“Any…particular one?”
“The Gentle Rogue.”
Covering her spike of apprehension with a scoff, Lucy had replied, “What a ridiculous notion.I hope you told himThe Midnight Rideris a work of fiction bearing no relation to any real highwaymen, living or dead!”
“Of course.”Mr.Singh had puffed agitatedly at his pipe for a moment until fragrant smoke wreathed his head.“And I didn’t give him your name, either.Said I didn’t know it, got the chapters in by post, sent payments the same way.Not sure he believed me.”
They had decided it was best Lucy not come to the print shop in person again, at least for a time, and Lucy had departed the shop feeling as though everyone she passed in the street was watching her every move.
But no one had approached her, and gradually she had relaxed.After all, she’d told herself, it wasn’t likely that any rational person would think her Midnight Rider could actually lead them to The Gentle Rogue.
After the first few articles she’d written, years ago in her little bedchamber at Five Mile House, Lucy had switched over from writing (admittedly sensationalized) accounts of The Gentle Rogue’s adventures to fiction.
She had dreamed up her highwayman character’s exploits, his personal history and tangled relationships, entirely out of her own imagination.
All right, so The Midnight Rider bore more than a passing resemblance to The Gentle Rogue.They haunted the same stretch of highway and shared some of the same habits, like humming and singing on their way to rob the wealthy in their carriages, and stealing kisses from pretty, blushing ladies along with their baubles and jewels.
It was an homage!Not a biography.
She was grateful to Mr.Singh for maintaining her anonymity.But the idea that anyone could reach The Gentle Rogue through Lucy was laughable, really.She didn’t know who he was and never had!It had been years since Lucy had used her writing to predict The Gentle Rogue’s whereabouts on a given evening.She wasn’t at all certain her secret method would still work.
But she was about to find out.
It had been several days of settling back into life at Ashbourn House, helping Bess with her correspondence and attempting to distract her young niece while Bess napped.She’d written to her mother and sister in Little Kissington.She’d teased Nathaniel and enjoyed watching the way he softened all over with love for his little daughter and worry for his pregnant wife.
And she’d waited.
Finally, the wait was over.The newest chapter ofMidnight Riderhad appeared in today’s edition of Mr.Singh’s paper.
Tonight, she would discover if her old way of reaching out to The Gentle Rogue would draw him in.
Tonight, if all went well, she would see him for the first time in five years.
Too jittery to sleep and accustomed to keeping very late hours, Lucy sat at her writing desk and attempted to scratch out a few pages while the household quieted around her.But as soon as the hallway clock chimed midnight, she tossed down her pen and hurried to pull on a hooded cloak of soft cobalt blue linen.
It felt odd having to be quiet on the stairs, Lucy reflected, pausing at the landing when she heard a thump from above.In the past five years, she hadn’t really answered to anyone but herself.She’d had her maid with her in the beginning, for propriety’s sake, but once it became clear that Molly was pining for England and the young man she’d left there, Lucy sent her home and went on without her.
It had been a long while since Lucy had given two thoughts to propriety, and truth be told, she’d never been as concerned with it as she probably should’ve been.
But beyond the shock and disapproval she could imagine on her brother’s face if he were to discover her midnight escapade, Lucy had not the smallest desire to answer questions about what she intended.
She hardly knew what she thought might come of this madness.She only knew her feet trod upon the same soil as The Gentle Rogue once more, and she had to see him.
Lucy hurried down the stairs and out the back door of Ashbourn House to the stables.She tipped the sleepy stableboya small fortune to ready the little two-wheeled curricle she’d bought the last time she was in London, when Kitty was born.Lucy had learned to drive in Italy and was unwilling to relinquish the independence of owning her own equipage simply because “English ladies don’t.”
She intended to do quite a few things English ladies didn’t, she reflected as the stableboy handed her up to the box.Gathering the reins expertly, Lucy relished the taut anticipation of having two superbly matched gray geldings ready and raring to go, controlled only by the touch of her hand upon the ribbons.
With a soft cluck and a flick of the reins, the light curricle leapt forward, and in moments she was driving over the tidy Mayfair cobblestones.At that hour, it took only a short while to clear the city, even with all its congestion of traffic.Before Lucy knew it, her curricle’s tall wheels were flying down the well-maintained Bath Road toward her quarry.
When she neared the little market town of Maidenhead, she slowed and made certain the cloak of her hood shaded her face.Her heart raced faster than the flashing hooves of her spirited horses.It had to work.
He must come.He must!
There was a Thames River crossing at Maidenhead, a lovely stone bridge with more than a dozen arches to let the wide river flow through.
Mist swirled up from the water, thick and substantial enough that Lucy felt her cheeks grow damp.
Her breath was quick and light, her very lungs aflutter with nerves.As her horses reached the center of the bridge, a dark figure atop a monstrous black stallion materialized from the mist like a phantom.
