Chapter 2
Trees and undergrowth flew past in a blur of green and brown as Jessica, Brody, and the other highwaymen galloped through the forest, around fallen logs and wide trees.
They jumped over a dry creek bed in one controlled surge.
Jessica’s heart leapt along with her body, and then thudded in response as they landed.
Away from the city. Away from everything. Alive only in this moment.
Beside them, the two fellow highwaymen rode with equal experience. No one’s mount faltered, and as the men bent over the necks of their horses, they held themselves with skillful ease, both in command as well as at effortlessness in the forest and in the saddle.
There was a kind of animal strength to all of them, a fluidity of movement. Brody, yes, but his companions as well. The three men exchanged glances, and from the crinkles forming around their eyes, they all seemed to be smiling.
They were enjoying themselves. And the mad thing was that Jessica was, too.
A small, tumbledown wooden house appeared ahead of them. It had most of its roof, and a chimney. In lieu of a door, a long piece of cloth covered the entrance, and there was no glass in the windows.
Brody slowed his horse to a canter, then a trot, and finally a gentle walk. He and the two other highwaymen brought their horses to a structure that stood a hundred yards from the house. The shed had enough space for several horses, and seemed dry and clean.
In silence, they dismounted, though Jessica remained in the saddle.
Brody’s companions began tending to their horses, removing tack and rubbing the animals down to cool them after their run through the forest. No one spoke, but they moved with practice and economy.
One of the highwaymen stroked the soft spot between his mount’s nostrils.
The animal nibbled affectionately on his fingers.
As Jessica started to slide down from atop Brody’s horse, a pair of large, warm hands encircled her waist. She looked down at Brody.
He’d lowered his kerchief to hang loosely around his neck, and it was with the full intensity of his rugged handsomeness that he stared up at her for a charged moment.
She felt his gaze from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes, and all the soft and receptive places between.
“I can see to myself,” she said quietly.
“It’s my privilege to attend to you as my guest. What’s your name?”
“Jessica.”
He lifted a brow when she opted not to include her surname, but fortunately, he didn’t press her for more.
“Welcome, Jessica.” His voice was husky, and his jaw tightened when he helped her down from the saddle. His hands lingered on her waist for several seconds, heat seeping into her. His gaze flicked to her mouth.
He seemed to think better of kissing her right there in the stable, and he released her.
She took a step away from him. Her legs were slightly unsteady beneath her, likely a result of the speedy ride through the woods.
Or perhaps the breathless shakiness careening through her had more to do with the man standing in front of her, looking at her as though he intended to wolf her down on the spot.
His fellow highwaymen shot her wary glances as they continued to see to their horses.
They carried their saddles easily, as though they were meant for a child’s pony and not the heavy combination of wood and leather needed by a full-grown man.
Yet they also continued to wear their kerchiefs that covered their faces.
“There’s nothing to fear from me, gentlemen,” she said.
“Who’s to say you won’t describe our faces to the nearest magistrate?” the black-haired one answered. His accent reminded her of the one she’d heard when visiting Charlie in Portsmouth. “We’d see our likenesses grinning back at us on handbills posted at every local law’s headquarters.”
“I voluntarily accompanied all three of you from the scene of a crime. It would be easy enough for the sheriff to say I was accessory to larceny.”
As Brody took care of his horse, he smiled, bright white against the darkness of his stubble. “She’s a fair point of it, lads.”
Slowly, the one with the genteel accent lowered his kerchief. He looked at Jessica with defiance in his deep-set black eyes.
“Well?” he demanded.
“I am beginning to wonder if the requirements for joining this gang include handsomeness.”
The man scowled, but not before a flush stained his rich warm brown cheeks. He had a thick, neatly trimmed black beard, and he pulled the strip of green silk binding his hair, sending long black strands spilling over his shoulders. His features were defined and sharply hewn.
“You are from the Subcontinent?” Jessica asked.
He flung back his greatcoat to reveal a russet-colored coat and tan waistcoat, with black breeches tucked into knee-high boots. He had a broad torso and burly, long legs, and nearly vibrated with strength and potential.
“My father is Gujarati,” he said tersely. “My mother is from England.”
He seemed to think that he’d said too much, because his lips pressed tightly together, and he returned his focus on making certain his horse was in good condition after fleeing through the forest.
The third highwayman had already removed his kerchief, and though he seemed several years younger than his companions, hard-won experience shone in his blue eyes.
His hair was sandy with a hint of curl, and his lips verged on feminine.
He had a small mole just beside his nose, which added to the prettiness of his fair face.
He pushed his cloak back, and his long, lean body was clothed in a deep blue coat and waistcoat, with brown breeches and scuffed brown boots.
“She staying for a while?” he asked Brody, his Welsh accent melodic.
“Who’s to say what the future holds?” Jessica answered before Brody could. “Your names, gentlemen? You know mine, and I’d hate to address you with a grunt.”
“Tej,” the black-haired highwayman said.
“Rhys,” the pretty one replied. “And he’s Ezra.”
As Ezra unhooked the bag of loot from the back of his saddle, Jessica dipped into a curtsey. “A pleasure to meet both of you.”
Ezra barked out a laugh. “This is a highwaymen’s lair, not a salon. And you said you weren’t a lady.”
“Stepney born and bred.”
“Don’t sound like it,” Rhys muttered.
“In my line of work, it’s advantageous to disguise my place of origin.”
“And what is your line of work?” Ezra moved closer to her, and she sensed all three men staring at her with intense regard.
“In these uncertain times,” she answered, “it’s whatever keeps a roof over my head and mutton in my belly. As you three can well understand.”
The highwaymen exchanged looks that seemed to indicate their sympathies with her statement.
War on the Continent and in the Colonies had only just ended, seven years of bloodshed and loss.
Those soldiers who had survived the conflict returned home, only to struggle to find employment, while the wounded were forced into beggary when doors shut in their faces and their country failed to provide for them.
Those who hadn’t fought were likewise going hungry. The streets of London teemed with the poor and dispossessed, and vagrants roamed the country. Many of them turned to crime.
Ezra tossed the bag of loot to Tej, who deftly caught it with one hand. The bag rattled and jingled.
Smiling, Tej said, “A fair take.”
“I think I have the fairest take.” Ezra grabbed hold of Jessica’s hand, and the heat of his touch poured through her. He sent her a glance fraught with intention.
“As I said, you didn’t take,” Jessica pointed out. “I opted to accompany you.”
“However you define it,” he answered, “I’m grateful for it. And impatient.” He took two long strides toward the tumbledown house, gently pulling her behind him.
“Haven’t I a say in the matter?” she asked.
He paused, giving her a considering look.
She continued, “I say, yes.”
A snort came from Rhys. “Go on, then. We’ll stay well away until you’re…satisfied.”
A wolfish smile crossed Ezra’s face as Tej and Rhys chuckled. Jessica couldn’t even blush. What was the point when she’d made her desires so plain? Besides, there was no harm in owning her needs, especially when all parties were willing.
“You may have to keep your distance for some time, lads,” Ezra said, and laughed huskily as he regarded Jessica through lowered lashes. “I aim to ensure the lady is well satisfied.”
She had brief impressions of the interior of the ramshackle cottage. A table in one room, surrounded by three chairs. A little iron stove, a few pots and pans. A heavy chest shoved against one leaning wall.
“This is your lair?” she asked.
“The forest is peppered with our dens.”
A strange word to use for a thieves’ hideout, but there wasn’t time to remark on it as Ezra moved quickly through the room, pulling her behind him.
He drew her into a small chamber that was missing a quarter of its roof. Whatever the furnishings were in here, she didn’t notice. Her sole interest was the bed.
It was only a mattress on the floor—a very large mattress that took up most of the room. Clean blankets were heaped atop it, and pillows, making it resemble more of an animal’s nest than an actual bed.
Ezra closed the door behind them. He pulled off his three-cornered hat and tossed it onto a stool. He tugged away the strip of leather holding back his hair and it fell around his shoulders in a dark curtain, shadowing half his face.
They were alone. Jessica and the highwayman.
He hauled her to him, one of his hands pressed low on her back, the other cupping the curve of her head. He was so much larger than her, strength and power emanating from him so that the tiny room was filled with his presence, his desire.