Page 22 of Her Wily Duke

“No, of course not, they won’t talk to a stranger, or even to a local man who normally says little to them. And if the Duke knew anything at all about the tenants and their ways, he would have known that would be the way of it. Yet he persists, convinced that it will work if he tries hard enough.”

“He sounds rather desperate,” said Emme. Sitting up straighter, she said, in a nervous high voice, “I think that I may once have seen the highwayman.”

Lord Whitewell glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

“I think that I may have heard this story,” he said. “You told the Duke of it on the night of the first robbery, did you not?”

Emme shook her head.

“You might be thinking of Lady Caroline, my Lord, who did speak of it to the Duke that night.”

Then, briefly, she related the story of that first encounter from her own perspective — including the mysterious moment just as he was riding away, when he had seemed to tip his hat to her.

“But this is remarkable,” Lord Whitewell sounded incredulous. “He routinely terrorises people with his whip and steals from our finest servants, but shows nothing but the greatest deference towards women and girls. What an enigma.”

“I have seen him one other time, when walking home following afternoon lessons. And in both of our meetings,” said Emme, feeling emboldened, “he has shown me nothing but courtesy.”

This time Lord Whitewell actually took his eyes off the road so that he could turn and look at her.

“Are you telling me that the highwayman has spoken to you?” he asked, a smile lighting his features. “And you never thought to mention this before?”

Emme smiled in spite of herself and shook her head.

“No, I’ve never heard his voice.” She frowned thoughtfully. “There was just something in his manner which suggested a gentlemanly quality. I don’t know that I can put it into words.”

“You’ve neither heard his voice nor seen his face,” said Lord Whitewell, unable to suppress the teasing tone in his voice. “Yet you remain steadfast in your conviction that he is a gentleman, the picture of courtesy! What reason do you have to support this idea? No reason at all, it turns out. Just a feeling!”

Emme laughed and shook her head, suddenly nervous. She had never expected a Lord to tease her!

“Stop teasing!”

“I think someone is in love,” said Lord Whitewell with a broad smile.

Emme was shocked, and yet gladdened that he saw her as herself, as a person, enough to actually speak playfully like this.

“No, don’t say such things!” she cried, covering her face with her hands.

“Someone,” he said again, “is in love with a masked man! With a brigand! A scoundrel! An enchantingly courteous scoundrel, at that!”

Emme laughed until she was like to have fallen over had she been standing.

“If you tell anyone…”

“You’ll what?” said Lord Whitewell. “You’ll become a nun? You’ll leave Foxridge Park forever and wander the cliffs by moonlight?”

It was too much. That a Lord would say things like this, would encourage her to such mischievous thoughts! Emme leaned over and buried her face in her hands.

“Just don’t, please, my Lord?” she said. “I have enough problems already without your brother knowing that perhaps I fancy this highwayman who threatens his wealth.”

“If it so distresses you, I won’t tease, even though I enjoy how pretty you look when you blush.” Lord Whitewell had lowered his face towards her and spoken in a voice of utmost tenderness, and she looked up at him, startled when he placed the reins in one hand, and reached out to touch her arm for a moment. That contact sent a rush of warmth through her, and brought even more of a blush to her face. “I think it’s time that you started calling me ‘Adam’.”

“Adam it is, then,” said Emme, worried about her forwardness, and yet treasuring the fact that he had offered her this shocking intimacy. He drove on as she considered it, and they went on their way both sighing happily, each for different reasons, while the wind swirled and groaned around them.

Chapter Nine

During the next few weeks, as the year waned and grew colder, Adam and Emme went driving together with increasing frequency. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday he made sure that he was waiting outside the main entrance to the house when she finished the day’s lesson – even on those days when the Duke insisted on her taking tea with him, and delayed her. Adam couldn't deny the way that his heart ran faster when he saw her, with her sparkling eyes and slight blush she looked quite beautiful. He would hurry her out to the small carriage, on which he had raised the top, so that at least there was some protection from the weather, and settle her with a carriage blanket over her knees.

He drove the curricle through the cold, fog, darkness, and occasional rain, towards Foxridge village. Sometimes they talked on the way. At other times she sat as close as possible to him, and rested her head on his shoulder, and he felt the warmth of her, even through all of the layers of clothing. He wished that time might pass more slowly, so that the drive would last longer.