Page 26 of Her Wicked Highwayman
“Rafe, that isn’t true. I would have helped you, but I didn’t want to simply toss money at you when you were younger and more reckless. I didn’t want you to end up like...” Ashton cut himself off, but Rafe knew what he meant to say.
“Like Father,” Rafe replied, his voice hollow. “Let’s not talk of the past, Ash. I’ve had enough of it as it is.”
“I agree. You’ve changed over the last few years, especially since Isla has come into your life, and I want to help you. Tell me what you’re thinking of.”
There was no avoiding this talk—Rafe knew his brother too well. He let out a sigh. “I wish to invest in something, but to invest smartly,” he began. “Something that will produce a reliable income for myself and for Isla. I also wish to put some money aside each month to create a dowry for Isla. Not that I will ever allow her to marry, no man is good enough for my child, but she could use the money as she wishes when she’s old enough.”
Ashton sipped his scotch and studied the fire, thinking on Rafe’s words.
“Well, we could put some money in the consuls to start, but you would need a fair amount to invest to expect solid returns. How much do you have ready to invest?”
“Not much at the moment, but by the end of the year I hope to possess a thousand pounds?” Rafe estimated he couldsteal that much if he, Will, and Caspian spread their territory wider and worked even harder. They’d mastered their system over the years to target wealthy travelers by paying tavern maids and stable boys for information. Maids and stable hands were always ignored, and yet they saw everything, especially casks of gold coins or fat purses. As long as they continued in their good sources of information, he and his friends could acquire more money again.
“A thousand? How will you acquire such funds?” Ashton braced his arms on the sides of his chair and leaned forward. “Would you take out a loan, or bring in another investor?”
“I think loans are a terrible idea, as is bringing in another investor,” Rafe replied. He knew Ashton too well. If Rafe said he wanted either of those, Ashton might well browbeat him into taking money from him, and he was done with that. Not that he’d ever been given much to begin with, but Ash had been pushing funds at Rafe ever since he’d taken Isla as his ward. Rafe had reluctantly agreed to take a little money early on for a few dresses and some toys, but now he wished to care for his daughter all on his own as he found that his pride would not let him take another shilling from his older brother.
“I will find a way to raise the funds. When I have them... would you counsel me on how best to invest it?” It wasn’t easy to ask his elder brother for advice, but he knew Ashton was the best man for it.
Ashton nodded. “Of course, but Rafe, youcouldhave the money. I would give it to you at once.”
Rafe shifted restlessly in his chair, old painful memories resurfacing. Ashton shouting at him, slamming doors, demand letters from the butcher, the modiste, the tailor tossed at him in a shower of unpaid bills.
“No,” Rafe said firmly. If he’d learned anything in his life it was that the people he loved thought he took advantage ofthem when all he’d ever needed was a little help and a little trust. His mother, Thomasina, Ashton, and even young Joanna had all given up on him or turned him away when he needed them most. As much as his mother’s rejection hurt, he could at least understand the reasons behind it. But Joanna had been too young to remember why she didn’t trust him, and she’d never understood why she still instinctively shied away from him. Ashton had never once let him explain, never once gave him a moment of compassion. Until now... and now it was simplyfar too late.
Ashton let out a heavy sigh, finished his scotch, and stood.
“Very well, but my offer stands. If you do acquire the funds you wish to invest, I will be here for you.”
“Thank you,” Rafe said, his throat unbearably tight.
I will be here for you. Those words might have saved his soul once upon a time, but now they had come too late. He was stuck with the man he was, not who he might have been, and it was up to him to work his way to something better. Even if it was through the unwilling purses of others.
He waited until he heard the bedchamber door close, then leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees, covering his face with his palms. He started to shudder. Tears dampened his palms as he tried to rein in his emotions.
He did not cry. Not now. Never again.
He was not a boy anymore. He was a man...
He dashed the tears away and got up to pace back and forth by the fireplace. After a moment, he removed a small silver-covered box from the mantel and opened it. There amidst the precious keepsakes of his life lay the freshwater pearl pendant he’d hidden a few hours before. He cupped the pearl in his palm and closed his eyes. He recalled how the pearl’s owner had looked as she turned in his arms, almost bare of clothing, moonlight illuminating her skin as she gazed at him withinnocence and trust. She seemed now to be more dream than reality.
She’d been alone, soveryalone. He had seen it in her eyes. That quiet despair, that hunger for a gentle touch, that desire for any sign of affection or desire. Lord, he had seen his own soul in her eyes. He’d felt no prick of Cupid’s foolish arrows, but rather the piercing agony of having his own soul laid bare to hers and surrendering all to a stranger he could not even name. If he were to live a thousand years, he knew with bittersweet certainty he would not know such beautiful anguish as belonging toherever again.
Rafe sighed in the dark and placed the pearl back in the box of keepsakes, nestled beside his mother’s locket and a small pocket watch that had once belonged to his father.
He had hidden both away when his mother and brother had insisted on selling everything of value in the weeks following his father’s death. It was sentimental of him to hold on to such things, he knew, but it was all he had left of life before. The life where he had killed his father.
CHAPTER 6
The full moon was like a heavy pearl hanging amid low-lying clouds. Moonlight played with the shadows upon the open road. It was aperfectnight to rob a coach.
Diana held the reins of her horse, the same one she’d stolen from Tyburn, and glanced at the men on either side of her who waited for her signal. Matthew and Luke, her two loyal footmen.
“Ready?” she asked them. Her heart swelled with a fierce, sisterly love. When she’d asked them to be a part of this scheme to save Foxglove, they’d agreed without a second thought.
“Oxford reporting for duty,” Matthew said with an Irish accent that honestly could use a bit of work. His smile shone white in the darkness of the trees where they lay in wait.
“Cambridge is ready to follow you to the gates of hell.” Luke, on the other hand, sounded quite perfectly Welsh. They would use the same names Tyburn and his crew used in the hopes the people they robbed would assume they were the same men.
