Page 9 of Her Wicked Highwayman
“Do ye have a husband waiting for ye at home, lass?”
“Yes.”
He grinned. “So ye arna married. What about brothers?” He removed his gloves and tossed them onto a nearby table.
“A dozen,” she said. “Rather large and angry ones. They will destroy you if you dare touch me.”
“Another lie, kitten. You seem to be as alone as I am in this world.” His Scottish burr came out in a seductive purr.
“I amnotalone,” she argued, even though the flash of old pain at the truth stung. She’d never let him see that, never.
The Scotsman pulled her to her feet, so they were standing before each other. “Ach, but that’s the biggest lie of all, lassie. Ye are alone. Like calls to like, ye see. There is a deep longing in yer lovely brown eyes. Looking at ye makes me feel warm.” He reached up to stroke her arms, as if to warm her, not seduce her, and she realized she had started to shiver again. “But it seems ye are still half-frozen.”
Tyburn released her and knelt by the fireplace to start a fire in the hearth. She stared down at his bent head and wondered if she could find something heavy to knock him out with, perhaps one of the logs in the iron stand beside him? No, she’d have to reach past him to get to it. Before she could locate a different weapon in the room, he was standing again and had taken her hand, lifting it to his lips.
“There’s only one way to get ye warm, lass. It’s time we get ye out of these clothes.” He kissed her hand and then removed hersoaked shawl, letting it fall to the floor in a damp heap. The cool air around her shoulders and neck made her shiver even harder.
“Please...,” she begged as he unfastened the front of her gown. This was one of her easier dresses to travel in—the blue velvet could be done up the front and required no maid. But it left her feeling vulnerable to stare at his masked face as his fingers delicately slid buttons through slits.
“I willna hurt ye,” he said, sounding both amused and exasperated. “I havena forced a woman to my bed yet, and I willna start now.”
“You are a man,” she whispered. “It’s in your nature to hurt women.”
His hand stilled. “Have ye been hurt before, lass?” he asked, his voice holding a hint of quiet rage that she didn’t understand.
Flashes of memory filled her head. Hands touching her, clawing at her clothing. After her father had died, a number of local men had believed her easy prey, either for rape or ruination so that she would have to marry them. But she’d avoided falling into either trap.
He caught her chin and turned her face so that he could see her eyes again. “Who hurt ye? Give me a name, lass, and I’ll put a bullet through the bastard’s heart.” His voice was a low growl, so full of a menace that she hadn’t expected that her eyes flashed wider with fear.
“I wasn’t hurt. I wasn’t,” she insisted when he seemed to doubt her. “Most women aren’t raised to defend themselves, but for me, it’s second nature to swing a fist.” She thought back to the man who’d tried to assault her as she rode home from the market one afternoon. She’d punched him so hard he’d fallen right off his horse and lay stunned in the road as she’d ridden off.
“Ye havena flung a fist toward me yet, lass,” he said with a smug smile.
“Give me a good reason, and I certainly shall.”
Unbothered by her threat, he grinned back at her, the silence between them charged with something too strange and exciting for her to name. The moment was broken when her teeth started to chatter again. He cursed under his breath and grasped her shoulders, pushing her toward the fire he’d started. When her back was to the warm flames, heating her body, he resumed unbuttoning her gown until it draped away from her. She clutched her arms to her chest. Without a word, he gently pried her fingers away, and the velvet cloth of her dress dropped down over her hips to the floor. He tugged at the ties that kept her petticoats fastened until they too fell to the floor. She now wore nothing more than her chemise and stays.
“These are too wet for ye, lass. They’ll need to come off as well.”
He gently turned her around, letting the front of her body feel the kiss of the fire’s warmth. His fingers touched the laces of her stays.
“Please don’t take my necklace,” she said as the stays around her breasts loosened.
He slid a hand down her collarbone from behind, then moved his hand past her breasts and into the valley of her bosom until he found the necklace just below the undersides of her breasts, where it rested against the stays that hugged her lower ribs. She flinched as he lifted the necklace out from beneath her clothing. He didn’t try to grope or touch her; he simply held on to the pearl and its chain as he pulled it out from her clothing.
“What value does it hold for ye?” he whispered, his breath tickling her neck. The sensation washed over her and lit a fire inside her before she reminded herself what was at stake. He held the necklace between them, and her breath caught at the sight of something that mattered so much to her.
“It was my mother’s.”
“Ahh...,” he said. “I’m sure she can give ye another one.”
“No, she can’t. She is dead, and I sold everything of hers except for that necklace.” She nodded at the pearl resting on his palm.
Tyburn was quiet. His sparkling blue eyes were unreadable in their intensity.
“Verra well, I will let ye keep it.”
She reached for it, but he pulled his hand back.
