?”
That deep baritone of his descended over me like crushed velvet. “My identity is not important, only your valuables. But if you insist, Lady Knight, it is.”
Lalita’s gasp alerted me to the fact that naming any names that might lead back to us was not part of the plan.
Too late now. Rafi didn’t move from his relaxed pose, a slow smirk kicking up one corner of his mouth.
“How quaint…lady of the night, I presume?” he drawled, sarcasm dripping from his tone.
I knew I shouldn’t engage, but the need to put him in his place was strong. “Knight with a K, as in warrior-at-arms, actually. And might I remind you that this is loaded, my lord,” I said, knowing full well he wasn’t titled as I hefted my rifle. “Make haste. Time and tide will wait for no man.”
Something flashed across his face. He sat forward, propping his elbows on his knees, and I resisted the urge to rear back. “What’s an educated young woman doing on these roads at night? Don’t you know it’s dangerous?”
Nerves alight, I tapped the rifle on the edge of the coach. “I am the danger, good sir. Now, unless you intend to test my rather excellent feminine aim, I’d advise you to stitch together those pretty lips and divest yourself of your baubles. Patience is not one of my many virtues.”
The corner of that devious mouth kicked up, along with my traitorous temperature. “Pretty lips?”
“A euphemism, no more. Now stop stalling.”
With that wicked smirk still firmly in place, he reached for the pouch and emptied his pockets.
It must have been a lucky night at the card tables.
Good for him, and even better for us. When he stretched an arm toward me, my eyes stuck on the large signet ring on his finger.
It was his family ring, I knew. But any thieving highwayman worth his salt would never leave such a bounty behind.
“That’s a lovely ring.”
His eyes darkened. “It’s a family heirloom.”
“One that will fetch a nice sum.”
A chuckle left his lips. “It’s much too recognizable to sell, Lady Knight.”
“Then perhaps I shall keep it as a memento of our meeting.”
Prowling forward, I reached out to grip his fingers with my gloved left hand and grinned as I slipped it off and stowed it into the pocket of my cloak.
He lurched forward to latch on to my wrist, making my pulse gallop, but a swift movement of my heel into my mount’s flank broke the brief contact.
“You won’t get away with this,” he said in a low snarl that made my already hammering pulse double.
“Already have. Do have a grand evening, your lordship,” I purred, and then on impulse blew him a kiss.
His nostrils flared, something flashing in those narrowed gray eyes, and for a heart-stopping moment, I wondered if it was recognition.
Blowing a kiss was something the Zia he knew would never do, so it couldn’t have been that.
I frowned when Rafi rose off the seat as if breathing in, and I urged my horse a few more hurried steps back.
Was the rotter sniffing me?
I hadn’t worn any scent other than daily bathwater, but still…
His brows drew down as I moved the stallion farther away and nodded to Lalita, who had remained in position in front of the coach. Together we drifted off the road and into the shadows. Still, I felt the press of that heated silver gaze for a full minute afterward.
“That was intense,” Lalita hissed.
Before I could answer, the sound of thundering hooves over the next hill interrupted me.
“Halt! Stop in the name of the law!” someone shouted.
My heart shot into my throat. That voice definitely wasn’t from Rafi or the two other boys.
That was a cracking order of authority…as in the police.
Damn and blast, of all our bloody luck! The command had sounded far enough away, but I could not be sure, so I upped my pace and urged Lalita to do the same.
“Bloody hell, who’s that?” she yelled.
“Runners or local constables!” I snorted a hysterical burst of laughter through my nose. If I was captured by the Runners, I’d be the pinnacle of ruination. My father would be absolutely livid, and I’d probably be banished to a convent. Half-petrified, I laughed again.
“None of this is funny, Zia. If they catch us, they’re going to lock us in jail.”
“They won’t snatch anyone, Lalita,” I yelled back. “Come on, ride faster! We’re nearly to the others. And besides, we’re the Lady Knights of truth, knowledge, and justice. Nothing bad can happen to us, remember?”
Lalita, one of my close friends from school, had the gall to roll her eyes and let out a snort louder than mine. “You say that every time we’re in one of these scrapes. You and these harebrained ideas are going to get us killed one day!”
“To Valhalla!” I roared.
“You are ridiculous,” she said, but a wild answering grin lit her face all the same. “Stop obsessing over those Viking books about shield-maidens.”
That would happen only by force. Shield-maidens were magnificent.
Panting wildly, we pushed our mounts to the brink as we darted through the gloomy, deserted fields south of Slough—thank the heavens I’d pored over a hand-drawn map for hours before choosing this particular rural area, west of Hounslow Heath.
We’d left our unmarked coach near a respectable-enough coaching inn with two guards.
Greer, our resident weapons expert thanks to her avid huntsman father and the last of our foursome, was armed to the teeth.
As soon as I saw the coach around the next bend of the road, I let out a sharp two-note whistle. We had practiced this before, and like a well-oiled machine, the door opened and the attached horses started moving down the street. Nori was on driving duty tonight.
A relieved grin split my face as Lalita and I dismounted, threw the reins of the borrowed horses to a frowning groom in front of the inn’s stables, and ran toward our escape route.
Jogging alongside each other, Lalita and I climbed in one at a time, attempting to catch our breaths as we slung ourselves back into the squabs.
Lalita wheezed, dark hair clinging to her ruddy brown cheeks. “How did I let you talk me into this?”
“You like helping people,” I retorted, lungs burning, my veins mixed with excitement and relief.
“You mean robbing people,” she muttered.
“I don’t enjoy stealing, Lalita. It’s a necessity.” I shot her a look. “They’re rich nobs who have more than enough to spare. And you know why we’re doing this. To save Little Hands and Beth. To save Welton.”
The spoils of our capers—a large stash of banknotes as well as watches and jewelry to be pawned—would be delivered to Bellevue Chapel, a church that was in danger of closing.
Never mind that the money was stolen; it was for a good cause.
Our school’s future was in peril as well, considering it was housed in the same building as the orphanage.
But the children were far more important.
Little Hands was their home. Plus, the contribution included most of our own pin money.
Every little bit helped, however.
Even if we had to steal it from our peers.
Well, my sibling’s peers at least. We’d gotten my brother and Lord Blake Castleton, one of his other mates, the first week that we’d had the brilliant idea to fleece Keston’s rich friends who wouldn’t miss the coin, then Blake again because he was too easy to rob, and now Rafi, Ansel, and Rin.
Greer stared at us. “What happened?”
“Ran into some Bow Street Runners.”
Her lips thinned, eyes going wide. “This far out of London?”
“They must have been scouting or in the area for something else. Word of highwaymen in this particular area is widespread.”
It was true; Hounslow Heath was rife with ne’er-do-wells. Which we were not. Mostly.