Chapter Twenty
Am I dreaming?
She was drifting. Weightless. Suspended in darkness.
Then, like a swimmer rising slowly from the depths, Edwina felt herself pulled upward—through thick, heavy water. Muffled sounds echoed above her, distant and distorted. Her chest tightened, lungs burning—not for air, but for clarity.
And then…she broke the surface.
A gasp tore from her lips.
“Edwina?” The voice was low, hoarse, trembling with relief. “My darling. Thank God. You’re awake.”
She blinked against the candlelight. The shadows in the room flickered. Her vision was hazy, the world around her sharpening in slow, aching increments. Her head throbbed like a drumbeat behind her eyes. A face hovered close—so familiar it made her chest ache.
Lex.
His eyes were red-rimmed and hollowed from worry, his hair tousled, his cravat loosened, the top buttons of his shirt undone. He looked every inch a man who hadn’t slept in far too long.
She tried to sit up. Pain seared the base of her skull. She let out a soft cry.
Lex was instantly there, cradling her shoulders as he gently guided her back. “Easy, now. You took a bad fall off your horse.”
Her brows drew together. “I…I don’t remember.”
“That’s just as well,” he murmured, brushing a damp lock of hair from her forehead. “You gave us all a fright. The doctor’s been and gone. You roused a little while he examined you, thank God. Then you went straight back to sleep.”
She shifted slightly beneath the heavy covers. Her muscles ached, and her limbs felt like stone.
“The doctor instructed me to wake you every hour,” he added quietly. “Said it was important. People can…slip away. I’ve been making sure you didn’t. Wiggled your fingers and toes like a man possessed, just to be sure you were still with me.”
Despite everything, a soft laugh escaped her. “You fuss over me like a mother hen.”
“Only because I’m terribly fond of my favorite patient,” he said, smiling, his voice thick with emotion.
She let out a breath, eyes drifting toward the window. The night outside was ink-black and silent. “Did they catch the poor fox?”
“Thanks to you,” he said, “the fox will live another day. The entire hunt stopped cold the moment you went flying.”
“I’m glad,” she whispered.
He raised an eyebrow. “Glad the fox lived, or glad you went flying?”
She gave him a weak but cheeky grin. “Glad the fox lived, you silly goose.”
He chuckled.
“I don’t think I can ever embrace the sport of foxhunting,” she added. “It feels so…needlessly cruel.”
“I agree with you. Wholeheartedly. It’s an abhorrent tradition, and I’ve had half a mind to put an end to it on my lands.
” He reached for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers.
“But let’s debate ethics another day. Right now…
” He leaned in, brushing his lips over hers in a tender kiss. “Right now, I’d rather kiss you.”
She sighed contentedly. “Mmm. More, please.”
“You’ll get plenty more once you’re fully well.”
“I think your kisses are just what the doctor ordered. I’ll be better in no time if you keep administering them.”
He grinned and dipped his head to steal another kiss, lingering just a moment longer.
“So much better,” she murmured when he pulled away. “You are—objectively—the best kisser in the entire world.”
“You’ll get no argument from me on that front,” he said with a soft laugh. Then, sobering, he added, “But you need to rest, my love. Let your body mend.”
She yawned and nodded. “Will you stay with me?”
He brushed her knuckles with his thumb. “Wild horses couldn’t drag me away.”
Her eyelids fluttered, heavy with exhaustion. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t keep them open.
“Lex, I have so much to tell you…so much to s-s-s-say…”
“Sleep, my darling,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk when you recover.”
And so she let herself drift off again into a healing sleep.
The doctor returned the next morning and, after a thorough examination, pronounced Winnie to be well on the mend. She was to remain at Du Priest Manor for at least two more days, he instructed them, and then—if all continued to go well—he would follow up with a visit to her home in Wiltshire.
By then, most of the guests had already departed.
Only Winnie, Felicia, Tess, Lex, and his mother remained.
The accident had caused a fright across the household, but none more so than for the dowager baroness, who had been nearly inconsolable with worry until the doctor assured her that Winnie would be right as rain within the week.
Later that day, when Winnie was feeling more like herself, she took her grandmother’s hand. “I know I’m the last remaining heir to the baronetcy, and if anything were to happen to me—without an heir of my own—it would throw the succession into question. I’m sorry I caused you such distress.”
Felicia’s lip trembled as she shook her head.
“No, you silly, foolish girl. That’s not why I’m upset.
” Tears coursed down her cheeks. “I’m upset because I love you.
Because you are all that’s left of my immediate family.
I couldn’t bear to lose you.” She gave Winnie’s hand a fierce squeeze. “Now, no more foxhunts. Ever.”
That did it. Winnie burst into tears as well. They often butted heads, she and her grandmother, but love ran deep between them—and in this moment, it was raw and undeniable.
The next few days passed in a strange, hazy blur.
Lex, Winnie was told, had sat by her bedside through that first harrowing night. Tess mentioned it in passing, with a knowing smile that only deepened Winnie’s confusion. The knowledge brought her comfort, yes—but also raised questions. Since then, she hadn’t seen Lex.
They hadn’t spoken of the future. They hadn’t spoken at all.
And she still hadn’t told him the truth—that she was the Lace Bandit.
When the day came for her and Felicia to return home, Lex was nowhere to be found.
Tess and Lady Capel had left the day before, their estate nearby and requiring little travel.
Basil had offered a polite explanation: Lex had escorted his mother and sister home and had pressing business to attend to.
“But I’m sure he’ll call on you very soon,” he had added with an encouraging smile.
He didn’t.
A week later, the doctor visited her at home and declared her “fit as a fiddle,” prompting an audible sigh of relief from Felicia.
But still, no word from Lex.
Not a letter. Not a note. Not even a whisper.
Winnie sat by her bedroom window, staring out at the garden below. What had changed? He’d been so tender that night after her fall—so loving. He had held her, kissed her, promised to stay by her side. And yet now…silence.
Had he changed his mind?
Or—God help her—had he discovered the truth?
What if she’d revealed something in her sleep? What if she’d muttered something about lace or robbery or her covert highway exploits? What if Lex now knew what she had done—and wanted nothing more to do with her?
She pressed her hands to her temples, her thoughts swirling like a storm. Why didn’t I tell him? From the beginning, I should have told him the truth.
Her heart twisted at the thought that she might have lost him for good. And yet…hope stirred. She remembered something Basil had said—that every Friday, weather permitting, he and Lex went riding near the River Lea.
And tomorrow was Friday.
The doctor had granted her permission to ride again, so long as she avoided jumping or anything that might jostle her still-healing body.
It would take about an hour to reach the River Lea across the countryside, but it was doable.
Masquerade would be thrilled for the exercise. And she needed answers.
It might be her only chance to speak with Lex—to look him in the eye and ask why he’d disappeared from her life. It would also be the moment to finally reveal the truth. About the Lace Bandit. About everything.
How ironic. At first, she had been the reluctant one, asking for time, dodging her feelings. And now? Now she was the one pining. Desperate. Ready to fight for the man she wanted to spend her life with.
A plan formed. Winnie would ride to the river, find Lex and Basil, and unburden herself. She would plead for Lex’s forgiveness and tell him everything—why she became the Lace Bandit, what it had meant, and why she’d never do it again. Surely, he would understand.
They had both wanted to help those in need. They shared that passion.
Surely that would count for something. Certainly, he would see the woman behind the mask.
She closed her eyes, heart pounding. It had to work. Tomorrow was her chance.
She would ride to him.
She would tell the truth.
She would fight like hell to convince him how much she loved him and how much she would always love him.
It was a glorious morning—sun dappled, with a hint of a breeze—and Winnie rode out cloaked in mystery and mischief.
Dressed in her full highwaywoman’s garb, she had slipped away from Wiltshire House in the early dawn, well before Felicia had stirred from her rooms. Though she hadn’t ridden since the accident, she trusted her beloved Masquerade implicitly.
The dapple-gray gelding moved with the grace and surefootedness of a dancer, and she felt safe atop his familiar back.
Not until she crossed into Essex and reached the banks of the River Lea did she don the lace mask. That final touch transformed her into the infamous figure whispered about in drawing rooms and among startled coachmen—the Lace Bandit.
Her plan was simple. Foolproof, really.
She would find the marquess and the earl during their weekly ride.
She’d intercept them, stage a mock robbery—something quick and cheeky—and then reveal herself with a dramatic flourish.
Surely, they would laugh. Surely, they would see the humor in it.
She’d return whatever coin she managed to “steal,” explain her reasons, and hope for forgiveness.
After all, she was a sort of modern-day Robin Hood, wasn’t she?
Stealing from the rich and giving to the poor—it was noble in its way.
Lex would see that. Basil would likely find it hilarious.
In her fanciful daydream, they would all share a hearty laugh.
Lex would sweep her into his arms, profess his love once more, and they would ride back to Wiltshire House together.
That same afternoon, he’d ask her grandmother for her hand, the banns would be posted, and soon, they’d be wed—dividing their time between his estate and hers, building a life together.
She trotted along the winding river path, utterly lost in her fantasy.
The sunshine filtered through the trees in golden beams. Bees hummed lazily in the underbrush, and birds chirped their lively songs in the branches overhead. Her lace mask fluttered slightly with the breeze. She wore it with pride. This was her moment. Her storybook ending.
And though she was alone, she wasn’t unarmed. She always rode with her pistol, and today was no exception. Her father had trained her well. She was an expert marksman, her aim as steady and true as any man’s, if not better.
Up ahead, a large fallen tree blocked the trail.
Winnie pulled gently on the reins, guiding Masquerade off the river path and into a grove of trees where the terrain sloped gently upward. She barely had time to register the sound of hooves before they were upon her.
Men. Six of them. Mounted. Armed.
They surrounded her in a tight circle, weapons drawn.
Masquerade reared with a shrill cry, pawing the air.
Winnie let out a startled scream, clutching his mane as the world tilted beneath her.
She fought for balance, murmuring calm words until, finally, the horse’s hooves returned to solid earth, though he continued to prance anxiously sensing danger.
The men hooted and shouted, congratulating themselves as if they’d just bagged a prize stag.
“We’ve got you now, missy! Your days of robbin’ are over,” one of them crowed.
“A shame, really,” said a bearded Scotsman with a crooked grin. “To see such a fine neck stretched on the gallows. But you brought it on yourself.”
Six against one.
Winnie’s mouth was dry. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. But she refused to let them see her fear. “What are you talking about? How dare you accost a lady out for a quiet ride along the river? Can a woman not enjoy the morning without being attacked by armed strangers?”
“We’re no bandits,” the bearded man replied. “We’ve been hired to capture you.” His eyes narrowed. “You, m’lady, are the Lace Bandit. The infamous highwaywoman terrorizing these roads. But not for much longer.”
“That’s absurd,” she said coolly. “You have no proof. I wear a mask for safety, not disguise.”
They laughed—a grating, ugly sound that rang through the clearing.
“Ye’re just as described. A woman dressed as a man, wearing a lace mask, bold as brass and twice as foolish. We’ve no doubt who ye are. We’re taking you in. There’s a price on that pretty head of yers, and we mean to collect it.”
Her blood ran cold. No. This isn’t how the story ends.
Panic clawed at her throat. I can’t outrun six armed men. Not through these woods. Not alone. She considered drawing her pistol, but it would be suicide. They were already poised to strike.
If only Lex were here.
Tears blurred her vision. Her dream of marriage, her hopes for forgiveness—vanished like smoke. All she could think about now was Felicia’s face. Her grandmother’s disappointment. The life she’d hoped to build, shattered in an instant.
Is this how it ends? Captured, tried, and hanged for the crime of compassion?
No. She had to find a way out.
There had to be a way.