“There you are,” she said to Lucy. “Your party is set to leave so that you may reach the inn before nightfall. Your father is concerned about your whereabouts. You should bid Henry goodbye.”
Lucy stood and curtsied awkwardly to Henry. “Farewell, Friday. Perhaps we will meet again someday.”
He stood and bowed stiffly. “Perhaps.”
She ducked from the room, but Charlotte continued to eye him. “Are you coming?”
He sat down again. Charlotte held him in her gaze a moment longer. “I see. I will save supper for you, then.”
She closed the panel and he heard her footsteps pad away. Left again to solitude, he remained in his fortress until long after the guests had departed. However, his thoughts kept returning to the odd but engaging Lucy, daughter of the heir to a dukedom and fellow exile. He even smiled.
Chapter One
June 1816, Shooter’s Hill, England
Lucy had never intended to become a highwayman.
She had, however, become terribly lost. As a result, she sat astride a horse alongside three disreputable men in a huddle of trees just below the crest of Shooter’s Hill, while waiting for the world to explode.
“Chin up, Lucy Locket.”
She raised her eyes to find Steadman regarding her with a rakish grin. Though two years past thirty, her longtime guardian retained the devastating looks that had earned him the title of Beau Monde Highwayman and the admiration of women of all classes. His smile, however, remained powerless against Lucy.
“You promised,” she said with accusation.
His eyebrows arched slowly. “This again?”
“Yes, this again.” She prodded her mount nearer to his and lowered her voice. “The day you found me at the river, you swore me an oath. In exchange for my compliance, you would never again engage in highway robbery. Was it just a lie? To a lost child?”
Steadman glanced sidelong at his accomplices, who tried to pretend disinterest in the conversation. His mirth fled. “Circumstances change, girl. Lord Colvin championed the new game laws. Now, a poor man wishing to prevent his family from starving can be transported halfway across the world to a prison colony, simply for snaring a pheasant. It is our ethical duty to liberate a horde of gold from that heartless lord, to distribute among those he seeks to starve.”
“Can we not burgle empty country houses as we did some years ago? Or find other methods of parting callous gentlefolk from their riches?”
He shook his head. “No, my dear. Such ventures produce lightly and jeopardize greatly. If I am to risk the gallows, I must do so in pursuit of a small fortune.”
She presented her cheek to him as anger knotted her jaw.
“Do not grit your teeth, Lucy,” he chided gently. “The expression is far too masculine for one as fair as you.”
She exhaled a huff of breath. “Why did you insist on bringing me along, then? Why not leave me in the wilds of Dartmoor as you always have?”
“Truth?”
“Truth.”
He crossed his hands over the saddle and leaned toward her. “I was afraid that when I returned, you would be gone.”
“Gone? Why now? Why after all these years?”
His smile returned, wistful this time. “Because you are a grown woman now. Nearly one and twenty. Because I have taught you how to survive, and you have proved an excellent pupil. Because I have seen the yearning in your eyes of late.”
“Yearning?” Her eyes widened in surprise. Had he guessed her thoughts? “What yearning?”
“To be free. Free of me. Free of my associates. Free of the excuse of a life I have given you.” His ever-present smile became a memory. “I am sorry, Lucy.”
She blinked rapidly. “For…for what?”
Before he could answer, Steadman’s eyes flicked away and his body tensed. The unmistakable clatter of carriage wheels drew nearer. He motioned sharply to his mates, who readied their horses. Then he leaned once more toward her.
