Seduced By the Werewolf Highwaymen (Den of Thieves #1)

Chapter 1

“Stand and deliver!”

The poorly sprung coach lurched to a halt, and the horses whinnied in alarm. Five of the six passengers in the vehicle exclaimed in fright, twittering and shrieking to each other.

Jessica Colfax sat quietly in her seat. She smoothed the heavy twill skirts of her serviceable traveling costume as she peered out the mail coach’s window.

The forms of three large saddled horses blocked her view of the forest lining the road.

As for the riders, Jessica only saw a trio of broad and powerful silhouettes in greatcoats and tricorns.

“Awfully calm,” a dowager in silks yelped at Jessica, “considering we’re about to be robbed, harassed, and murdered right here on the road to London.”

There were shouts from the coachmen, and the sounds of a gun being wrestled away from someone before the driver and guard quickly fell silent.

“None of the broadsheets have mentioned this gang assaulting female passengers in any of their many robberies,” Jessica returned mildly.

“Well, I cannot countenance the loss of my valuables, even if you are so tranquil about it.” The dowager whipped open her painted fan and frantically waved it in front of her face.

Her free hand hovered over the triple strand of pearls encircling her neck.

“Perhaps today is the day these villains break from tradition and decide they would prefer us gagged and on our backs.”

“Quiet!” a vicar sitting opposite the older woman snapped. “The more you chatter, the more you snare their attention. It must be Ezra Brody and his gang. The scoundrels are known for holding up carriages on this road.”

The door to the carriage was hauled open, and the dowager screamed.

A man filled the doorway. His hat was pulled low, while a black piece of fabric covered his nose and mouth. His greatcoat was of black wool, but beyond that, Jessica couldn’t see much more of his clothing. In his large hand, he carried a flintlock pistol—pointed upward, at the sky.

“Come now, madam.” The highwayman’s voice was husky and low, carrying a slight country accent. “Such displays of terror aren’t necessary. Simply do as I say, and no harm will befall you.”

Despite his words, the dowager continued to screech while tears streamed down her pale cheeks. The vicar patted her hand, but it was more of a slapping than comforting touch.

“Reasoning with her will do no good when she’s this distraught, Mr. Brody,” Jessica murmured to the highwayman.

The thief’s gaze snapped to Jessica, and her breath seized in her lungs.

He had eyes of the palest gray, the hue of a mist-covered moor in the early dawn.

Even beneath the brim of his hat, she could see them clearly—or rather, she felt them, sharp and assessing.

His sable hair was pulled into a loose queue, held back by a thin strip of leather.

What she could see of his nose indicated that it had been broken more than once.

His hands were bare, and the skin tanned, threaded with veins. Strong hands. Capable. And comfortable holding firearms.

“Between the two of us, my lady,” the highwayman said, with a smile in his tone, “when it comes to soothing overcome women, I’d say that I have more experience with that.”

“Do women often scream in your company?” Jessica quirked her eyebrow.

Brody’s own thick eyebrows raised. “Depending on the circumstances. The quality and reason for the scream varies, as well.” He paused. “You know my name.”

“A certain notoriety has attached itself to you.”

“What variety of notoriety?”

“A considerable variety.”

Jessica and the thief stared at each other for a long moment. The beat of her heart, which had been steady, suddenly accelerated beneath the sheer muslin of her fichu.

Brody’s gaze flicked down to the thin fabric tucked into the low neckline of her bodice, as though he could actually hear her heart’s quickening pace. It was a hot gaze, piercing through the fichu, and caressing the flesh of her upper chest.

“Oi!” A man’s voice sounded outside. “Are we robbing this coach or dawdling like milkmaids at the fair?”

The highwayman seemed to return to himself. “Right, everyone, out of the carriage. Lively, now.”

He gestured with his pistol, yet he continued to keep the weapon pointed away from the passengers.

The travelers twittered nervously amongst themselves as they awkwardly clambered out of the vehicle.

Jessica joined them as they lined up beside the mail coach, everyone’s hands up.

The driver sat on his perch, his hands also skyward, same as the man beside him, whose long gun now was in the possession of one of the thieves.

Three highwaymen in total gathered around the mail coach.

Two of them remained on horseback, while the third, the one with the gray eyes, faced the passengers.

Though his greatcoat covered most of his tall and lean body, as he moved, Jessica’s notice was snared by the flash of leather boots climbing up over his knees to end just below his thighs.

They were rather fine thighs, taut and muscled, encased in buckskin.

He had a scarf tied around one thigh, made of azure silk.

A prize, no doubt, taken from one of his victims. But it gave Brody a dashing air, a hint of flash that pointed to a sense of humor as well as a feeling of pride.

He clearly enjoyed his work, enjoyed the infamy it gave him.

They talked of him in excited tones back in Colchester, and even in London.

The Brody Gang were well-known on the Essex road for how efficiently they seized and stole from mail coaches and private carriages traveling to London.

He was famed for his gallantry, Ezra Brody, and his boldness.

Many broadsheet ballads about Ezra Brody had been sold on this basis.

Judging by their brief encounter now, Jessica was inclined to agree that the highwayman was indeed a fascinating subject.

“Eyes on my pretty face, my lady.”

Jessica’s attention snapped up. Creases formed around the thief’s eyes, as though he was smiling.

“With your face covered,” she answered, “I have only your word that you are, in fact, pretty.”

“Quiet, jade!” yelped a man with the look of a merchant. He had fallen asleep almost immediately on the ride and filled the carriage with his snores. Now that he was awake, and frightened, he glared at her. “You oughtn’t provoke them to anger!”

“I’ve no cause to grow angry,” Brody said, “unless you dally in handing over your valuables. Jewels, coin. Whatever you have of worth.” He held up a rough canvas sack and shook it in expectation.

The dowager shrieked again, clearly upset at the thought of losing her jewels. Beside her, the vicar continued to slap at her hand.

“And if we object?” This came from one of the younger male passengers, dressed like a moderately prosperous farmer. His fingers hovered over a pouch that jingled at his waist. “I have the proceeds for my harvest here—if I fail to deposit them in London, disaster befalls me.”

The highwayman tucked his pistol into the leather baldric slung across his chest. He strode to the farmer and pulled the pouch off his belt. The other man flinched.

Brody tipped the leather bag into his ungloved hand, and several coins tumbled out. He plucked out three sovereigns, which he deposited into the canvas sack, before pouring the rest of the coins back into their pouch and handing them to the farmer.

“Not a horrific loss,” the thief drawled, “but enough profit to make our venture worthwhile.”

The farmer stared at Brody, and, indeed, so did Jessica.

“I say,” the merchant exclaimed, “I can’t lose my valuables, either!”

Taking the pistol from his baldric, the highwayman waved the weapon in front of the merchant’s face.

“The difference between an honest farmer and avaricious merchant is a vast one. Put everything in the sack, sirrah. Including that fine watch in your waistcoat.” As the merchant fumbled with his gold timepiece and well-stuffed billfold, Brody turned to the other passengers.

“That goes for you lot. Make haste, for I have a nose that the law isn’t far from here. ”

Everyone scrambled to obey. As the passengers divested themselves of their jewelry, money, and other small personal items of value, Brody paced in front of them, collecting each prize as they were offered.

Jessica waited until he was standing across from her before lifting her skirts and petticoats.

She slowly revealed her stocking-clad leg.

She’d paid a good deal of money for these stockings—an indulgence, really—but they were of fine silk, with clocking at the ankles, and—this was the added indulgence—rose pink.

The highwayman went very still.

Looking up through her lashes, Jessica watched Brody watching her pull a small cloth pouch from her blue ribbon garter. She lowered her skirts without hurry.

When the thief made no move to collect the pouch from her, she shook it in front of his face. “I believe this is what you’re after.”

Wordlessly, he took the small bag. His calloused fingertips brushed hers, for she wasn’t wearing gloves, and a shock of heat bolted through her. The fabric covering his mouth moved inward as he drew a hard breath.

“There isn’t much in there, I’m afraid,” Jessica said softly. “A strand of coral beads, a guinea, a tarnished silver ring with the smallest of pearls.”

“Then,” the highwayman rasped, “I’ll take something of greater value from you, my lady.”

“That is all I have in the world, alas. You call me my lady, but I must disappoint you. I’m dead common.”

“Not common at all.”

“Then what will you have from me?”

He stepped nearer, narrowing the gap between them until there was barely a hand’s span from his chest to hers. His face dipped close to hers. At this distance, his deep brown eyelashes were a thick frame around his eyes, and there was a darker, storm-gray ring around the irises.

“A kiss is a fine prize.” He tugged his kerchief down.

“What—” one of the highwaymen on horseback barked in objection, but Brody simply waved his hand in distracted dismissal.