Her crochet hook.
Feeling a little dizzy, Amelia clasped her hand around the familiar needle.
“I cannot hand over my daughter.” Her father sighed, frowning. “But I can give you a bank note.”
The highwayman scoffed. “Do I look like a fool to you?” He beckoned with his fingers again and Amelia found herself staring at those hands. Big, capable hands, somehow elegant despite being covered with white scars, crisscrossed and random.
Imagining how he got them turned her blood cold. Now was not the time to admire any aspect of her would-be captor.
“I can’t go with you,” she said. “I… I…”
“You aren’t going anywhere, Daughter.” Her father hesitated, looking defeated. “I have some coin.”
But when he moved to open the bench, he was pushed backwards and, in a flash, the highwayman had the knife pressed against her father’s neck. He didn’t draw blood, but the knife sliced right through the fabric of her father’s cravat.
The highwayman was making a point. He was willing to resort to violence if necessary.
In all her life, she’d never seen such terror in her father’s eyes.
“Wait! Don’t hurt him!” Amelia scrambled forward at the same time she tucked her crochet hook into the cuff of her sleeve. “I’ll go with you!”
“No! Amelia, get away from him. My good man, we’ll give you everything, but you cannot take—” Her father’s voice cracked when the robber’s hand gripped Amelia’s wrist. She tried jerking it away, but his grasp only tightened, and a fuzzy silence roared in her ears. It was as though she was watching a play. The carriage was scenery and the words from a script.
The man released her father, pushing him back down onto the bench, so that he could draw her closer.
The highwayman’s next words, however, left everyone involved looking confused.
“I won’t hurt her.” How could he sound so reassuring? He was stealing her away from her parents! “Just keep her for a spell.”
“But she’ll be ruined!” Her mother was the first to gather her wits.
The highwayman’s eyes, if possible, turned even blacker. “I’ll keep her safe.”
“Why should I believe anything you would say? Who the devil are you?” her father asked, looking completely helpless even after the robber released him. “Does this have something to do with Crossings?”
The hand grasping Amelia’s wrist momentarily loosened and then tightened again. And, still wrapped in that detached feeling, Amelia watched the hulk of a man’s throat move before he finally answered.
“Crossings?” The attempt at ignorance was hardly convincing.
“The duke’s behind this, isn’t he?”
Without answering, the highwayman tugged on Amelia’s wrist. For a second, she considered fighting him. But only for a second. At least four other horses were dancing around outside. He’d not overtaken them alone.
Even if hehad beenalone, she was fairly certain he could win out against her father and their driver.
Fighting wasn’t the answer. And yet her body resisted that tug. When those dark-as-night eyes held her gaze, she did not look away.
“Do I have your word? You won’t hurt me?” None of this made sense. The Duke of Crossings was her father’s friend. Why would he send a highwayman after them?
“No, Amelia,” her father protested. “You can’t.” But his voice sounded defeated.
Unwavering, she waited for the stranger’s answer. “Your word, sir?”
Those dark eyes seemed to soften. “I won’t hurt you.”
“On your honor?”
And just like that, any softness was gone, like a candle snuffed. “I said I won’t hurt you,” he snapped.
