A Wayward Woman. Helen Dickson
your hand if you dare to touch me. I swear I will. Leave me alone,’ she cried, her body trembling with fear. ‘You have no right to touch me.’
‘Stop your blustering.’ In the blink of an eye he had reached out and flicked open the frogging securing the front of her cloak, which slid from her shoulders to her feet. Catching the light of the carriage lamps, the necklace sparkled. The man emitted a low whistle of admiration.
‘So, milady, you say you have nothing of value. Those sparklers look pretty expensive to me. Remove it.’ When she made no move to do so, he bowed his head in mock politeness. ‘If you please.’
‘You can go to hell,’ she hissed.
‘I shall—and very soon, I don’t doubt, for my chosen profession usually includes death at an early age.’
‘And well deserved,’ she retorted indignantly. ‘Hanging’s too good for the likes of you.’
He chuckled low in his throat, the sound feeding Belle’s anger. ‘You think you’re not afraid of me, don’t you?’ he said. ‘You sneer at me with your pretty face and big monkey eyes. When I take to the road I feel like a king and I’d like to think tonight is to be my lucky night and come daybreak I shall be as rich as one. Now turn around,’ he ordered, ‘if you value your life. If you try anything rash, I have no qualms about shooting your coachman.’
Afraid that he might carry out his threat, Belle reluctantly turned her back to the robber, who moved to stand directly behind her and, using one hand, his fingers reached to the back of her neck. A deadly sickness came upon her and she flinched when she felt the cool contact on her flesh. It only took him a second to unclasp and whip the necklace away.
Shoving the precious gems inside a pocket of his cape, the thief backed away, keeping the pistol levelled at her. ‘There, that wasn’t too painful, was it?’
‘You have what you want,’ Belle uttered scornfully. ‘Now what do you mean to do with us? Shoot us?’
‘Nothing so dramatic.’
‘Then you can leave us. I have nothing else to give.’
The man laughed. ‘’Twill be more than your jewels I’ll be having my fun with, your ladyship.’
When he moved closer Belle took a step back. Reaching out, he caressed her cheek with the back of his hand, amused when she drew back. Tiny shards of fear pricked Belle’s spine while a coldness congealed in the pit of her stomach. She was wary of angering him and bringing him to a level of violence that would destroy her. She had heard tales of how highwaymen sometimes killed those they waylaid—and a lone woman wouldn’t stand a chance against the strength of such a powerful man.
‘You wouldn’t dare,’ she whispered, almost choking on the words.
‘Wouldn’t I?’
‘And don’t look at me like that.’ She could feel his eyes devouring her, and could well imagine the lascivious smile on his lips behind the scarf. A shudder ran through her, and it was not because it was cold. ‘You’ll hang for sure.’
He placed the pistol beneath her chin so that the barrel touched her throat and tipped her face up to his. ‘Madam, if looking is a hanging offence, then I’d rather fulfil every aspect of my desire and be strung up for a lion than a lamb.’
She stared back at him in horror—the colour drained from her face. After a moment, which seemed like an eternity to Belle, he removed the pistol and stepped back.
‘Please don’t touch me again.’
He cocked a brow. ‘Please, is it? So the lady has remembered her manners. But worry not. I have neither the time nor the inclination, lady. I have what I want—you have been most generous. I thank you for your co-operation.’
‘Don’t think you’ll get away with this—you—you devil.’ Belle cried, unable to contain her fury. ‘I’ll find out who you are and see you hang. I swear I will.’
The thief laughed in the face of her ire. ‘Dear me, little lady. You have a strange preoccupation with seeing me hang. I’d dearly like to see you try.’
Having got what he wanted, without more ado the man took the reins of his horse and leapt into the saddle with the agility of an athlete. Turning about and giving her a farewell salute and a cheeky, knowing wink—a playful, frivolous gesture that infuriated Belle further—he galloped off into the night.
Seething with rage, her heart pounding in her chest, Belle watched the animal speed along, matching the wind over the narrow road. His hooves flashed like quicksilver in a brief spot of light, and his coat glistened as the muscles beneath it rolled and heaved. She did not move or utter a sound until the thief’s muffled laughter and the hoof beats could be heard no more.
Quickly releasing the footmen and the coachman and assured that they had not been molested in any way—while concealing her anger at their incompetence, for to her mind their pistols should have been loaded and cocked in the likelihood of such an event occurring—her face as hard and expressionless as a mask, she ordered them to take their positions on the coach.
Picking up her cloak, quivering with outrage and deeply shock by what had happened—and slightly bewildered, for something about the robbery and the highwayman did not make sense—Belle climbed inside the coach. The consequences of the theft of the jewels were too dreadful to contemplate.
How was she to tell her grandmother? They meant so much to her, not to mention their value. Dear Lord, this was a calamity—a disaster. Her grandmother would be livid, and rightly so. She should not have been wearing them in the first place. Even if the robbery was reported first thing in the morning, the thief would be far away by then so it would be difficult to apprehend him. And if he was apprehended, he would already have disposed of them.
They arrived home without further incident. Not until Belle was in bed did she give free rein to her thoughts. She was relieved her grandmother was still in town and had not been party to the ordeal she had suffered. Grandmother didn’t intend returning until the following afternoon, so she had a reprieve until then. But she would have to be told eventually. There was no way of escaping that.
Tossing and turning and unable to sleep, she went over and over in her mind what had happened. There had been something about the thief that was familiar. But what? It bothered her and she couldn’t shake it off. Then a strangled gasp emitted from her and she shot bolt upright as a multitude of thoughts chased themselves inside her head—a pair of familiar blue eyes glinted down at her as he danced her about the floor. A deep voice tinged with laughter as he lowered his eyes to her neck and said if I want something, I take it.
In the space of five seconds, all these memories collided head on with the reality of what had happened on the road. And something else. The scent the thief wore—the faint smell of his cologne when he had stood directly behind her to remove the necklace—was the same scent that had assailed her earlier, when she had been dancing with Lance Bingham.
Flinging herself out of bed in a tempestuous fury, she paced the carpet, unable to believe what she was thinking, unable to contain it. She remembered the moment when he had stood behind her and caressed her neck, when she had thought … What? What had she thought? That he wanted to touch her, that he desired her?
Oh, fool, fool that she was. Why, that arrogant lord had merely been checking the clasp on the necklace, familiarising himself with it, to make it easier for him to remove. He had set out to use her to get the necklace. Why he should want to eluded her for the moment, but she would find out.
The blackguard! The audacity and the gentlemanly courtesy with which he had demanded that she part with her valuables was astounding. There was no doubt in her mind that he was the thief. The man she had met at Carlton House had turned into the Devil when determination to steal the necklace had removed all semblance of civility from him, frightening her half to death. But he wouldn’t get away with it. Oh, no. She would see to that.
Every nerve in her body clenched against the onslaught