Lucy led the way across the shallow creek and into a stand of trees clinging to the far bank. When she could no longer hear the water, she halted the horses in a tiny clearing beneath a ring of stately birches. Without waiting for Henry, she dismounted, unsaddled her mount, and began relieving the packhorse of its burden. He stepped forward to help with the heavy leather bags packed with gold coins.
“A question nags me,” he said while lifting a bag.
“Oh?”
“Where did you learn to handle a rapier?”
She chuckled. “A foil, actually, although the rapier is quite similar. I learned from Steadman. His associates are, shall I say, less than civil. He required that I know how to handle a blade in the event that a guest decided to take liberties with me.”
“Steadman? Sir Steadman? The Beau Monde Highwayman has returned, then?”
Lucy blanched. She had betrayed her mentor without thinking, condemned him perhaps. Henry appeared to notice her dismay. A hint of a smile warmed his face, further revealing his handsome features.
“Bow Street suspected as much. It was just such a rumor that brought us to Shooter’s Hill.”
She found unexpected solace in his words. “Oh.”
He narrowed his eyes with apparent and surprising concern. “And did any of Sir Steadman’s associates ever…take liberties?”
“Never. They were all too fearful of him to consider such a notion. In fact, today was the first time I have used a blade against anyone in earnest.”
“I see. That explains it.”
“Explains what.”
“Your inferior form. Your balestra was timid and your parry was late.”
She cocked her head and smirked. “And yet I disarmed you.”
“Only because you took me by surprise.”
“Or, sir, perhaps you require additional practice. What would your noble friends say if they knew a woman had bested you with a sword?”
His grin faded to a scowl. “They would say that we should sleep now, because first light comes far too soon.”
Lucy laughed, reveling in her minor victory. She spread blankets on the soil across the clearing from where he laid his. After they had bundled inside their respective coverings and fallen silent for a time, she could not resist one final taunt.
“I have my rapier at hand. If you wish another bout, simply shout ‘en garde!’ Then I shall know you are ready and cannot be taken by surprise.”
“Duly noted,” he replied sleepily. “However, I wonder if the surprises have only just begun.”
…
As Henry lay in his bedroll on the borderlands of sleep, a distant memory came to him unbidden, one he had not thought of in years. It was from a decade earlier, the week after his brother had banished him to live with his sister, Charlotte, in Oxfordshire. Despite the kind welcome he had received from Charlotte and her family, he had remained sullen and reserved. When a marquess had arrived unexpectedly with his young daughter, Lady Margaret Huntington, Henry had slipped into the hidden room behind the library for refuge. Before long, the girl had burst into his fortress like a surge of light to dispel his darkness and had insisted he call her Lucy. Henry shook his head at the memory of that Lucy from another time. She was markedly different than his present companion, so ladylike in her manner. Before drifting off to sleep, he thought with regret of her tragic death only days after their long-ago meeting.
Chapter Four
At mid-morning, Henry and his intriguing traveling mate met up with the Dover highway near the outskirts of London. Lucy remained unusually quiet, apparently deep in thought. Once on the safety of the well-traveled thoroughfare, Henry relaxed somewhat. He watched Lucy’s unkempt braid sway back and forth as she rode ahead of him. She slouched in her saddle, a picture of defeat.
“Do you despise me, then,” he said, “for throwing cold water on your well-laid plan?”
She glanced across her shoulder, dark eyes defiant. “No. I despised you well before that. Your information is simply a disastrous complication. However, I have a new plan but one that still involves you, much to my chagrin.”
He spurred his horse to draw alongside her. “You require my help, you say?”
“Yes. Do not gloat. It does not suit you.”
“I never gloat, but revel from time to time. Regardless, why would I willingly help an associate of thieves?”
