Highwayman Husband

‘You thieving scoundrel,’ Edward hissed, his hands bunched into fists at his sides. ‘I don’t know what game it is you are playing, but it’s most peculiar for a footpad. The timepiece is worth much more. I have nothing else of value.’

The highwayman’s eyes shifted to Laura. ‘That may be so, but the lady might have.’ In a flash the blade of his knife had severed the fastener securing the cloak at her throat with masterly precision. It fell in a circle about her feet. The sudden action brought a startled gasp to her lips. As he sheathed his knife his eyes became fastened to the large sapphire and pearl necklace resting just above the creamy swell of her breasts, peeping over the bodice of her blue velvet gown.

Laura’s heart missed a beat, and instinctively her fingers closed round it protectively. ‘No—you will not take that. Anything but that, I beg of you.’

‘Beg all you like, but ’tis a pretty bauble and should fetch a tidy sum.’

‘No. It—it was given to me by my husband on our wedding day…before he died. Please, please, don’t take it.’ She thought he hesitated for a moment, but that was all it was, just a moment, before he recollected himself.

‘This is not the time for sentimentality. Besides,’ he murmured, his eyes raking over her, drawn to the seductive allure of her gown and the curve of her breasts, ‘you look ravishing. You need no jewels to enhance your beauty, madam. Take it off.’

‘Give him the damn thing,’ Edward spat. ‘And then let him go to hell.’

Stubbornly Laura refused to surrender it. ‘No. I will not.’

‘Hand it over, before I take it by force.’

‘You would not dare,’ she said scornfully.

‘Try me.’

Swallowing her outrage in deference to his daunting height and the pistol levelled at her heart, Laura took judicious note of his soft, menacing tone and the taut set of his shoulders, and felt the first tendril of fear coil in the pit of her stomach. With trembling fingers she unclasped her treasured necklace and handed it to him. Laura knew he was grinning infuriatingly behind his disguise, and, holding her precious necklace in his palm, he threw it in the air several inches, caught it, and shoved it inside his jacket. He then advanced towards her once more with lounging insolence.

Laura’s throat dried when he gave a low whistle of appreciation behind the handkerchief, and she felt hot colour flood her cheeks when his gaze wandered over her body in the most indecent manner. Unable to bear his taunting gaze any longer, she bent to scoop up her cloak, but with a soft laugh he quickly placed his booted foot on it, pinning it to the ground. Reaching out, he raised her chin with his finger. Laura felt uneasy.

‘Who are you?’ she demanded firmly. She thought that a hint of a smile lurked somewhere about his mouth, but she could not be sure.

‘A highwayman,’ he answered amiably.

‘Take your hands off her,’ Edward hissed furiously. ‘The lady is my betrothed.’

Laura saw the highwayman’s tall frame stiffen. For a moment his gaze lingered on the elegant perfection of her face, before he dropped his hand. That was the moment a breeze stirred, and the clouds allowed a shaft of moonlight to sweep across them.

Looking up at him, Laura saw his eyes properly for the first time from beneath his hat—pale eyes, almost silver, glittering like glass and ice-cold. They fastened on her once more and searched her as they probed her soul. It was as if he knew her innermost thoughts. She felt herself drawn to him, as if by some overwhelming magnetic force, and for an instant something stirred inside her.

She experienced a strange, slinking unease—of shadowy familiarity. Although the night was reasonably warm, there was a chill in the air, and she shivered with a sense of deep foreboding. She could not have put the feeling into words, but it was as though some spirit had groped its way into her heart and made it beat harder.

‘You are to be his wife?’ the stranger asked.

His eyes compelled her to speak. ‘Yes—not that it is any concern of a common footpad.’

Suddenly the eyes boring into her own were cold no longer, but burning in his face like living things. She was puzzled as to why, for some curious reason, this declaration should arouse his anger. She blanched, edging away, but like a striking snake his hand shot out and grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her to him. Shooting a look at his accomplice, who had two pistols, primed and loaded, aimed at Edward and Amos, he dragged her stumbling towards the Stygian darkness of the trees.

‘Damn your soul!’ Edward shouted after them in outrage. ‘How dare you dishonour my lady? I command you to release her this instant.’

The highwayman ignored him. Only when they were hidden and out of earshot did he stop and release his hold on Laura. Calmly he removed his hat and placed it with his pistol on a conveniently placed log. Believing she was about to suffer a fate worse than death, with a thundering heart Laura watched him remove the handkerchief, and at that same instant she had her first clear view of his face without the concealing cloth.

Momentarily paralysed, she stared at that lean, hard face of his.

And she recognised it.

She stared at the man whose name she bore with the incredulous horror of someone who had seen a ghost. Her blood seemed to freeze in her veins, and she looked at him in a kind of hysterical disbelief that almost brought her to her knees. She wanted to cry out, to try and overcome the shock of it, but no sound came. She felt as though she were in a dream, or else going mad. It could not be true.

‘You!’ The word passed through her lips on a rush of breath.

Her husband, Lucas Alexander Mawgan, the man she had been told had been killed by pirates when they had captured the vessel carrying him to England from France, smiled cynically.

Chapter Two

‘I am glad to see you are not so enamoured of Edward Carlyle that you have forgotten your husband altogether, Laura.’ His voice was soft, but his eyes were knowingly chiding.

Without the handkerchief covering his mouth, there was no denying the familiarity of that deep voice, and Laura’s dazed mind finally accepted that her husband was really and truly alive. ‘But—but I thought you were dead,’ she whispered.

‘Clearly,’ he bit back with biting sarcasm.

‘But—Edward and I are to marry shortly. We are officially betrothed.’

‘Not any longer. You are married to me,’ Lucas reminded her harshly, ‘and nothing can change that.’ His jaw hardened and his anger increased as he suddenly realised she might have feelings for Carlyle. The mere notion that this might be so, that his grieving wife had been consorting with a man he despised while he had been in chains, forced to endure two mortal years of frozen limbs, the stink of the grave clinging to him day and night, of crawling vermin and rotten scraps of food his jailers supplied him with, made him livid.

‘Are you not happy to see me?’ he asked.

For what seemed an eternity, Laura stared up at the incredibly handsome, virile man who had imposed himself in her life again. His face was leaner than she remembered, though still proud and arrogant and stamped with ruthlessness, and there was an implacable authority in the strong jawline, and cold determination in the thrust of his chin. There was a time when she had thought his eyes as gentle as a summer breeze, but now she could see they were cold and unyielding, and as uninviting as south Atlantic ice floes, eyes without softness, without kindness or understanding. How did she feel about him? She didn’t know.

His gaze was narrow and assessing. Laura’s hand crept to her throat. The low cut of her bodice embarrassed her, despite the previous intimacies that had passed between them. ‘For-forgive me,’ she stammered. ‘I am shocked—justifiably so. My feelings are so confused.’

‘I can see your sorrow for my alleged demise has not prevented you from enjoying yourself,’ Lucas remarked with scathing sarcasm. ‘You look anything but a grieving widow. Since you can hardly convincingly throw yourself into my arms and weep tears of joy for my resurrection from the dead while wearing another man’s ring—a man I would cheerfully consign to rot in hell—you will have to think of something else to appease my anger towards you and win my forgiveness.’

Unable to control her mounting anguish and anger, Laura looked at him as if he were the devil. ‘Win your forgiveness?’ she burst out furiously. ‘I have no intention of trying to win anything from you. I have lived alone too long—two years—just in case you need reminding, and I do not do anything on anyone’s instruction. Whatever I do I do on my own initiative.’

‘Not any more,’ he ground out, looming over her, his gaze a frigid blast. He was caught somewhere between fury, amazement and admiration for her defiant courage. Short of murdering her, which would solve nothing, he was at a loss as to how to deal with her, and, although strangling her held a certain appeal at that moment, it was out of the question.

‘Henceforth things will be different,’ he went on coldly. ‘A husband has every right to govern his wife’s activities. You will do as I say. You will bend to my will, or I will break you to it. Do you understand me? I don’t give a damn how you choose to have it. I consider your antics to have overstepped the bounds of respectability, when I find you gallivanting about the countryside with a blackguard and unchaperoned at the dead of night. It infuriates me to find you on the most intimate terms of friendship with a man I have every reason to despise. Just how long did it take for Carlyle to step in—to steal my estate, my money…and my wife?’

Two years ago Laura would have quaked in her shoes and been reduced to tears on being spoken to so harshly, but now, infuriated by her errant husband’s imperious tone, full-bodied, fortifying rage brought her a step closer to him. She couldn’t recall ever being so furious.

‘Edward has not stolen anything, and my behaviour has never been anything other than proper. You have no excuse for accusing me of light conduct, and a chaperon was unnecessary since Edward and I are affianced. If you desire any further information as to my dealings with Edward—or anyone else, for that matter—I shall be happy to supply it. Your insults are absolutely unprovoked. How dare you? Of all the detestable, hypocritical, arrogant things I have been accused of, that is the worst.’ With blazing eyes she paused briefly to draw an infuriated breath.

‘How could you? How could you do that—to let me believe you were dead? Don’t you know what you did to me? After that one letter you wrote to me, telling me you were coming home, there was not a sound, sight or communication from you,’ she said, with such feeling that Lucas looked mildly stunned at her. ‘I was told you were dead. I was told that your ship had been captured by pirates and everyone on board killed—everyone, that is, but one man, who survived and made it to England and reported what had happened. I believed that.’

Laura had received a letter Lucas had sent from France two months after his departure, telling her he was to sail from Le Havre to Portsmouth on a fishing vessel called the Pelican. He had asked her to meet him in Portsmouth. From there they were to travel to London, and after spending time with friends and family they would return to Cornwall. Laura had done as he requested.

It was almost two weeks before news had reached her that the wreckage of the Pelican had been washed up on the French coast. Only one man had survived. He had been on board the Pelican when she had been attacked by an unknown source—pirates, he said. Suspecting what was about to happen, he had thrown himself into the sea and witnessed with his own eyes how everyone on board was killed and thrown into the water, before the pirates had removed the cargo and scuppered the boat. He had been picked up by a passing vessel and had returned to England to tell the tale.

‘Can you imagine what it has been like for me,’ she went on irately, ‘or did I rank so low in your esteem that you couldn’t even be bothered to think of me at all, let alone write to let me know you were still alive?’

‘That is not so.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ she flared. In her anger the image of a beautiful woman with pale blonde hair and laughing dark eyes intruded upon her mind, and she was in no doubt that it would have been this particular lady who would have occupied his thoughts. The thought that he might have dreamed of possessing her as he had possessed Laura on their wedding night, perhaps murmuring words of love he had never addressed to her… Jealousy combined with the rage already searing her heart tormented her with the flames of hell and was almost too painful to bear.

‘Obviously you considered me an unimportant matter,’ she went on. ‘I seem to recall I was something of a nuisance—an irritating encumbrance, a responsibility you acquired when my father insisted upon you marrying me when you compromised me so disgracefully. Did you find me so excruciatingly pitiful and naïve, and despise me so much, that you decided to disappear to escape that pathetic creature you would never have looked at twice—had your brain not been so fogged with liquor that you made the mistake of abducting me instead of the lady you so obviously desired? But whatever the reasons were for your silence, Lucas, I was still your wife, whom you promised to love and honour, and I deserved better.’

The gaze that fell on Laura was blank and then Lucas frowned slightly, as if puzzled by what she had said. ‘Contrary to what you believe, Laura, I desired no other woman—not then, not now. There are some things about those weeks before our marriage you cannot possibly understand, although in time I will explain everything.’ At the tragic look in her eyes, cynical humour softened his features, and his firm, sensual lips quirked in a derisive smile. Gently he tipped her chin up. ‘Why, my poor little wife, what is it? Are you telling me that you missed me after all?’

To her consternation and fury, Laura felt her cheeks grow hot. Angrily she slapped his hand away. ‘I am not telling you anything of the sort. At least have the decency to explain to me where you have been for the past two years—and why you are cavorting about the county as a highwayman, robbing unsuspecting travellers of their valuables. How ridiculous that is! And what was the reason for that charade a moment ago? Tell me!’

‘Trust me. I know exactly what I am doing, and why I am doing it.’

‘Then let us dispense with this conversation and go and tell Edward who you are, before that accomplice of yours shoots him.’

Lucas’s fingers closed cruelly on her upper arm as she swung round and began to walk away. He spun her round to face him. ‘Do not,’ her husband said in a terrible voice, ‘even consider doing that. Defy me on this, and in my present unreasonable mood nothing would give me greater satisfaction than to make you regret it. You will yearn for the kindness I showed you before I made you my wife. When Carlyle leaves you tonight you will send him packing and not receive him again under my roof under any circumstances—ever.’

‘I can’t do that,’ Laura argued stubbornly. ‘It would not do. I must explain to him—’

‘You will do as I say.’ Lucas’s silken voice promised dire consequences should she choose to disobey him. ‘You will not tell him who I am. For the time being my identity must remain a secret. No one must know that I am alive and here in Cornwall. Do you understand me, Laura?’

The threat of violence lessened her courage and made her feel helpless as she looked into his wrath-filled face. There was an undeniable aura of restrained power and forcefulness about him—gathering force, no doubt to be unleashed on her later, she thought bitterly. Tears of frustration stung her eyes and she nodded, swallowing a hard lump that had risen in her throat. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

Satisfied that she was adequately chastened, Lucas softened and he released his hold on her arm. He stood gazing down at the tempestuous face upturned to his, seeing the blur of tears in her large eyes, so deep a blue as to be almost purple. His breath caught in his throat, for even to the most reluctant eye Laura’s beauty could not be ignored.

Lucas was unable to believe that this provocatively lovely, regal, glamorous and bewitching young woman was his wife, whose sweetness he had kept fresh and alive during his incarceration in his vermin-infested cell. Her skin shone with a healthy lustre, and the angles of girlhood had been replaced by a supple slenderness. Her once underdeveloped breasts were now swollen to two glorious globes that strained the bodice of her gown. In his mind time rolled back, and this lovely creature with glossy black curls spilling over her bare shoulders blended into an enchanting, frightened and bewildered girl, who would never have dared stand up to him like a proudly enraged goddess as she was doing now.

Reluctant admiration swelled in his heart, but unfortunately it only made him angrier because that shy, innocent girl he had married had grown into a spirited, forthright, beautiful young woman in his absence, and had turned to his enemy for comfort. For the first time in his life he experienced an acute feeling of irrepressible jealousy which twisted his gut and caught him completely off guard. It was a feeling he found decidedly unpleasant.

Reminding himself that while he had been rotting in a French prison Laura had been growing into a ravishing beauty and setting Cornwall by its ear with the likes of Edward Carlyle, he hardened his jaw and coldly rejected the memory of how she had last looked when they had parted. Without another word, he quickly replaced his hat and, securing the handkerchief over the lower half of his face, took her arm and escorted her back to the coach.

Scooping up her cloak from the ground, Laura slipped it around her shoulders. If, by disappearing with his wife into the dark seclusion of the trees, Lucas had intended to drive Edward to a fury, he had succeeded. When they appeared Edward uttered a short, inarticulate cry of rage. For an instant Laura read madness in his eyes. His teeth were clenched and his hands opened and closed convulsively. She feared he was about to launch himself at Lucas, but thankfully he restrained himself.

‘If you’ve laid so much as one finger on her, you swine, by God, by the time I’ve finished you are going to regret that you were born,’ Edward ground out, his voice hoarse with rage. ‘You’ll suffer for this one day. I swear it.’

Contemptuous of his neighbour, Lucas scorned him. ‘Your threats don’t worry me, Carlyle. Reserve your concern for yourself. Now be on your way. Take the lady home.’ He waited until Edward had assisted Laura inside the coach before he swung himself into the saddle. His accomplice did the same—though with less agility—and they did not lower their pistols until Amos had whipped up the horses and the coach was trundling towards Roslyn Manor.

Laura did not turn and look back at her husband, but she knew that as he watched her leave with Edward beneath the concealing handkerchief his face had hardened into a mask of icy wrath. Inside the coach she looked at Edward’s granite features, wondering how she was going to tell him she could not marry him.

‘It’s all right, Edward. Nothing happened,’ she said, in an attempt to alleviate any fears he might have that she had been molested, but instead of calming him her words enraged him and he threw her a glance loaded with suspicion.

‘You expect me to believe that villain didn’t lay a hand on you?’ he seethed. ‘You were gone a full ten minutes.’

Laura forced herself to keep calm and managed to conjure up a gentle smile. Above all, she must not let Edward see the unnerving effect her meeting with Lucas had had on her. ‘I swear he didn’t touch me. We—talked, that is all.’

His narrowed eyes glittered across at her. ‘Talked? It gets even more intriguing. Do you mind telling me what you talked about—what you could possibly have to say to a man who had just stolen your jewels? ’Tis not an easy tale to believe. I’ll take my oath that had I followed you I would have seen that—that blackguard taking you in his arms with the intent of ravishing you.’

Stung by the contempt in his voice, Laura stiffened. ‘You are in error, Edward. I swear he did not touch me. You will have to be content with that. At least we have come away from the incident unharmed—if a little poorer. For that we must be thankful.’

Edward leaned into his corner, quietly fuming. ‘That man will regret this night’s work. I will not rest until I find him and see him hanged.’

Seated across from him, Laura shuddered. She had never seen such hatred in a human gaze. Turning her head, she looked into the darkness beyond the window, and as they travelled on she felt as if she’d imagined the whole encounter with her husband. The sense of unreality stayed with her all the way to Roslyn. The man who had suddenly reappeared in her life commandeered all her thoughts, and she found her mind drifting back to the circumstances of their first meeting.

She had been living in London then, with her father, Sir James Russell, who was attached to the Admiralty in Whitehall. Her mother had been dead several years. Aunt Josaphine, her mother’s sister, who had always taken a kindly interest in her young niece, frequently invited her and her father to join small, diverting parties at her town house, where her guests were chosen for their charm and gaiety.

It was at one of these parties that she first saw Lucas. He appeared with a friend of his, a Frenchman—the Comte de Mournier, she recalled, an extremely amiable young man, both lively and unreserved, and whose manners were very much admired. Lucas, on the other hand, was quite withdrawn, and had seemed curiously out of place. His tall, broad-shouldered, restless figure and bronzed features seemed to belong to a world of outdoor activities, rather than among the frills and flounces of her aunt’s drawing room. He did not partake in any of the diversions, which he obviously found tedious, and would stand apart and observe the gathering with his proud and brooding silver gaze.

A vivacious friend of Laura’s, Lydia Sheridan, who knew all the latest gossip, whispered to her that she should beware of Lucas Mawgan, for his blatant virility and dark good looks impelled women to his side. It was rumoured that over the years he’d had an assortment of mistresses, and that he seemed in no particular hurry to marry. Lydia also told her that he was a gentleman who lived in Cornwall, who often journeyed to London to conduct his business affairs.

Laura saw Lucas on several occasions after that, and even began looking for him, hoping to see him. He was always accompanied by his friend, the Frenchman, and they were often to be seen in the company of the much sought-after Weston sisters, Daisy and Caroline, two extremely beautiful blonde-haired girls—frivolous and the focal point of every event they attended.

Unfortunately for them and the gentlemen who tried to get close, they were constantly watched over by their matriarchal mother, who never let her precious daughters out of her sight, but it did not escape Laura’s notice that Lucas was often to be seen in conversation with Caroline. Lydia remarked that Caroline had her eye on him, and that she had confided to her that she would do anything to get him, and Laura didn’t doubt that for a moment. Caroline, pink-cheeked, those dark eyes of hers wide and positively gleaming with anticipation, lapped up everything Lucas said and did like a kitten at the cream.

When Laura was introduced to Lucas by her aunt, he appeared brusque and quite formidable to her, and with a sense of foolish dismay she realised that her head hardly came up to his shoulder. His eyes passed over the plain young girl quickly and with little interest, looking at her but not seeing her. When he moved on she realised how immature she must seem to him, but from that moment her heart was lost to her.

It was as if a candle had been lit within her, which burned with an unquenchable flame, and the more she tried not to think of him the flame seemed to burn all the stronger. She told herself it was foolish to think like this, and that, since he seemed unaware of her existence, to save herself heartache she ought to forgo her visits to the places where he would be present. But instead she seized on their meetings and hugged them to her like a comfort blanket. She thrilled at each one of the occasions that she saw him, and looked forward to the next with passionate anticipation, marking her calendar with red crosses so she wouldn’t forget those few treasured days.