Page 18 of Hunted By the Headless Horseman
We’ve strayed from the grave site. Once again, he’s offered me his arm, and we walk among the desolate areas of his grounds. All these gardens must have once been opulent and beautiful. Now, they are an expression of despair. I brush my fingers along the withering blooms as our footsteps echo along the cracked cobblestone pathways
I can’t help but smile as he shares how he excelled at every skill from riding to fencing, to shooting and art. “A Jack of all trades,” I remark.
He pats the back of my hand with his.And a master of everything.Naturally, I went through a rebellious phase, drinking and spending more time in brothels. But I grew bored quickly.
We enter a grove with broken arches. Chunks of shattered marble riddle the overgrown paths.
The carnal dominance in me led me to become a highwayman, targeting only the wealthiest landowners, especially those who owned slaves.His voice grows heavy with a sense of loss, but there is a bitter undertone.With my old wealth, I paid fair wages to my workers and used my ill-gotten gains to help the poor. The Industrial Revolution had ravaged America, with poverty and slavery rampant. My mother’s early death left me with Black nannies who instilled in me a hunger for justice—a hunger that matched my need for dominance…and even violence.
I became thePhantom.
I lift my head from his shoulder but don’t betray my sense of amusement. Especially because it would not have been considered cliche in his era. He would have been a classic.
I was master of stealth and disguise, my Belle. The Phantom’s reputation was that of a ghost who could slip in and out of places without a trace. I never told anyone of my deeds or revealed my identity. My public persona was merely a facade, my mask as it were.
“Were you charming?” I squeeze his hand.
A dark chuckle echoes in my mind. Charming, charismatic, well-respected…and laudable rumors of dastardly behavior with the ladies. I often attended or hosted lavish parties. I met my future wife at one such party.
I don’t know why I draw my shoulders up tight. Or why my breath thins.
Jack pauses and cups my chin with his gloved hand, then brushes his knuckles along my cheek, kindling my nerves.She was nothing like you, sweet Belle. Catherine was a force of nature, enchanting every man in the room. Flirtatious. Intoxicating. Stubborn and strong-willed. I was bewitched by her strength and allure and longed for the challenge of capturing such a woman. I pursued her with a subtle persistence. Stolen moments when she was alone, where I drove her against the closest wall and kissed her with possession and passion before disappearing, leaving her winded and longing for more. I am quite skilled at the art of seduction.
Blushing, I bite my lower lip. “I never could have guessed.”
He continues walking, and we approach an old bridge with moss clothing the stones. The path beyond leads to a winding stone stairway, with crude twisted tree branches as a railing.
Though I broke with her father, who was more than receptive to my offer of marriage, I made it clear that I was to pursue Catherine in secret. Let all, including herself, believe she was still unattached.
He leads me across the stone bridge, and I poke his side playfully. “You drove her mad, didn’t you?”
I drove her near out of her wits. It was quite amusing at parties when she would steal more than her fair share of glances at me. How she flirted more with other interested men when I was near. She would make come-hither statements and references to her dance card being so full, but she could fit in one more if I thus desired. I would decline,then hunt her through the gardens and capture her there for a private dance.
Misplaced jealousy heats my cheeks at the knowledge of how he hunted a woman before me. My skin feels itchy, and I reprimand my thoughts, clinging to him, to his words instead.
After a month of courtship, we were married. You might believe matrimony and children would have lessened my highwayman proclivity, but it only grew. Despite my fulfillment as a husband and father, such a lifestyle required great control. The Phantom was my way of unleashing the darker side of my persona. My wife knew of my more depraved desires, ones she heartily embraced, but she never knew I was the Phantom.
We travel up the stone staircase that leads to a ruined Grecian-themed garden with fractured cherubs that once cascaded water from marble bowls. The water is now grimy and dark.
“It’s like you walked off the pages of a dark Gothic fairy tale.”
Jack pauses, turns his body to mine, and takes my hips in his able hands. My stomach flutters, and a chill rushes up my spine.Don’t romanticize me, Belle. I was never a saint. I was flawed as any man. Violence drove many of my actions. I had to end lives to protect my secrets, and I paid off guards to look the other way. To them, I was just Jackson Moore, an avid rider and hunter.
“I’m sorry, Jack. I didn’t mean?—”
He touches his gloved fingers to my lips, cutting off my words.Another moment where I would stop your lips with a kiss, my sweet Belle. I understand you have a…longing for the darker and sadder natures of the world, but I ask you not to consider me a hero. Your analogy of Heathcliff is closer.
I don’t tell him it’s more than a longing. The darker tragedies give me life. The meaning, the beauty in torment, the forbidden danger and seduction…all of it is irresistible. Something that drew me to escape my stifling upbringing and seek the woods with a book in my hand. The older I grew, the harder it was to escape. So, I kept my darker needs hidden in my heart.
I suppose we have something in common.
Shaking out my thoughts, I focus on him and touch my palmto the unbuttoned collar of his shirt, letting my fingers coast along the tattooed skin.
I am nothing less than a failure, Belle. I robbed the wrong man—a baron with carte blanche and immense power.My heart aches as I sense the worst of his history unfolding.
Moreover, he was once my good friend. But he was also a rival for Catherine. He doggedly pursued her in public, making his courtship of her known as well as his offer of marriage and a lavish lifestyle with the title of baroness. But Catherine rejected him, preferring my secret entrapment to his public profession of love and offers of class and title. She would have been his trophy, the art in his frame.
But she wasmywoman, my wild girl I wanted to capture but never wished to tame, and the mother of my children.
