Page 47 of The Highwayman's Bite

“Precisely.” He tied a scarf around the companion’s eyes.

When he lifted Renarde, he noticed with a pang of alarm that the stout lady’s companion was quite a bit lighter than she’d been when he abducted her. He hoped he hadn’t waited too long in deciding to send her back. As he ran with his preternatural speed, he also worried about the toll the chill wind took on her.

Halfway to Blackpool, he stopped near an inn and removed Renarde’s blindfold. “We both need rest and sustenance.”

The companion nodded, her ashen countenance alarmed him. At the inn, Rhys ordered a cup of hot tea, soup, and a tot of brandy to warm her. While she ate, he found an easy meal in a shadowy corner, where a drunk dozed in a chair.

Although Rhys knew they should resume their journey, he wanted to give Renarde more time to warm her chilled bones.

“When did you realize that you were meant to be a female?” he asked.

Renarde laughed. “Everyone who knows my secret asks me, and Vivian is one of the only people I’ve told. But very well, since I know your secrets, you may as well hear some of mine.” She coughed and swallowed another spoonful of soup before she continued. “My father was a cruel, hard man. He wanted me to be the epitome of manhood, hard, unfeeling, and violent. Though I excelled in my fencing lessons, I failed in all other things. I loved poetry, music, and keeping the company of my mother, sisters, and female cousins. With them, I felt accepted for who I was.”

“Your father sounds like he was an ass,” Rhys said. He hadn’t been particularly close with his own, either.

“He was. The first time my father caught me trying to learn embroidery from my sister, he thrashed me soundly and then forced me to wear a dress for the rest of the day.” Madame Renarde smirked as if holding a secret triumph. “He thought I cried from the humiliation, but I cried because Mama was distraught over it. Dressing me as a girl became his preferred punishment for whenever I behaved in what he deemed a feminine manner. But something strange happened. I felt so much more comfortable in women’s clothing than in shirtwaists and breeches.”

Rhys suppressed a shudder at her father’s cruel punishment. If his father had forced him to dress like a girl, he would have despised it. He was glad that the cruel action backfired in Renarde’s case.

“During one such incident, my sister smuggled me out of my room while Papa went hunting for boar. She took me to her chamber and adorned my face most prettily with her paints, rogue, and kohl. Then she placed one of her powdered wigs on my head.” Renarde beamed at the memory. “She thought it was quite the lark, but when I looked in her mirror, I saw the beautiful maiden reflected before me and thought, ‘this is who I am supposed to be.’”

Rhys thought of how he’d felt when he first stood on the deck of a ship. Probably a poor comparison, but that was the closest he could come to relating.

Renarde continued her story. “We then went to call on one of her friends. My sister introduced me as her cousin, and we had a lovely time. Never had I felt so natural and free.” Her smile dissolved into a frown. “But it wasn’t until later when I was able to live my life as I wished. I was at a fencing club when I met Le Chevalier D’Eon. Her story was a revelation. We became constant sparring partners and close friends and she told me of how she’d first lived as a woman in the Russian court, acting as a spy. She then managed to secure me a position working for the King of France before she was exiled to England. I lived and worked as a woman, but my duties became too rigorous as I got older and the pneumonia afflicted me further. When the revolution began, I fled to England, but sadly, there was no royal pension for me as there was for Le Chevalier. So I hired myself out as a lady’s companion and that is how I came to be with Miss Stratford.”

Rhys couldn’t help but note that Renarde never clarified what her royal duties had been. Likely a spy, as D’Eon had been. But he saw no need to pry. Just like his days as a royally-sanctioned pirate, Renarde’s exploits were buried in the past.

He looked at the clock and realized with a jolt of alarm that they’d lingered too long. “I’m sorry, but we must go now.”

Renarde lifted her chin bravely, but Rhys could hear the pounding of her heart. She was afraid of how Blackpool would treat her. Unfortunately, there was nothing to be done about it.

He carried Vivian’s companion all the way to the edge of Blackpool’s territory. When he set her down, guilt knotted his stomach as he told her she’d have to walk the rest of the way.

“Don’t look so crestfallen,” Renarde said with a smirk. “I may be ill, but I hardly think a mile’s walk should do me in. When this debacle is all over, you truly should try to live a more respectable life. I’m afraid being a villain doesn’t suit your constitution.”

“You may be right about that.” Once his family had their home restored, Rhys had originally intended to leave England and undertake the daunting quest to find a Lord Vampire willing to legitimize him. But he’d thrown away that hope when he’d told Vivian that her uncle was a vampire. For that crime, Blackpool would hunt him to the ends of the earth and execute him.

Renarde brought his attention back to the present. “Promise me you’ll keep Vivian safe.”

Rhys placed his hand over his heart and bowed. “I promise.”

Yet as he returned to the cave, where he’d be spending Lord-knew-how-long in close quarters with a tempting, spirited beauty, Rhys wondered if he could keep her safe from himself.

***

AN HOUR BEFORE DAWN, Aldric was preparing to retire for the day when he heard footsteps pounding up the stairs. His heart quickened with hope. Had Vivian been found? Frantic knocking assaulted the door of his study.

“Enter,” he called, wishing he could have run to the door and flung it open. But that was unseemly for a viscount.

“My lord!” Jeffries burst in, panting with exhaustion. “It’s the companion!” He gasped and braced his hand on the doorframe.

Aldric’s eyes widened with alarm at the gray pallor of the elderly footman’s face. Tamping down the urge to demand the man keep talking, he gestured to the seat before his desk. “Sit down, Jeffries and catch your breath.”

He poured his servant a glass of wine and wrestled with his impatience as Jeffries recovered from his dash up the stairs.

“What’s this about the companion?” he asked when color returned to the footman’s face. “Do you mean Madame Renarde has returned?”

“Yes, my lord!” Jeffries bobbed his head frantically. “I found her staggering down the drive. She’s very ill, I’m afraid. Burning with fever and suffering the most terrible cough.”

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