Izzy’s heart gave several panicked thuds before she realised she was looking at the man they called Boreas. He ran the smuggling gang in these parts, and she had seen him once before when in company with her father. Now, as then, he wore all black, leather belts that held pistols slung around his narrow hips and broad shoulders lurking beneath the heavy black cloak, the hood of which almost covered his face.
“Boreas,” Izzy said, rather impressed that her voice only trembled a little.
“You remember me.” There was amusement in his voice.
Izzy snorted. “I’m hardly likely to forget.”
At that, he pushed back the hood, and Izzy’s breath snagged in her throat. Lord, but she had forgotten how handsome he was. His icy blue eyes were startling, penetrating, giving her the impression he saw through her and could read her thoughts. It was not the least bit comfortable. Especially not as their last meeting had been the inspiration of far too many romantic daydreams.
Amusement flickered in that cool blue, making the situation increasingly awkward.
“Unforgettable, am I?”
As her discomfort multiplied tenfold, Izzy felt her cheeks turn a dull red. Indignation came to the rescue. “Well, leaping out at unsuspecting people from the woods is bound to leave an impression,” she replied tartly.
He laughed at that, and to her chagrin she found herself charmed by the sound, deep and merry. It seemed genuine and he appeared honestly pleased by her scolding.
“Quite so, Miss Honey. I beg you will forgive my rag manners. I rarely speak with nice young ladies.”
“Miss Honeywell,”Izzy corrected, though she felt certain he knew her name well enough. “What kind of ladies do you speak with, then?”
She winced the moment the words left her mouth. When would she learn to curb her unruly tongue?
He grinned, even white teeth gleaming. “I have a message for your father, if you would be so good as to deliver it for me?”
“Certainly.”
She knew her father had dealings with the smugglers and saw no reason why she ought not.
He nodded approvingly. “Captain Underwood has been making life very difficult. The good captain and his men seem to be everywhere, all at once. He has been given a tip off, however, to ensure he is where we wish him to be on the twenty-first of the month.”
“And where might that be?” Izzy wondered if he would say, or if she was an idiot for even asking, but he only smiled at her.
“Winsham Woods, which is why I am telling you, as the vicarage is close by. Tell your father not to be alarmed if he hears a disturbance. It will only be me, leading our fine captain a merry dance.”
Izzy’s heart, already in a state of anxiety, lurched at this information. She did not like the idea of Captain Underwood hunting this man through the woods. It would not just be the captain and Boreas either. Underwood had dozens of men at his back, whereas it seemed Boreas would be alone.
“You?Just you? But… isn’t that dangerous? He means to see you dead, sir.”
He regarded her with interest, rubbing absently at his chin as Izzy noted the number of rings on his long fingers, the jewels sparkling even on such a dull day. “Ah, my dear Miss Honey, many have tried, some even believe they succeeded, but as yet I still live and breathe.”
Izzy clutched her arms about her middle, suddenly feeling a chill of foreboding at his blithe disregard for his own safety.
“Yes, and for how much longer if you do such reckless things? Underwood is said to be an excellent shot.”
He took a step closer, and Izzy’s breath caught. Though he loomed over her, this man who was an outlaw, who carried pistols and was undoubtedly dangerous, she did not feel threatened nor afraid. Well, notpreciselyafraid. There was something fizzing in her blood, a sensation in her stomach that fluttered and made heat surge beneath her skin, but she did not think it was fear.
“Are you worried for me, Miss Honey?”
“Honeywell,” Izzy repeated, aware she sounded breathless, hypnotised by his bright blue eyes as he stared down at her, by the warm, mischievous tenor of his deep voice.
His fingers touched her chin, lifting her face to his. “I like your glasses. They make you look like a sweet little owl. Wise and solemn.”
Izzy blinked. He must be teasing her. No gentlemen liked glasses. Yet there was sincerity in his gaze, this strange man who evaded the law.
“Yes,” Izzy said, belatedly remembering his question, which was a marvel really, as her brain had turned to treacle under the intensity of his gaze.
The wind picked up again, stirring his fair hair, and she breathed in the scent of him, horses and the sea, the scent of cold air and the musky tang of a vigorous male body.
