The Highwayman's Lady Read online

  He inclines his head, still not in the least intimidated. I cannot help but admire his courage since I have put bullets in men for less provocation.

  * * *

  The mauve room is comfortable enough and I succeed in gaining a few hours’ sleep. I waken to see autumn sunlight streaming through the window as I omitted to close the shutters when I came to bed. A fire crackles merrily in the grate and the chamber is pleasantly aired. I sit up in bed to survey my surroundings properly. I know this room of course, though it was not one I frequented overmuch in the past. Still, the furnishings are practical and the decorations subdued enough not to jar. I decide to make do with this accommodation for the duration of my stay.

  That matter settled in my mind, I apply myself to my next and perhaps more pressing problem, that of Imogen and the coming awkwardness when we meet for breakfast. The encounter is not far off, for I believe I might detect the distinctive aroma of smoked mackerel. I missed dinner last night so I am ravenous. I get out of bed and find further cause to bless Beatrice’s hospitality as I splash warm water on my face from the pitcher and bowl provided. She must have instructed the servants and her cook to see to my comfort, in order to ensure my welcome back into her home is not in doubt.

  My ablutions complete, I dress and head downstairs. The chatter from the dining room reaches me long before I come anywhere close to the foot of the stairs. The children must be eating with their parents. Beatrice has always preferred minimal formality around mealtimes and when the younger members of the household are at the table, chaos usually reigns. It is one of the things I loved most about living here. I pause for several moments outside the door, then reach for the handle.

  “He is here! Papa, papa, Uncle Francis is here!”

  I barely have time to register the excited shriek before a diminutive figure launches across the room to hurl herself into my arms. It is the younger girl Lucy, I surmise, since the older girl, Beatrice, is busy helping herself to more smoked mackerel. I resolve not to be so tardy in a morning in the future, for this bunch of hungry little imps can clear a sideboard more effectively than a plague of locusts.

  “Papa told us you had come back. I knew you would, I knew it. Where have you been? Have you been in prison? Did you see the prince? Is he handsome? I heard he was the most handsome prince in the world. We have kippers and mama says we must save you some.”

  I silently bless my sister-in-law, who has risen to her feet to greet my entrance. The bundle in her arms must be the latest addition to the family who so nearly brought disaster to the house. Beatrice hands the baby to Phillip as she rushes forward to rescue me.

  “Lucy darling, would you fill a plate for your uncle? I am sure he must be hungry.”

  The child disengages and trots off to do her mother’s bidding, leaving me to marvel at the passage of time. The mite was but five years old when last I saw her and the youngest, Charles, just a toddler. I have missed so much.

  “Thank you, that will be most welcome,” I call after the retreating child, then turn to catch my sister-in-law in a heartfelt hug. “Hello, Beatrice. It is good to see you again. I trust my wastrel of a brother has not beaten you recently nor sold any of your numerous offspring into slavery.”

  The old, familiar joke rolls off my tongue. She punches my arm in mock retaliation. “No, he has not, though I suspect he might wish to consider it on occasion. Oh, Francis, I am overjoyed to have you back, even if you are still a rascal and a troublemaker. Come, sit with us. All the children are so excited. They have been up since six o’clock waiting for you.”

  I allow her to usher me to the table where a spare chair has been pulled out by the eldest boy, Phillip, named for his father. Lucy deposits a plate generously heaped with kippers before me, then plants a rather sticky kiss on my cheek, which suggests she has partaken of honey with her own morning meal. I resist the urge to wipe it off.

  “Thank you, Lucy.” I look around the table, registering that all seem to be here, bar one.

  “You will be relieved to learn you are not last down this morning. Beatrice’s cousin from England has joined our household these last few months but she is still abed.” My brother passes the littlest of the Kirkleven clan back to Beatrice, who is looking concerned at this unexpected absence from our morning gathering.

  “I do hope Imogen is not indisposed this morning. It is unlike her to be so late. I shall go up to check on her.”

  “Indeed,” agrees Phillip. “I believe you should. Perhaps she might like a tray to be sent up.”

  “Ah, no need. She is here.” Beatrice smiles over my shoulder.

  The sound of the door opening then closing behind me heralds the arrival of impending doom. I groan to myself. I really should have thought this through, or at least contrived some opportunity to appraise Imogen of the facts in private rather than letting the drama be played out here in full view of my brother and his exuberant family. I never used to be so careless of the details. I would have been dangling from a rope years ago if I were.

  Beatrice hails the newcomer. “Imogen, do join us. We saved you a chair. Come and meet Francis, my brother-in-law.”

  I get to my feet, the common chivalries having been drilled into me from the earliest age and turn to greet Imogen.

  The pleasant smile of welcome dies on her lovely face. The colour drains from her features, her mouth opening in a startled O. Her outstretched hand remains before me, as though suspended in time. The blue of her eyes darkens as she stares at me in bewildered disbelief.

  “Imogen, are you all right, dear? Phillip, please, would you help Imogen to a chair?” Beatrice nudges her husband into action, but I am the closest. I reach Imogen just as her knees crumple.

  “Oh, my goodness, it must be the baby. Please, lay her on the daybed, over here,” Beatrice directs. I do as I am bid, whilst the older children clamour for more information.

  “What baby?”

  “Does Imogen have a husband?”

  “Where will it sleep?”

  Beatrice is dealing with none of their curiosity, though I expect any respite will be short-lived now the secret is out. “Hush, all of you. Please, sit at the table and finish your breakfast. You have lessons to get to, surely. Allow Imogen some air.”

  “Yes, your mother is right, as always. Eat, then lessons. Quick now.” Phillip lends his authority to Beatrice’s and the children are speedily fed in readiness to be dispatched into the care of their tutors.

  Whilst my brother marshals the children, Beatrice perches on the edge of the couch, patting her cousin’s hand. To my relief and that of my worried sister-in-law, Imogen’s colour is starting to return. Her eyelids flutter and she opens her eyes. Her gaze meets mine and a stormier countenance I hope never to see on a woman. At least not aimed in my direction.

  “Hello, Imogen. How nice to meet you.” I can but try, and with any luck, she will catch my drift and not expose my alter ego.

  “You? You are—Francis?” Her voice is a thready whisper, the shock still apparent.

  Sir Phillip does the honours. “May I introduce Francis Graham Urquhart, my brother. I believe Beatrice has acquainted you with the details regarding his prolonged absence from our home.”

  “Ah, yes. Yes, she has, but…” Imogen closes her eyes again, sinking back against the cushion that Beatrice has arranged under her shoulders.

  “The poor child is not well. She should return to bed at once. Let me help you, dear.” Beatrice regards Imogen for a few more moments, then clearly thinks better of that suggestion. “Or perhaps Phillip should carry you.”

  “No, I shall do it.” I bend to take her in my arms before anyone can question my intent, least of all Imogen. I do not think for one moment she will welcome my assistance on this occasion. I stride toward the door. “Please, everyone, finish your breakfast but save mine for later. I shall see Miss Bennett safe back to her room.”

  It is only as I take the stairs two at a time that I recall
no one has told me which room is hers, nor that her surname is Bennett.

  Shite, I am fast becoming the worst liar ever.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Put me down at once. How dare you manhandle me in this way?” My squeals of protest draw more than a little attention from the upstairs domestic servants as Gray, or Francis, or whatever this blackguard chooses to call himself this morning, marches along the hallway with me cradled in his arms. Despite my efforts, he holds me secure in his embrace, politely dismissing offers of assistance from the staff.

  “We are perfectly fine, thank you. Miss Bennett has experienced a dizzy spell, that is all. She will be quite all right once she has rested for a few minutes.” He shoulders open the door to my chamber and carries me inside. Once deposited on the bed, I scramble onto my knees ready to acquaint him with my opinion as to his perfidy.

  “You duped me. You broke into my room last night and—”

  He regards me with an expression I can only describe as amused. “I did not break in, Imogen. And if I were inclined to be ungenerous, I might point out that this is, in fact, my room. I occupied it since I grew out of the nursery on the floor above us, but I am happy to allow you the continued use of my chamber since you appear to be quite comfortable here. Further, I do not recall you asking me to leave, not at any stage in last night’s proceedings.”

  Hurt beyond reason, I continue to rail at him. “Was it all some sort of game to you? All along? You knew who I was, that I was connected to the family you abandoned years ago, so you decided to treat yourself to a little sport at my expense? Is that it?”

  “Do not be ridiculous, Imogen.” He is glowering at me now, finding the truth somewhat unpalatable, clearly.

  “Ridiculous? Yes, that must be it. It is perfectly apparent that I am quite absurd to you, some sort of a joke. I trust you have been suitably amused at my expense.”

  “Imogen…” His tone has taken on a warning note, but I choose to ignore that. How dare he toy with me in this way?

  “Were you not content with the games you played with me in Yorkshire? After all these months you had to pursue me here to take up where you left off? You must have been most gratified by the welcome you received, both from me and from your kinsfolk. Do you not realise how this family has grieved for you? How much they missed you? And now they believe you to be returned to them and are overjoyed that you are safe. Beatrice is desperate for you to stay here, to make this place your home once more.” I pause to draw breath, then resume my tirade. “Do you appreciate that? Are you intending to stay just until you become bored, then disappear without a word, like before? You will break her heart all over again.”

  “My plans are not your concern, Imogen.” His eyes have hardened, the dark brown irises glittering dangerously as he scowls at me.

  “No, you made that abundantly clear. Does your family know of your nefarious activities in England?”

  “Of course they do not. I trust you will remain discreet on that score.”

  “Ah, do I detect a hint of remorse? Shame even? Who would have imagined that?”

  “Who indeed? Imogen, I never gave you to understand I was anything other than a scoundrel so why would you expect remorse from me now? Why so surprised?”

  “Have you no conscience, sir? Is there not a shred of decency in you?”

  “It would appear not.” He turns to leave, then thinks better of it. Returning to the bed, he leans over and cups my jaw in his hand. I attempt to jerk my chin from his grasp but his fingers tighten and I am caught fast. “Were it not for the fact that you fell into a dead faint not ten minutes ago and I fear for your delicate condition and, of course, I am in debt to you to the tune of one hard spanking since I punished you unjustly last night, you would already be dangling across my knee, your bottom bared. You are spared that indignity on this occasion, but in the future you will mind your manners, madam, or you will accept the consequences.”

  “You cannot spank me. I, I will not permit it. Nor will Sir Phillip.”

  “I will not seek your permission or that of my brother. This is between us, Imogen and you know exactly how matters stand. I will not tolerate disrespect from you or groundless accusations.”

  His gaze is hard, unrelenting. Despite my anger at his treatment of me and my trepidation since I know he does not speak of punishment idly, I cannot allow the injustice to stand.

  “My accusations are not groundless. You did lie to me. You are lying still.”

  He straightens, his fingers gentling. “I intended to reveal my true identity to you last night, but could not get a word in. You were somewhat vocal, my dear, with my cock buried deep inside you. By the time you were quiet enough for me to make myself heard, you were sound asleep. It seemed such a pity to disturb you.”

  “You are crass, sir.”

  He raises his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Did I suggest otherwise? Again, I must offer my sincere apologies if I misled you, madam.”

  “You should have told me who you were. You had ample opportunity. You could have told me before ever I left Yorkshire.”

  He regards me seriously for several moments, as though turning that notion over in his mind. “I did not consider that either necessary, or wise. I am still not entirely convinced, though your loyalty in the matter of protecting my identity thus far has offered some reassurance. I believe I may trust you now.”

  “I do not trust you, sir, not an inch.”

  “How so? I never pretended to be other than the rogue that I am. That said, I have not harmed you. You freely offered me your virginity and I was glad to take it. I spanked you and you loved it. I fucked you, on several occasions now and you loved that also. Of course there is the unfortunate matter of your pregnancy, but that was not intended and I do regret the awkward situation in which I have placed you. I will ensure you have the means to live comfortably, regardless of my brother’s support.”

  I gaze at him, nonplussed. It had never occurred to me to hold Gray to account for my predicament. I take full responsibility for that. It was my choice to sleep with him, after all, as he has so crudely reminded me. His words have some truth to them, distasteful though they might be. He is an outlaw; I knew that from the moment I set eyes on him. He is an armed robber who preys on the weak and vulnerable. He might have helped me but that was clearly an aberration. I was a fool to harbour anything in the way of romantic notions about this villain.

  “There is no need for you to concern yourself with my welfare. I prefer to have nothing more to do with you, sir.”

  “Ah, I but I must disappoint you there since I intend to remain at Kirkleven, at least for a while. As you rightly point out, my family appears to harbour some residual fondness for me and it would be churlish to depart so soon after our touching reunion.”

  “You intend to stay then?”

  “Yes, I believe I shall, though I do not at this point know for how long. So you see, Imogen, though this is a sizable house, it is inevitable that you and I are to see quite a lot of each other. I see no option but that you must find it in yourself to be civil at least. Beatrice will take it hard otherwise and you must be under no illusions now how I will respond to such provocation.”

  “You are threatening me, sir?”

  “Aye, I suppose you could see it that way. Am I making myself clear though?”

  “I hate you.”

  “Really?”

  “You are a wicked man, Mr. Graham.” At his raised eyebrow I correct myself. “Francis. And you are a thief and a, a bully.”

  “I will accept wicked and a thief since those are difficult to refute. However as to the rest I prefer to think of myself as stern and uncompromising.”

  “Uncompromising? What is this?” At Beatrice’s surprised tone we both turn to the door. She stands, regarding us with a puzzled expression. How much has she heard? Mercifully she does not seem over-inclined to insist upon an answer. “Thank you, Francis, for your assistance. I believe I ca
n attend to Imogen now. Your breakfast is waiting for you in the kitchen where I understand the cook has contrived to keep your kippers warm.” She enters the room and shoulders Gray to one side as she leans over the bed to peer at me. “Your face is quite flushed, my dear. You should allow me to help you back into bed.”

  My hovering nemesis is still glowering at me from the foot of the bed, his arms folded across his wide chest. Beatrice blesses him with her sweetest smile. “Francis, please could you ask Mrs. MacBride to prepare a plate for Imogen? Something light, I think, but nourishing. Perhaps some porridge.”

  He does not move, so Beatrice turns to face him fully. “Francis, is there a problem?”

  He smiles back at her, a grin that is both fond and devastating and one which I realise with some chagrin I have yet to see bestowed upon me. “No, Beatrice, no problem at all. It is just that I have missed you so. You grow lovelier with the years, sweet sister.”

  She flashes her pretty dimples at him, her cheeks flushing slightly. “And you were ever a silver-tongued charmer. Nothing has changed there in the years you were away from us. Which reminds me, I look forward very much to hearing of your adventures these last four years, but first I must see to Imogen’s comfort. Would you excuse us, please?”

  “Of course.” He bows to Beatrice, then to me. I have no idea what story he will concoct to satisfy his family’s curiosity, but I doubt it will bear more than a passing resemblance to the truth.

  As the door closes softly behind him, Beatrice regards me oddly. “You were quarrelling,” she states. “What was that about? My brother-in-law can be maddening, I know, but your acquaintance is too new for the pair of you to have fallen out already.”

  “I, we were not quarrelling. I was just—a little overwrought.” It pains me to lay claim to such weakness as an excuse for my odd behaviour, but I am not about to confide the truth to Beatrice. At least, not now. I need to think first and consider the bizarre circumstances in which I find myself.