CHAPTER THREE

Velvet Moran fidgeted on the plush velvet seat of the glossy black Haversham carriage, the last of half a dozen her family once had owned.

“How much longer, Grandfather? It seems as though we’ve been traveling for hours.”

“We have been traveling for hours—it’s nearly dark outside. Usually you barely notice the time. You plague me incessantly to travel about. Now that we’re actually on the road, you’ve done nothing but fuss and fidget.”

Velvet sighed. “I suppose you’re right. Part of me wants to hurry, to get this whole thing over. The other part wishes we never would arrive.”

“Chin up, my dear. Once you are married, things will settle into place.”

Only the two of them rode inside the carriage. Though the air had turned chill, her lady’s maid, Tabitha Beeson, had ridden up top with the coachy. She had been there since their stopover at an inn for an early supper and a place to change out of their wrinkled traveling clothes. Velvet suspected the woman carried a tendre for the driver and thought the coachman might feel the same.

She sighed as she rested her head against the deep velvet squabs. What would it have been like to fall in love? There were times she had dreamed about marrying a man who loved her, but just as often she thought she didn’t want to marry at all. In the past three years, she had come to value her independence. Marriage meant giving it up.

Most of the time she simply wished she could remain on her own as she had been, without the restrictions of a husband who would govern her every move.

“Velvet?”

“Yes, Grandfather?”

“It seems to have slipped my mind … where did you say we are going?”

Velvet reached over and squeezed his thin, veined hand. “Carlyle Hall, Grandfather. To marry the duke, remember?”

He nodded and smiled. “The wedding. Yes, yes, of course. You’ll make such a beautiful bride.”

Velvet didn’t answer. Instead she fiddled with a lock of her powdered mahogany hair, smoothed the front of her apricot silk moiré gown beneath her heavy lap robe, and tried not to think of her wedding night. Or what the duke would say when she told him her dowry was all that was left of the Haversham fortune. Then again, Avery Sinclair appeared a somewhat reasonable man. He was wealthy as Croesus and he truly seemed fond of her. Perhaps he would understand.

Velvet leaned her head back once more and closed her eyes, hoping she could also close off her thoughts. She did for a while, until the sound of hoofbeats began to intrude into the quiet of the cool March evening. They grew louder, thundering even faster than the carriage horses’ hooves, then the sharp report of a pistol brought the vehicle to a sliding, jolting halt.

“What the devil…?” The earl frowned as he regained his seat, and Velvet leaned forward, sticking her head out the window.

“Good evening, my lady,” said a tall man astride a big black horse. A spent pistol smoked in one hand, a cocked gun pointed toward the driver. Velvet sucked in a breath at the fearsome sight the dark rider made in the thin sliver of moonlight cutting through the cloudy night.

“Saints preserve us!” Tabby cried from atop the carriage. “’Tis the ’ighwayman, One-Eyed Jack Kincaid!”

Velvet ducked her head back inside the coach, her body beginning to tremble. Good sweet God, it was him! She had heard about him, everyone had. He had robbed hapless travelers from Marlborough to Hounslow Heath. Now here he was in the flesh—black patch and all!

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, my lady,” the outlaw said in a quiet tone that carried an edge of steel. Leaning down from his horse, he turned the latch on the door and pulled it open. “Just hand over your valuables and you can all be safely away.”

He was a big man, muscular, tall, and powerfully built. One eye was covered by a heavy black patch, the other was the fiercest shade of blue she had ever seen. She glanced at her grandfather, who looked totally befuddled, then back to the man on the horse. He was dressed in snug black breeches tucked into knee-high jack boots. A full-sleeved white linen shirt stretched over a wide, brawny chest.

“Believe it or not,” she said in the steadiest voice she could muster, “we are traveling with very little money and not even much jewelry. You would be far better served to rob someone else.”

He studied her a moment, then his gaze fell on the gilded crest on the carriage door, a dove in flight above two crossed swords. Peace and Strength. The Haversham motto.

“Perhaps. Then again, perhaps not. Hand over the old man’s purse and yours as well.”

She hastily did as he asked, her hand shaking as she handed him the pouches. She had told him the truth: There wasn’t much in them. He frowned as he stuffed them into the waistband of his breeches.

“Now your jewels.”

Her grandfather’s heavy gold watch and a big ruby ring with the crest that also appeared on the door. It galled her to give them up. She unfastened the brooch on her bodice with an inward smile. The diamond pin was paste. The original, her mother’s, had long been sold to pay off debts.

“That’s all there is.” She grudgingly handed it over. “I told you there wasn’t that much.”

A corner of his mouth curved up in a smile that really wasn’t. His lips were nicely formed, she noticed, the bottom one slightly fuller than the top, but there was a hardness about them. His nose was straight, his brows dark and finely arched. A thin scar ran along the edge of a jaw that looked rigid and unforgiving.

“As you said, there isn’t all that much.” He stared again at the crest, and she wondered if he knew whose it was. “Since that is the case, I suppose I shall have to make the best of a bad situation.” The smile slid away. “Get out of the carriage, Lady Velvet.”

Dear God, he knew her name! “W-why? Wh-what is it you want?”

“I want you to do as I say.”

“Not … not until I know your intention.”

He surveyed her a moment, surprised at her bravado perhaps, assessing her it seemed. A hard look came into his features. “What I intend, my lady, is to ransom you to your bridegroom. You must be worth a fortune. Now get down from the carriage before someone gets hurt.”

His last final words filled her with dread. Before someone gets hurt. Grandfather was old. She didn’t want him injured.

“What is happening?” the earl asked as she bent and started unsteadily toward the door. “Where are you going?”

“It’s all right, Grandfather.” She tried to keep the quiver out of her voice. “This gentleman simply wishes a word with me. You mustn’t fret yourself. I’m sure he means me no harm.”

She looked up at the outlaw and caught a surprisingly earnest expression.

“I will not harm you, my lady. I give you my word on that.”

“Your word? You expect me to accept the word of a brigand? You’re telling me a highwayman has honor?”

“This one does.”

Why she believed him she could not say, yet some of her fear receded. He simply wanted money. She understood the lengths to which a person might go in order to get it. She stepped down from the coach, straightening her wide panniers and wishing the bodice of her gown wasn’t cut quite so low. The outlaw took in her fashionable attire and she caught the hint of a frown.

He swung his gaze to the driver. “’Tis time you were on your way. The lady will come to no harm as long as you do as I say.” He brandished the pistol, leveling it straight at the coachman. “Stop once between here and Carlyle Hall and I cannot promise the outcome of her fate.”

“Oh, my poor dear child!” Tabby whined. “To be ravished by the likes of One-Eyed Jack Kincaid.” She was crying, dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief yet the words had a surprisingly wistful ring.

“I told you I mean her no harm,” he snapped. “Now be gone!” The pistol roared and he tossed it aside, then another one magically appeared. Tabby shrieked, the coachman slapped down the reins, and her grandfather fell back against the squabs as the carriage thundered away.

Velvet watched it disappear round the bend with a heart that had turned to lead. Slowly she lifted her eyes to the outlaw’s face.

“Take off that blasted cage you’re wearing.”

“Wh-what?”

“Your undergarment … that infernal cage beneath your skirt. Take it off.”

Velvet felt sick to her stomach. He did mean to ravish her. How could she have been foolish enough to believe he meant her no harm?

“Here?” She stared at the winding road that disappeared into the forest, at the tall yew trees that formed a curtain along the way. An owl hooted from atop a distant branch, the eerie sound echoing in the darkness, sending a chill down her spine.

“Just do it.”

Her bottom lip trembled but her chin went up. “Turn around.”

“What?”

“I said turn around. I’m not about to disrobe in front of you.”

“Good Christ, I’m not asking you to disrobe, just to take off that horrible contraption so you can ride in front of me.” But when Velvet didn’t move, he turned the horse the other way and sat staring off toward the woods.

Maybe he was telling the truth, maybe he wasn’t. Velvet was no longer willing to find out. With a last glance at the outlaw, she lifted her skirts out of the way and started running. She wasn’t about to meekly submit, not when she might escape.

Night was full upon them. The strip of moon dipped behind a cloud, leaving it so dark she could barely see the ground in front of her feet. Still, she only got a few paces away before she heard him swearing and the sound of his heavy jack boots hitting the dirt. Good sweet God, she couldn’t let him catch her!

Plunging wildly ahead, pebbles cutting into the bottoms of her soft kid slippers, vines tearing into the lace at her elbow, Velvet raced on. She dodged a tree to the left, darted into the darkness off to the right, came into a clearing and ran even faster. Her side was aching, her heart threatening to pound through her ribs.

As fast as she ran, his thundering footfalls closed the distance. In seconds he was on her, knocking her to the ground, both of them rolling in the dirt. Velvet shrieked in anticipated pain, her breath rushing out in a woosh, but somehow he had managed to take the force of the fall and amazingly she remained unhurt.

Flat on her stomach beneath his bruising weight, but unhurt all the same.

“Get off me!”

“Dammit, hold still!” His big hands encircled her middle, slid between the waistband of her skirt and the tightly fitted bodice. He jerked the tabs that held up the skirt, then those that kept her panniers fixed in place. He certainly knew his way around a lady’s wardrobe, she thought bleakly, struggling to wrench herself free.

“Let me go!”

Before she knew what was happening, he was off her, gripping the panniers at the bottom of her gown and jerking them neatly out from beneath it.

She was still fully clothed, she realized, still somewhat dazed as he helped her to her feet, only the bulky whalebone petticoat was gone.

He took in her dishevel, the dark reddish hair that tumbled around her shoulders, the rips in her bodice, and the dirt on her face.

“It’s time we were away,” he said. “For your friends’ sake as well as your own—it would be better if we aren’t here when they return.”

Staring into that single fierce blue eye, Velvet shivered. Jack Kincaid might be a man of his word, but an edge of danger surrounded him like a cloak. His threats might be subtle, but she didn’t doubt for a moment his ability to carry them out.

Ignoring the dust that still clung to her clothes and the pins that had fallen from her hair, she walked in front of him back to his horse. Lifting her up on the animal’s back, he positioned her in front of him, then swung himself gracefully up behind her. Against her back, thick slabs of muscle flexed across his chest, and steel hard arms surrounded her to gather the reins.

A sliver of fear slid through her. The man was even bigger than he had first appeared and she was out here alone with him. Trying not to think of what he might yet have in store for her, Velvet gathered a handful of the horse’s coarse black mane and clung desperately to the saddle.

In minutes they had disappeared into the forest, moving at a faster pace than seemed possible in the inky darkness, the outlaw unerringly finding his way. He was a remarkable horseman, she realized, sitting the animal with an easy grace, moving with all the bearing of a nobleman. For the first time, it occurred to her that his speech was that of a gentleman. Velvet wondered where he might have come from, what might have led him off the path of righteousness to the doomed fate of a rogue.

She wondered what her own fate would be, and if he would remain true to his pledge that he would not harm her.

Whatever occurred, one thing was certain. Her wedding was only a few days away. She had no idea what the duke would say to a ransom, or if he would be willing to pay, yet she had to go through with this marriage.

The first chance she had, she would have to escape.

*   *   *

The tall black gelding stumbled and Jason tightened his hold on the girl he held in front of him. She was small but not frail, with tilted golden brown eyes and an upturned nose. Her lips were full, her cheeks the color of a soft, ripe peach. High lush breasts nearly spilled from the top of her apricot gown, the underside occasionally brushing against his arm where he held on to the reins.

In their struggle in the dirt, her hair had come loose from its pins and long tendrils hung past her shoulders. A dark reddish hue, he thought, though he couldn’t quite make out the color for the dusting of powder in what had once been an elegant coiffure. It tumbled free now, soft and silky where it curled against his hand, and he found himself wondering if the auburn color was correct.

The horse eased down a hill, forcing the girl more firmly against his chest, and his body tightened in response. Litchfield had warned him—a charming little baggage, he had said. But his description had hardly done the lady justice. Velvet Moran was as tempting a morsel as he had ever seen, fiery yet feminine, soft and sensual in all the right places—and he had been too long without a woman. Jason shifted in the saddle, trying to ease the hardness that had risen inside his breeches, and inwardly he cursed.

It had never occurred to him he would find his brother’s intended attractive. It was the farthest thought from his mind. Now he found himself thinking what it might be like to bed her.

He wouldn’t, of course. He had done a lot of things in the years since he had left England, despicable things just to keep himself alive. But he had never harmed a woman, never taken one against her will. He didn’t mean to start with this one.

Besides, easing his lust was hardly important. What mattered was regaining his heritage, taking the first step that would see justice done.

Beginning the long painful journey that he hoped would clear his name.

He felt the girl shiver and reined up long enough to untie his cloak from the back of his saddle and wrap it around her shoulders, then he started off again. At first she held herself away from him, determined to avoid his touch. But the hours made her weary and now she slumped against his chest, her head tucked into his shoulder.

A pang of guilt slid through him but it didn’t last long. He would do what he had to. The girl was safe, as he had promised. He was the one who would suffer. She stirred a little and wisps of her long silky hair brushed his cheek. He could smell her soft lilac perfume. The week would be hellish, but then it would be done. Over the years he had suffered far worse than an unwelcome measure of lust.

They rode a little farther and Litchfield’s hunting lodge finally appeared. Thank God, he silently muttered, eager to get the sleeping woman out of his arms. He reined up in front of a small two-story structure built of pale yellow stone that sat at the edge of a meadow. There was a single bedchamber upstairs and an open-beamed great room with a big rock fireplace, which served as a kitchen.

The stableboy, Bennie Taylor, waited out front. As Litchfield had promised, the lad was capable and loyal to a fault. He would do whatever Jason asked.

“Evenin’, milord.” The youth was perhaps twelve years old, a sturdy young man with sandy brown hair and a distant, uncertain smile. Litchfield had introduced him to the boy as the earl of Hawkins, the name the marquess had given him. Since Hawkins was the name he had been using since he had left England, it was as good as anything else.

“See to the horse, lad. I’ll take care of the lady.”

“Aye, milord.”

She awakened when he lifted her down, stiffened in his arms as he set her on her feet. “Where … where are we?”

“A place in the forest. I’ve tried to make it comfortable.”

Her eyes tilted upward, accusing eyes that peered at him from beneath a thick fringe of lashes. “You planned this. You meant to take me all along.”

He would like to take her, he thought, watching the flush creeping over her breasts, but not the way she meant.

“As I said, I hope you’ll be comfortable.” He tipped his head toward the lodge. “This way, my lady.”

With obvious reluctance, she followed him into the house, stopping a moment in the entry, surprised it seemed that the place was so well cared for.

“Not exactly the sort of spot one would associate with an outlaw,” she said.

“What did you expect? A garret above some seedy tavern?”

“Exactly.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.” He started toward the stairs, presuming she would follow.

“How much will you ask?”

He stopped and turned. “Beg pardon?”

“The ransom. How much will you ask?”

He smiled thinly. “How much do you think you’re worth?”

Not nearly as much as you believe, Velvet thought with a surge of panic. Her safety depended on the coin she would bring him. She wondered what he would do should he discover how nebulous her worth really was.

“The duke may not value damaged goods,” she said, thinking of her ruined reputation and the incorrigible prig Avery Sinclair could be. “He’ll have no way of knowing that you haven’t … that you haven’t…”

A sleek dark brow arched up. “That I haven’t what, my lady? That I haven’t ravished you? That I haven’t carried you off and stolen your virtue?”

The heat rose into her cheeks. “I’m telling you he might not be willing to pay.” And her grandfather certainly couldn’t.

But he simply shrugged his shoulders. Inside the house, they looked as broad as the beam above the door. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Oddly, he didn’t seem overly disturbed at the prospect. In fact so far nothing he had done seemed to fit one’s usual perception of an outlaw. It should have been comforting. Instead she found it oddly disconcerting, as if something were happening just outside her range of vision, something she couldn’t quite see.

“There’s a room for you upstairs,” he said, starting up to the second floor. “Follow me.”

She did as he said, dragging her now too long skirts along the way. With her panniers gone, they trailed in her wake, weighing her down as if fashioned of lead instead of expensive moiré silk.

The outlaw must have noticed for a frown creased his brow. When they reached the top of the landing, he turned to face her. “Stand still.”

Velvet shrieked at the glittering blade he pulled from his high black boot, and nearly toppled backward down the stairs. A long arm snaked out, barely catching her. The highwayman cursed.

“God’s blood, I told you I’m not going to hurt you.”

She was shaking but she lifted her chin. “That’s a little hard to believe when you’re standing there holding onto that.” She pointed at the gleaming blade, and he smiled with a hint of malice.

Bending forward, he caught the hem of her dress and used the knife to cut off a good three inches across the front. “Turn around.” Eyeing him warily, she did as he commanded and more of the gown fell away. “At least you’ll be able to walk without tripping over the blasted thing.”

“If you hadn’t practically undressed me—” She stopped midsentence at the look in that penetrating eye. Her cheeks heated up and she glanced away. “I gather this is where I am to sleep.”

“The linens are fresh. I think you’ll find the bed is comfortable.”

She turned toward the window and for an instant hope flared.

“Forget it. They’ve all been nailed shut, just in case you get any ideas. And I’ll be sleeping downstairs. Behave yourself, Lady Velvet, and soon you’ll be on your way. You’ll merely be inconvenienced for the next few days.”

Inconvenienced, she thought. If that were the only consequence she would pay. Still, she gave him a nod of resignation. “As you wish … my lord.”

A dark brow arched up. She hadn’t been sleeping, as the outlaw had believed when the boy had addressed him as a nobleman. And she wasn’t going to simply sit by and wait for him—whoever he was—to send word to the duke. To hope that Avery would pay, to chance missing her wedding, to lose Windmere, to destroy her family and her future. She had to find some means of escape.

*   *   *

Velvet felt like pacing. Instead she sat curled in the center of the deep feather mattress that covered what would have indeed been a comfortable bed—if she had been able to sleep. Instead she sat waiting, huddled in the darkness, still dressed in her cumbersome gown, her uncomfortable whalebone stays poking into her ribs, secretly grateful that at least her bulky panniers were gone.

Outside the window the clouds had grown more dense, rolling, flat-bottomed thunderheads marked by distant flashes of lightning.

It wasn’t the kind of night she would choose to make her escape, but every hour she remained only made her situation worse. Though she had no idea where she was, surely sooner or later, if she kept on walking, she would come upon a village or a hamlet, or simply a cottage where someone would help her.

All she had to do was get away.

How long had she been waiting? Long enough for the outlaw to fall asleep? She had checked the door but found it locked. The nailed shut window was her only escape.

Careful to keep the wooden slats of the bed from creaking, she swung her legs to the floor and slowly stood up, her heart picking up its pace now that the moment was at hand. Gathering the linen sheets she had knotted together to form a length of rope, walking on tiptoe, she made her way across the room, pausing at the bureau to pick up her makeshift hammer—the silver-backed hairbrush that along with a lovely silver comb, had been placed on the table for her use.

She glanced skyward, hoping someone up there would hear her worried prayer. “Dear Lord, I’m not very good at this sort of thing. I hope you’ll consider helping me.”

He must have agreed, for when she pressed the wad of linens against the pane and cracked it ever so carefully with the back of the hairbrush, the glass split neatly and only one small piece fell noiselessly away.

“Thank you.” Her hands were shaking. She steadied them as best she could, then, piece by piece, lifted the splintered shards away from the sill, slowly increasing the size of the opening, then breaking off the wooden strips between the small panes and working to lift out the rest of the ragged glass. It took longer than she planned. A light rain had started by the time she had the last of the broken window stripped away and the length of linen tied to the leg of the heavy wooden table against the wall.

Praying the linen and the table would hold her weight, she wriggled through the window and, hand over hand, lowered herself to the ground. Her foot wound up in a puddle of mud and she gasped as the icy water filled her slipper and soaked through her white silk stocking.

Stifling an unladylike oath, Velvet made a quick survey of the grounds, trying to decide which way to go. Nothing looked familiar. She wished she had been paying more attention. Well, there was no help for it now.

Lifting her rapidly dampening skirts, Velvet started running toward the woods.

*   *   *

Jason blinked and blinked again, unable to believe what he was seeing. But the small figure he had seen dangling in front of the window, the figure now running toward the woods, would not go away. How the devil had she done it? He had nailed those panes shut himself. She had to have broken the glass, but he hadn’t heard a sound. Now she was running again, headlong into what looked to be a rapidly building storm.

“God’s blood.” The woman was definitely a pain in the neck. Working the last button on his breeches, he pulled on his boots and grabbed up his cloak, tossing it around his shoulders as he raced out the door. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled a warning. The damned wench had surely picked a foul night indeed to make trouble.

By the time he crossed the meadow following the direction she had taken, rain pelted down with a vengeance, and a fierce wind whipped through the trees. Lightning continued to flash and the rapid echo of thunder said it wasn’t that far away.

One glance at the sky and Jason hurried even faster, beginning to worry in earnest. Cursing his petite captive with every frosty breath that whitened the chilly air, he raced into the forest. Rain stung his face and the wind tore at his hair, but his determined strides only lengthened. He caught the flash of her apricot skirts ducking behind a tree, heading deeper into the woods, saw the jagged edge of a bolt of lightning, heard it crack and sizzle as it knifed through an overhanging branch.

He started running flat-out, his heart pounding as loud as the thunder, slamming wildly against his ribs. What if something happened? What if she were injured, perhaps even killed?

Jason’s stomach knotted. He had brought her here. It was up to him to protect her. He would, he vowed.

And prayed he could keep his word.

*   *   *

Velvet dragged in great burning gasps of air. The stitch in her side ached unbearably and her legs shook until she thought they might not hold her up. Her hair was a sticky, sodden mass that stuck to her bare shoulders, and her gown was a limp, wet rag that clung to her legs, weighing her down. Dear God, the storm had worsened so quickly! A light rain might have aided her, hidden her tracks from pursuit. The tempest raging around her, the fierce winds battering her arms and legs and tearing at her hair, threatened her very life.

Sweet Jesu, she hadn’t planned on this! And yet she couldn’t go back. The danger was just as fierce back at the hunting lodge.

She turned at the crack of thunder, fear prickling her spine, then lightning flashed again. Velvet stood frozen at the sizzling yellow spike arching toward her, so near she was certain the white-hot, jagged menace meant her death. The bolt slammed into the top of the tree above her, and a terrified scream tore from her throat. Twisting away from the flames that erupted among the branches just inches away, she whirled to run in the opposite direction.

Colliding instead with a solid wall of flesh, she screamed again.

“Damn you, Duchess.” Hard arms closed around her, dragging her away from the flames above her head, dragging her to safety. He sheltered her against him, wrapped her in his cloak and pressed her face against the hard warmth of his chest. Her body was shaking, but she felt him trembling, too.

In some strange way she found it comforting.

They stood that way for several moments, his chest rising and falling beneath her cheek, his clothes smelling of rain and moist dark soil.

“Please,” she said at last, “you must let me go.” She lifted her eyes to his rain-slick face, her pulse running fast, her breathing ragged. “I-I have to get back.”

He only shook his head. The leather thong had slipped from his hair and dark waves fell to just above his broad shoulders.

“Please—I must get to Carlyle. I have to marry the duke.”

He stiffened at the words, pulling a little away, and a harshness settled into his features. “You can marry whomever you wish … once you’re returned. Until then, you’ll stay here with me.”

She started to struggle, tried to break free, but his hold only tightened. He shook her—not gently—forcing her to look up at him. “Listen to me, you little fool—don’t you know you could have been killed!”

Before she could answer he lifted her up in his hard-muscled arms and started striding back toward the house. She could feel his heart pounding, matching the swift, thudding cadence of her own. Burnished dark hair fell over his brow and his jaw looked stern. Strangely, it occurred to her that even with the ominous black patch, Jack Kincaid was a very handsome man.

It didn’t take long to reach the house, not with the long strides he was taking. Once he did, he kicked open the door and stepped in, setting her on her feet in a spot that quickly puddled with rainwater and mud.

She was shaking all over, numb with cold and the residue of fear and her failure. Her teeth were chattering so much she barely heard the foul oath he swore.

“Christ’s blood, woman. How did you think to survive out there?”

“If … if it hadn’t started raining … if it hadn’t turned so cold…”

“Aye, and if pigs could fly you would have gotten away.”

She lifted her chin. Perhaps leaving as she had was a stupid thing to do. Perhaps she should have planned things better, but she had been too upset to think clearly. She clamped down on her teeth to stop the noisy chattering and looked longingly toward the fire, where the outlaw knelt to stoke the flames.

More logs were added and in no time at all, a warmth pervaded the high-ceilinged room. Even though it did, soaked as she was, she continued to shiver.

“You’ve got to get out of those clothes.” His deep voice rose above the crackle and hiss of the fire. Turning away, he jerked a blanket off the sofa where he had been sleeping. “Tomorrow the boy will bring you something clean to wear. In the meantime, you can wrap yourself in this.” He handed her the blanket then stood there waiting, an implacable look on his face.

Velvet chewed her lip. Her fingers were numb; she couldn’t even feel if her thumbs were still attached to her hands. Unfastening the buttons at the back of her bodice would be impossible. “Perhaps the gown will dry,” she said, knowing there wasn’t the slightest chance.

The outlaw scoffed. “Don’t be a fool. Take it off. You can go upstairs if that is your wish, though if I were you, with that window broken in your room, I’d stay down here where it’s warm.”

She gnawed her lip. “Perhaps you are right, but … the truth is, unless you wish to play lady’s maid … I won’t be able to do it. My fingers are too cold to unfasten the buttons.” Which she couldn’t reach without help even if they weren’t.

He muttered a curse then scowled, his single blue eye going dark. “Turn around.”

Knees still shaking beneath her skirt, she did as he instructed. Modesty had its place, but this wasn’t one of them. Biting back her embarrassment, she ignored the tickle of his big hands brushing her skin, and caught the gown against her bosom as the fabric fell away. When she turned, she found his broad back facing her, his eyes trained the opposite way. A gentleman outlaw. She had heard of such things, though not in connection with One-Eyed Jack Kincaid.

Hurrying, hoping not to test his patience, she stripped to her chemise and wrapped the blanket snugly around her.

“What about you?” Shuffling toward the fire, she released a deep sigh at the satisfying warmth that enveloped her.

“I’m used to a little discomfort.” But he turned toward the fire, lifted his arms, and stripped the soggy linen shirt off over his head. For a moment, Velvet stood frozen. She had never seen a man’s bare chest and certainly never imagined one that looked like his. In the light of the fire, it rippled with thick bands of muscle. A furring of dark brown hair covered the upper part and arrowed down past the waistband of his breeches. Not for the first time, she noticed the network of scars across the back of his left hand.

“I’ll go fix the window,” he said, sitting down to tug off his boots. Velvet turned away, trying not to notice the rustle of fabric that meant he had stripped off his breeches. “Then maybe we can both get some sleep.”

Velvet said nothing to this. Her mind was still churning with the image of his hard male torso, of what it must feel like to touch a body like that, of whether that curly brown chest hair was as soft and silky as it looked.

She heard more rustling as he pulled on dry clothes, heard his footfalls climbing the stairs, then the pounding of wood while he boarded up the window she had broken. So much for her clever escape. She hardly felt guilty for making the effort, yet she couldn’t shake the memory of the way he had protected her in the forest, the worry she had seen on his face.

Who was he? she wondered.

Why had the stableboy addressed him as a peer?

More importantly, now that her first attempt had failed, how was she going to get away?