Stand and Deliver

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Stand and Deliver ISBN 9781419912115 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Stand and Deliver Copyright© 2007 Leda Swann Edited by Briana St. James. Cover art by Jinger Heason Electronic book Publication August 2007 This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

Stand and Deliver

Leda Swann

Chapter One Bess sat down at her dressing table and kicked off her slippers with a sigh, wriggling her toes to ease the ache in them. Her father’s tavern had been busy tonight. The customers had kept her going for hours, running backward and forward between the tables, carrying tankards of good, foaming ale and plates of her mother’s fine rabbit stew. As always, half a dozen customers new to her father’s inn had tried to grab her around the waist and steal a kiss—or more. The palm of her hand still stung a little from where she had given one of her more persistent admirers a crack across the jaw. A couple of his teeth were now looser than they had been this morning, if she wasn’t mistaken. Growing up in a tavern, a girl learned to protect herself from a young age.

She pulled the pins out of her hair and unwound the crown of plaits about her head. Once loosened, her hair fell in a thick black braid to her waist. Moving quickly, she untwisted the strands, combing them with her fingers as she went. Fifty strokes with her brush to keep it soft and shiny, and it was off to bed with her. She was already in her nightgown when she heard muffled hoofbeats on the cobbles and a smart rat-a-tat on the inn door. Her parents would never hear it. They slept soundly these days, their deep snores rattling the very floorboards. A whole troop of King George’s men could come up to the front door and demand admittance and they would never know. Wrapping a thick robe around her, she hurried to the casement window, cursing the latecomer under her breath for keeping her from her bed. Still, she did not dare ignore him. Her father would tan her hide if she turned away a paying guest. The moon was a mere sliver in the sky, allowing her only to make out the figure of a man on a horse standing quietly in the courtyard. “What do you want?” she called softly down into the yard, not wanting to disturb the other guests. “Shelter for the night for me and for my horse.” He jingled a bag of coins, and the horse gave a snort as if to add weight to his master’s argument. “I will pay you well.” “Toss me the fee for the night, and I will let you in,” she

said cannily. “You do not trust me?” His voice was deep. Amused. “I trust no man who arrives alone, after dark, with his horse’s hooves tied in rags,” she said stoutly. “A silver penny, if you please, or you will sleep in the fields tonight, for I will not unbar the door for you.” The price was steep, but not outrageously so. “You drive a fair bargain, lass. Come, catch.” He tossed a coin into the air. It caught the moonlight as it arced toward her, landing on the casement sill. She grabbed it quickly before it could roll back off and tucked it into her bodice. Tired though she was, for a silver penny she would see that his horse was properly stabled and dig out the remains of the rabbit stew and a heel of bread from the larder for him. She hurried down to the inn door and drew back the heavy iron bolts that kept them safe. Even in the dim moonlight, he cut a fine figure. His leather boots had deep cuffs and reached almost to mid-thigh, while on his head sat a fine plumed hat. He was quality and no mistake. With a piercing whistle, she called up a sleepy stable lad, who staggered out , straw in his hair and rubbing his eyes. “A fair measure of oats,” the stranger ordered, giving his mount a friendly slap on the rump as he passed over the reins. “And see to it that she isn’t stinted on the hay. We’ve a long way to go come the morn.”

Only when his horse was seen to did he take any notice of Bess. His eyes widened at the sight of her bare feet and her hair loose about her shoulders. “You’re a comely wench to be minding an inn. I swear more customers must come here for the sight of your pretty face than do for a taste of your ale.” “They can look all they want,” she replied tartly. Quality or no, she was not to be had for the asking and it were best he learned it now as later. “It’s nothing to me. But the last man who tried to do more than look has three teeth fewer than when he woke up this morning.” “Fierce words for such a beauty.” She sniffed. Men like him were all talk. “Come, follow me and I shall show you to your room.” Passing through the public room on the way to the stairs, she took a glowing ember from the still-warm fireplace in a pair of fire tongs and carried it with her. She led the way to the best room in the house, luckily not occupied. The fire was laid in the hearth. She placed the glowing ember amidst the wood shavings and watched them burst into flames. “You will be very comfortable here, sir,” she said, lighting a candle for him from the fire and placing it on the bedside table. “‘Tis the best room in the house.” “It looks quite delightful,” he said, though his eyes were fixed on her and not on the room. “Are you hungry? Can I bring you something to eat? We

should have some rabbit stew left from supper.” “Rabbit stew it shall be then. And a good bottle of red wine to wash it down.” In the kitchen, she ladled him a good bowlful of stew and set it on the embers to warm while she fetched a decent bottle of wine from the cellar. His manners were better than those of most gentlemen she’d met. She would see he was well served for his silver. He was lounging on a chair in front of the fire when she returned to his room with the tray. He’d removed his hat, leaving his long, dark hair to curl over his shoulders. None of their common run of customers had such silky-looking curls, nor such a handsome face. She felt a sudden urge to run her fingers through his hair and feel its softness. Instead, she set her tray down on the small table. “Good evening, sir. I trust you will find everything to your liking,” she said as she went to leave again. His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. “Not so fast, sweetheart.” She smacked his fingers hard with her free hand, but he did not let her go. Suddenly she felt vulnerable, alone but for a stranger, and dressed in nothing but a night robe and a woolen wrap. “Are you itching to lose a few teeth, sir?” she asked with false sweetness, putting a brave face on her unease. “Come now,” he said with an easy laugh, “a pretty

wench has no need of such dire threats. I merely want you to keep me company while I eat. I hate eating alone.” A part of her wanted to stay just to drink in the sight of him in his deep red jacket, the color of the wine she had brought him, and the soft leather breeches that clung to his thighs like a second skin. The thought of staying with him in his room, while the rest of the household was fast asleep, sent a flicker of heat coursing through her body. Maybe he would even want to steal a kiss from her. Most men would earn a smack for trying, but she would allow this man a kiss and welcome. His breath was sweet and clean, not stinking of garlic and sour cheese like most of them around here. She was a practical woman, though, and not usually given to flights of fancy. “I must to bed,” she said stoutly, setting temptation firmly aside. “I have to be up early in the morning to see to the breakfasts.” His grip was like iron around her wrist. “I have a fine, fair bed here, big enough for the both of us.” “I am the innkeeper’s daughter, not a tavern slut,” she said equably, too used to such propositions to be offended by them. “Your silver penny buys you a bed for the night, but not a companion to share it.” He sighed gustily. “No matter, I will not press you. But stay with me while I eat and then you may creep back to your own cold bed.” Still she hesitated. “I will not let you go until I have your word,” he said with

exaggerated patience. “And in the meantime, my stew is getting cold.” Heavens, men were such fools. “If you insist. I will stay with you while you eat, and not a moment longer.” “Thank you.” He let go of her wrist, poured a glass of wine, and handed it to her with a smile. “This will help pass the time.” “That leaves you nothing to drink from,” she protested, unwilling to offer to run downstairs yet again for another glass. Her poor feet needed a rest. “I have the bottle,” he said, tipping it to his lips and taking a long swallow. Shrugging, she took a sip of the wine, glad now that she had chosen a fair bottle for him. It slid down her throat as smooth as cream, warming her from the inside out. Another mouthful and she scarcely felt the cold of the floor on her feet or the chill night air through the flimsy fabric of her night-rail. “Who are you hiding from?” She hadn’t meant to ask. The words just slipped out without her meaning them to. The lazy look in his eyes was replaced with a sudden intensity. “What makes you think I am hiding from anyone?” he asked, as if the thought amused him. By the stillness of his gaze, though, she knew that all his senses were on high alert. “For heaven’s sake, I’m not half-witted.” She took another swallow of wine. “Nor blind. No gentleman rides

late at night with rags around his horse’s hooves for fun.” “And if I were on the run, what then? Would you turn me in?” She shook her head. “Why would I? You have paid me a good silver penny tonight. If I turn you in, I will never get another penny from you.” He gave a bark of laughter. “You are a true innkeeper, I see. Profits above all else.” “Would you rather I had unimpeachable morals?” she asked. “And had already sent a stable boy off to inform on you to King George’s men?” “On what grounds?” She took another sip of wine. “Being a highwayman, if I had to take a guess at it.” The scowl on his handsome face looked as set as if it were carved out of stone. “Are you always this brave? Or has the wine loosened your tongue?” A mere frown could not frighten her. She was made of sterner stuff than that. “As you pointed out, I am an innkeeper. What do I care who you are or what you are hiding, so long as you do not rob me?” She had a vested interest in not bringing King George’s men around her inn. Rapacious scoundrels that they were, whatever they saw and liked they would confiscate on the pretext that her father had cheated on his taxes. Not that the King would ever see a penny of whatever they took. It would all have gone to line their own pockets.

They were nothing more than thieves licensed to prey on honest men. “You can rob as many of King George’s men as you please, with my blessing.” A sudden fear crossed her mind and she put her wine down on the table with a nervous gasp. “You are not one of his men, are you?” Damn her foolish tongue and damn the wine for loosening it. A king’s man could have her ruined or worse for her careless words. He laughed. “I have found out your weak point, I see. You bear no more love for the King’s men than I do. Come, drink up. You have gone as pale as skimmed milk.” She eyed him warily. “You are not a King’s man, then?” “Not I.” The constriction around her chest eased and she could breathe again., She would lay money on it that he was a soldier of fortune, a highwayman. “Better an honest thief than a soldier.” Her words came out on a rush of breath. “Now that is something I would like to hear more often, Miss Innkeeper.” Her relief made her more expansive than usual. “My name is Elizabeth Burroughs. Bess to my friends.” He raised her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss across it. “I trust I count among that number. Jack Hall, at your service.” “I trust you do too, Mr. Jack Hall. Else I would not have wasted a good bowl of rabbit stew on you. It would’ve been last week’s eel pie for you, and a stomachache to follow.”

Her words made him chuckle. “To an honest innkeeper.” He toasted her with his bottle. “Even rarer than an honest thief.” She wrinkled her nose at him as she toasted him in her turn. “If there were fewer thieves around who did not pay their reckoning when it was due, maybe there would be more honest innkeepers,” she replied tartly. “As it is, honesty is a luxury us poor folks cannot often afford.” He grinned at her over a mouthful of stew and did not speak again until he had finished. She sat quietly, sipping at the rich red wine, watching him eat. His hands were fine and white, not like the rough red paws of most of the inn’s customers, and he ate daintily enough for all his hunger. Finally, he pushed the empty bowl away with a sigh of satisfaction. “That was a damn fine stew.” She shrugged. “My mother is a good cook.” “And she has a pretty daughter too. What more could an innkeeper ask for?” He paused and looked her straight in the eye. “You are a beautiful woman, Bess.” She did not know whether it was his words or the wine she had been drinking that sent a shiver of pleasure down her spine. Plenty of her father’s customers had called her pretty before, but always as a prelude to pinching her bottom or pulling her onto their knees to steal a kiss. The highwayman did not look as if he were about to do either. He was simply leaning back in his chair and looking at her,

a gleam of pure appreciation in his eyes. She frowned. “What do you want from me?” “Why must I want anything from you?” “In my world, a compliment like that is always the prelude to something else.” Her nose wrinkled in distaste. “Usually something unpleasant, like a kiss.” “I would not like to disappoint you, then.” He crooked one lazy finger at her. “Come over here.” “No.” “Then I will have to come to you.” In one fluid movement, he rose from his chair, crossed to her side and seated himself on the bed next to her. “You have the most beautiful hair,” he said, as he threw one arm casually about her shoulders. “As dark as the night and as glossy as my horse’s coat. I have been thinking about running my hands through it from the moment you appeared at your casement window.” The cheek of the man. “I am not your horse. Let me go.” His grip on her shoulders was too tight for her to wriggle away from him, though she tried. His only response was to hold her closer to him and wind her hair around his hands until it was hopelessly tangled in his fingers. There was no getting away from him now. Not if she wanted to keep the hair on her head. “I will have that kiss you mentioned now.” His breath was warm and sweet on her cheek. “I knew all your fine words would end up as something

unpleasant,” she muttered, doing her best to ignore the excitement building up in the pit of her stomach. God help her, but she wanted to be kissed by the highwayman. “You think kissing is unpleasant?” He shook his head in mock dismay. “I can see I will have to teach you better.” He leaned over her and touched his lips to hers, gently and reverently. A mere brush of feeling and he was gone again. “Now then, was that so unpleasant?” he asked, straightening up again. “A fine kiss indeed—if I were your grandmother,” she muttered, disappointed. He was a highwayman, an outlaw. She had expected to have to fight off his advances with a stick, not to sit primly next to him on the bed and wonder why he was not kissing her with more enthusiasm. “You want more of a kiss than that?” His voice held a world of laughter. He knew that she had expected more from him and he was laughing at her. The tips of her ears began to burn. “I never said that.” “You said I kissed you like I would kiss my mother.” “Grandmother,” she corrected. “Have you any idea how insulting that is to a man?” He shook his head. “I don’t imagine you do, or you would never have dared such a thing. I shall have to redeem my reputation forthwith.” This time, his mouth covered hers, hungry and demanding. It was the sort of kiss that she had expected

from the beginning, a kiss that robbed her of breath, a kiss that rode roughshod over any misgivings that she might have over the wisdom of allowing a highwayman to kiss her in his room in the dark of the night. It was a kiss that stole away any remaining sense that she had left and demanded that she reciprocate, that she kiss him back with all the fervor he was showing her. She whimpered in the back of her throat, wanting to get closer to him, to touch him. At the noise, he broke off the kiss and looked searchingly into her eyes. “Did I hurt you? Do you want me to stop?” She shook her head and pulled him back down to her. “Kiss me again.” She was nowhere near finished exploring the depths of his mouth, the scraping of his stubble against her cheek, the tight grip of his hands on her shoulders steadying her for his pleasure. Though he let her pull him close, he made no move to touch her. “If I kiss you like that again, I will not want to stop,” he warned her. “I will lay you down on the bed and make love to you, if you will let me.” His words broke through the haze of desire that kept her good sense a prisoner. “I am not a lightskirt.” She worried at her bottom lip with her teeth, knowing she should move away but still reluctant to leave his embrace. No man had so much as tempted her to behave loosely before. This was all new to her. New, and just a little frightening.

“I never thought you were for a moment. But you are a desirable woman, and I am only a man.” He took hold of her hand and laid it against his thigh. His erection, thick and hard, pulsed beneath her fingers, under the soft leather of his breeches. “See what you do to me? I want you, Bess. I cannot hide the desire I feel for you.” With the back of his other hand, he brushed lightly across her breasts. “Nor can you hide the desire you feel for me. Your nipples are hard with the excitement of kissing me. And if I were to put my hand beneath your skirts, I have no doubt but that your pussy would be as sweet and as wet as the wine you poured for me.” Though she knew she ought to take her hand away from him, it was as if it were glued in place. Instead of moving it away, she clutched at him, wrapping her fingers tightly around his cock and squeezing it gently. For all that she had been brought up in a tavern and knew the facts of life, she had never touched a man’s cock before. Sure, she had seen plenty. Tipsy customers pissing against the wall, mostly, and the odd drunkard who had downed his trousers in the vain hope of impressing her with his limp and miserable appendage. But never before had she put her hands on a man’s privates, even through his trousers, and felt for herself the power kept in check, waiting to be unleashed. “Christ, Bess.” His voice was strangled. “Are you really that innocent you do not know what you are doing to me, or are you asking me to make love to you?”

“I am an innocent.” She heaved a gusty sigh, her desire crystallizing in her mind, and pushing away the fear of the unknown “I had thought to save myself for my husband, but decent men are rare hereabouts. Here I am, nineteen already, and not even so much as a glimmer of a husband on the horizon. So I shall do what I please with my innocence.” “Do I please you?” She uncurled her fingers and then tightened them again. Really, he was so hard and felt so good that she could not resist caressing him. “You would please me better if you kissed me again.” Jack could not refuse such an invitation. Damn it, he was a man, not a monk. Not that even a monk would stand a chance against Bess Burroughs if she was determined to seduce him. Gathering her into his arms, he began to kiss her, properly this time, as a man should kiss a lovely woman. Her mouth opened under his, her tongue meeting his own, welcoming his invasion. Instinctively, her fingers tightened around his cock, squeezing him until he was as hard and swollen as he ever had been. She pressed her chest against his so tightly that he could feel her heartbeat as if it were his own. Her breasts were plastered against his shirt, her nipples peaked against his chest. Through the lust that was pulsing in his veins, he heard

his good sense sound a note of caution. There was a price on his head. Enough of a price that he should deal carefully with any woman who sought to detain him. God’s blood, but he had nearly lost his freedom once that way already, when his previous woman had tired of him and thought to take King George’s gold for turning him over to the law, leaving her free to take one of the king’s soldiers as her new lover. He’d only discovered the plot when he had turned up unexpected one evening and found her entertaining her new lover in his place. His lip curled into a sneer even as he carried on the kiss. Lillian had been fool’s gold, not the real thing, and poor sod that he was, he’d been taken in by her shining promises. Not to mention by the full bosom that spilled out of her low-cut bodice, and the glimpse of ankle and calf that she displayed under her shortened skirts. No woman would make such a fool of him a second time. Pretty Bess Burroughs would find that out soon enough. But in the meantime, she was warm and willing, and King George’s men were far away, chasing a false report that he had been seen robbing a carriage on the road to Scotland. He’d planted that report himself and watched the soldiers ride off with some satisfaction, confident that he had bought himself a week or more of ease and safety where none would think to look for him. At least not until he had relieved another set of wealthy aristocrats of their illgotten riches. And relieved pretty Bess of her maidenhead,

to boot. Her busy fingers were unbuttoning his breeches and worming their way inside his linen underdrawers to touch his bare skin. His breath caught in his throat as she caressed him. For an innocent, she certainly had a seductive way about her. His flirtation with her had started off as an innocent exchange of pleasantries, a way of ensuring that she liked him just a little, but not enough to have her fall in love with him or to make him out as some kind of romantic hero. The last thing he needed was a disappointed or jealous lover to turn him in to the law. Still, fine words seldom went astray. Women, he had discovered, were far less likely to rat you out if you paid them a few compliments and made them feel attractive and appreciated. Combined with ready and willing payment for his food and lodging, his polite words had seldom failed to get him what he needed. He ought to turn her down with some pretty speech about respecting her too much to take her as his lover. If he had any sense, he would do so right now, before she took her experimentation any further. But Bess’ soft hand stroking down the length of his hard cock robbed him of any sense he had left. If she was offering, he was ready to take.

Chapter Two He tugged at her skirts, pulling them up above her knees so he could slide his hand under them to stroke her plump, white thighs. She shivered at his touch, but she made no move to pull away. His hand inched higher and higher up her legs until he was stroking her hip. He moved to the juncture of her thighs, but he could find no entrance there. Her knees were still locked together, forbidding him more than the barest brush of the downy soft hair that covered her mound. He pushed his hand between her thighs. “Open your legs for me,” he whispered, gently pushing them apart as he spoke. “Let me touch your pussy. Let me feel how wet you are, how ready for the touch of a man, for the slide of my fingers against your center of pleasure.” With a soft sigh, she allowed him to push her legs apart, letting her knees drift wide open in invitation. He gave a grin of triumph and redoubled the passion in his kiss. All her secrets were open to him now. She would be bucking under him, her pussy filled to bursting with his eager thrusting cock, before too much longer. As he kissed her, he slid his fingers across her mound, caressing her firmly, but gently, as he would tame a skittish horse. He found her nub of pleasure and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, making her gasp and arch her

back. “Do you like that?” he whispered. “Do you like it when I play with your little clit?” Wordlessly, she nodded. Her panting and the flush on her face told him all that he needed to know. Though she was an innocent, she wanted him. Finding the entrance to her cunt, he probed it gently with the tip of his finger. She was wet. Sopping wet. His finger slid in easily, her pussy walls tightening around him as he pushed into her as far as he could go. Christ, but he wanted her pussy to be tightening like that around his cock. He wanted to sink into her, to claim her with his loving. Slowly he withdrew his finger and took his hand out from under her skirts. She looked at him in mute protest and her hand stopped its delicious stroking of his cock. The look of disappointment on her face nearly made him laugh out loud. Only his desire not to break the mood that had grown between them stopped him. “Time to make ourselves more comfortable before we go any further.” He reached down and pulled off his boots, tossing them into one corner of the room. His jacket quickly followed, and then his other garments, one by one, until he stood before her, proudly naked. Coming close to her, he traced the line of her bodice with one finger. “Your turn now, sweetheart. Take off your clothes and let me see your naked body.”

With a shimmy of her shoulders, her robe fell away, leaving her dressed only in a thin cotton nightdress. Through the fabric, he could see the outlines of her nipples, tight and hard, and the dark thatch of hair between her legs. Her hands went to the buttons of her nightrail, slowing undoing them one by one. When every last button was free, she took a deep breath and slid her nightgown off her shoulders to pool at her feet. His breath caught in his throat. Clothed, she was a pretty lass. Naked, she was a stunner. Pleasingly plump and curved in all the right places, with generous breasts tapering to a narrow waist and then curving out again into a bottom as juicy and ripe as a summer peach. Over her shoulders, like a veil, hung her long, hair in thick, black ringlets, allowing only the tips of her breasts to show through. He reached for her, drawing her against his body. Her skin, flushed with desire, burned against his as he buried his face in the perfume of her hair. “Come, let me love you as a woman deserves to be loved.” Intent on his pleasure, he tumbled her on to the bed and came to lie on top of her, nestled between her legs, his cock poised at the ready. He nudged at her opening. “Do you want me now, pretty Bess? Do you want me to fuck you? To thrust my cock inside you until it reaches the center of your being? To thrust into you until I am ready to spill my seed?” Though her face was burning with embarrassment at his blunt words, still she angled her hips up to meet him in

invitation. “Do not…do not spill your seed inside me,” she whispered. “I do not want a babe to come from this.” So, pretty Bess retained enough sense, even in the throes of desire, to demand he take some precautions. A level-headed lass, evidently. “I will not,” he promised her, hoping that he would remember in the heat of the moment to pull out in time. The way he was poised over her, he would promise her the moon if it meant he could sink into her body sooner. Her fears assuaged, she put her hands on his shoulders and pulled him close enough to place little nibbling kisses on his neck. He smiled, satisfied that he’d done his duty by her innocence. While his self-respect had demanded he give her one last opportunity to pull away from him, now that she had turned the chance away, he wasn’t going to give her another chance to change her mind. Thrusting his hips forward, he pushed the head of his cock into her narrow channel. She gave a squeak of surprise and bit him on the shoulder. God, but she was tight. Hot and wet, and as tight as his fist. Gently, but inexorably, he pushed forward until he was buried to the hilt inside her. She moaned softly as he slowly pulled out of her moist heat again. He held himself still, willing himself not to move. “Did I

hurt you?” “No. You couldn’t hurt me. I just don’t want you to leave me yet.” Her trust in him made him feel as powerful as a king. “I’m not leaving you, sweetheart. Just readying myself to do this.” And with that, he thrust back into her in one powerful movement. Her pussy muscles tightened around him as he pushed into her, squeezing him until it felt as though every drop of blood in his body had rushed to his engorged cock. He had never been so swollen or so hard before. He’d not thought that a simple innkeeper’s daughter could have such an effect on him. He was Jack Hall, a highwayman and a thief, not some callow youth to be bowled over by a mere slip of a girl. True, Bess was more than a pretty face—she had a good heart and bore no more love for the King’s men than he did. Still, she was only a woman and he had no desire to test her loyalty. He intended to be far gone from here before she learned the price he carried on his head. In the meantime, however, he would make sport with her for as long as he could entice her into his bed. He took her breasts in his hands, squeezing them as her cunt was squeezing him. Her nipples had contracted again into hard peaks. He took one between his thumb and forefinger, pinching it gently. Under him, she bucked and moaned as he fucked her, matching him thrust for thrust.

He’d seldom had a more eager bedmate, or a noisier one. If they carried on much longer like this, they would wake the entire inn. Not such a good idea. His life would not be worth a bean if the innkeeper or his wife caught him fucking their daughter. Deliberately, he hurried the pace, thrusting into her long and hard until she stiffened under him. She gave a cry of almost agony, and he felt her pussy convulse around him. Reluctantly, he pulled out of her warmth. Only just in time. The friction of pulling out of her as the ripples of her pleasure surrounded him made his orgasm overtake him. With one last effort of will, he delayed the eruption of his cum until he could spend safely on her belly. Spurt after spurt of his seed burst out of him as he held himself over her, paralyzed by the intensity of his pleasure. Only when he was drained as dry as a drought-stricken field and the last throbbings of his orgasm had subsided was he able to collapse on top of her, sated at last. He had barely caught his breath back when she wriggled out from under him and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “I’d best be going.” He reached out for her and pulled her back into his arms, suddenly reluctant to let her escape him quite so quickly. After the pleasure they had just shared, her indecent haste to leave was almost insulting. “Stay the night with me. Sleep in my bed tonight.”

With a sigh that said she ought to know better, she allowed herself to be pulled back into the warmth of his embrace. Bess woke, as always, at first cock crow. Her head ached a little from the wine she had drunk, and her body ached somewhat more from their lovemaking. She moved her legs gingerly as she sat up in bed, doing her best not to disturb the man sleeping next to her. It was done. She was no longer a maiden, and she did not care. Not that she harbored any romantic fantasies that Jack would now fall in love with her and carry her away on his coal-black horse and live happily with her in a cottage by the sea. She was no fool. Such things did not happen in real life. At most, he would spend a few pleasant days with her and remember her fondly once in a while after he had ridden away. It had been her choice to give him her maidenhead and she was glad of it. He had made her feel like a woman, like a desirable woman. Like a strong woman in charge of her own destiny. She had taken him as her first lover and the world had not ended nor had the sky fallen down upon her for her wickedness. He had pleased her well, and she would be content with that.

Jack stretched his booted feet in front of him as he tucked into the plate of good pork sausages that Bess had brought him for breakfast. Catching her eye, he winked at her, and she colored and turned her head away. Her lack of inhibitions, it seemed, did not stretch so far as to flirt with him under the eagle eye of her mother. He liked her the better for it. No tavern lightskirt was his Bess. Prim and proper in company, but as wild as a tiger in his bed at night. His business could wait another day. He couldn’t wait until the evening, when he could tempt his Bess to his room and strip her of all her clothes and make love with her again. His Bess. One side of his mouth curled up in a wry grimace. When had he started thinking such nonsense? She was no more his than the wind that ruffled his hair or the moonlight that lit his way in the dark of night. He couldn’t afford to indulge in such silliness. Soft thoughts like that could get him killed. He would tumble the wench again, if she was willing, and then ride off into the night, to business. The sheen of her hair was nothing beside the sheen of a stack of golden guineas. Enough guineas, and he could emigrate to the Americas and start life again as a wealthy horse-breeder. He would reclaim his rightful place in society, the place his father had forfeited when his customers, blue-blooded aristocrats every one of them, had driven him to bankruptcy. He would make a fortune and avenge his father. No woman was worth giving up such a dream for.

Just then, she turned her head over her shoulder and smiled at him. Her smile lit up the dingy parlor of the inn like the sun at midday. In her eyes, he could see a promise of warmth and of joy. All he had to do was to reach out his hand to take what she offered. Bess’ mother caught her staring at Jack, her hunger for him shining in her eyes. She lowered them hastily, but not before her mother had seen the covetous gaze she gave him, and the answering warmth in his face. “Bess, you’re wanted in the kitchen.” Her mother’s voice was sharp and she glared at Jack as she gathered her daughter. “What’s the big hurry?” Bess grumbled as she followed her mother into the kitchen. Everything was as spotlessly clean and organized as ever, with no sign of any incipient disaster that required her immediate attention. Her time with Jack was limited and she prized every minute of it. “Those eels out the back need to be made into a pie before they spoil.” Bess wrinkled her nose. “It’s already too late for them. I was going to dig them into the vegetable garden. Not even the cats will touch them.” Her mother shrugged. “Dig them into the garden, then.” “You did not drag me out here to tell me to dig a brace of rotten eels into the garden.” Her mother wiped her hands on her apron. “Bess, there

is something you have a right to know. And I think it is high time you learned the truth.” She gave an uncomfortable cough and then fell silent. A trickle of unease skittered down Bess’ spine. Her mother was not usually lost for words. “What is it?” “Your father…” She turned away from Bess’ gaze. “Your father is not really your father.” Bess gaped at her open-mouthed, too surprised to say anything. Was her mother really telling the truth? The man who had dandled her on his knee as a child, who had treated her with kindness and affection, who she called papa, he was not her father? “D-Does he…?” she finally managed to stammer. Her mother gave her a sad smile. “Yes, he knows very well. That is why I married him, you see. He is even grateful to you, I believe. Your conception made me accept his suit when all his pleading on his own behalf had failed.” “So, who…?” “I was barely seventeen, a young woman with stars in my eyes. None of the local lads pleased me, though I had plenty swarming around me.” She gestured wryly at her ample hips. “You’d hardly believe it now, but I was pretty enough back then, and being my father’s only child, it was well known that I would take over the inn when he passed away. It was a good dowry to have, bigger than any other girl in the village could boast of. But I dreamed of bigger and better things. Of leaving the village and going even so

far as London one day.” She shook her head. “Foolish dreams for a foolish young woman who ought to have known better, that’s all they were. “Then a man came to stay at the inn one night. Quality, he was, by the cut of his clothes and the gold jingling in his pockets. He charmed his way into my bed with pretty words and empty compliments. I thought I was in love. But after he rode away the next morning, I never saw him again.” She heaved a sigh. “Do not follow in my footsteps, Bess. Do not fall in love with a man who will ride away from you without so much as a backward glance.” “I am not in love with Jack,” Bess protested. She had asked for nothing from him. She expected nothing from him. When he rode away, her heart would be bruised, maybe, but never broken. She would allow no man such power over her as that. Her mother stood up, picked up her kitchen knife and started to chop the carrots that waited to be made into tonight’s dinner. “Take your pick among your suitors before you have a choice forced on you. You will be the happier for it.” Bess moved behind her mother and took her in her arms, resting her head on her mother’s shoulder. “I am not unhappy, mother. I know that Jack will leave.” The chopping of carrots halted for a moment. “But it does not change the way you feel about him.” A statement, not a question.

“No, mother. Knowing that he will leave soon does not change the way I feel about him right now.” Her mother’s shoulders stiffened in her embrace. “I feared as much. Just be careful, Bess. I would not have you hurt as I was hurt.” “I will be careful, mother. I promise you that much.” Jack could not resist the promise in Bess’ eyes. Though he might not deserve it, though he could give her nothing in return, still he could not resist her silent offer. “Come for a walk with me.” She shot a look at her mother, a pleading look, but her mother continued to bustle around the tables, deliberately oblivious to the unspoken plea. She shook her head slowly, hesitantly. “I can’t. I have work to do.” He caught her hand in his, tracing a line on her palm with his finger, a sensual taste of all he wanted to share with her. “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.” From the corner of his eye, he saw her mother’s lips twitch into an almost smile. He sprang to his feet and made her a courtly bow. “Madam Burroughs, surely you will have the goodness to allow me a few stolen moments of your daughter’s company this fine morning.” “And what do you propose to do with my daughter?” Her voice held no laughter. Lie her on her back on the grass and fuck her until we both collapse with pleasure. “We shall pick blackberries

and bring them back for a pie for supper.” The older woman looked askance at his clothes. “You will stain your breeches with the juice.” He shrugged easily. “Then I will have to buy a new pair.” “Leather breeches as fine as yours do not come cheaply.” “They are naught but clothes. I would ruin twenty such pairs for a morning in Bess’ company.” Bess’ mother shook her head in exasperation and shooed her apron at him. “Off you go, then, the pair of you. But mind, I want a full pail of blackberries by dinnertime, or I will be having words with both of you.” “Thank you, madam. Your kindness knows no bounds.” Then, before she could change her mind or call her daughter back for some last minute chore, he took Bess by the hand and pulled her out of the parlor and into the warm autumn sunshine. Bess squeezed Jack’s hand in hers as she hurried through the cobbled yard. “My mother does not trust you.” His grin would have put a wolf to shame. “I would not trust me, either.” “You would not ever hurt me.” She had put herself in his power last night and he had given her nothing but pleasure. “Not unless you wanted me to.” She stopped walking and looked up at him curiously.

“Why would I want you to do that?” “There are some people who believe that a little pain heightens their pleasure. A bite on the shoulder in the throes of passion, or the touch of a whip expertly applied, with just the right amount of force to tantalize, but not to torment. Or maybe a pinch on the backside.” His hand sneaked across her back and dropped to her bottom, pinching a bit of her skin between his thumb and forefinger and giving it a sharp tweak. She gave a surprised squeak and slapped his hand away. Tim, the young stable boy, was currying a bay roan by the water pump in the yard. He looked up, startled at the noise she made. She gave him a sunny smile as she passed and he returned it with a shy one of his own. Jack tugged on her hand impatiently. “One of your admirers?” “Tim?” She shook her head. “He’s just a boy.” “Just as well, or I might have had to give you a taste of my whip for flirting with other men while you are with me.” Now Jack was being ridiculous. A simple smile was all she had given the lad, and that only out of good nature. “I was not flirting with him.” “More’s the pity.” That wolfish grin was back again. “I will have to find another excuse to see if a little taste of my whip will heighten your pleasure while I fuck you. I am sure I can find some reason to punish a naughty young woman

like you. A reason to tie you up on my bed and tease you with my fingers and my mouth and my whip until you beg for mercy.” The thought of Jack tickling her lightly with his whip as she lay spread-eagled on the bed in front of him, powerless to stop him, made her hot with desire. She could feel herself growing wet between her legs, wanting his cock inside her again. As best as she could, she squelched the desire that was building up inside her. Not until night fell and the whole household was asleep could she make her way to Jack’s bed again. She had better concentrate on the task at hand and not let herself be distracted by Jack’s nearness or the intoxicating maleness of him. Stopping at the entrance to the yard, she looked out into the narrow, rutted lane. “We’ll find better blackberries if we walk toward the village.” He took her hand and pulled her in the opposite direction. “I don’t give a damn about the blackberries. I just wanted to spend the morning with you.” “You could have talked to me while I worked,” she said primly, though she matched her steps to his quickly enough. As soon as they were out of sight of the inn, she would be able to let him steal a kiss. “Under your mother’s eagle eye?” He pulled a face. “And what would we have talked about? The way my cock stands to attention every time I catch a glimpse of you? The wetness of your pussy when I dabbled my fingers—and more—in it last night? How I want to bend you over right

here in the lane and take you again?” She’d thought last night that he had sated her appetite, so how was it that she was hungrier for him than ever this morning? “I will never be able to keep my mind on blackberries if you keep talking this way,” she complained. Walking quickly, they had already turned the corner in the lane that put them out of sight of the inn yard. He stopped by a small copse of trees and ran one hand over her front. Her breasts tingled at his touch, her nipples puckering into hard buds. “You want me just as much as I want you.” He pushed his way through the undergrowth and into the middle of the trees. “Come, none will see us here.” Bess pushed her way in beside him. Suddenly, nothing in the world mattered to her but slaking her desire for Jack. She would risk being caught out in the open, she would even brave her mother’s certain anger, just to touch Jack’s naked body once more. The sunlight dappled through the trees, shining on the soft green moss at the base of the trunks. A light breeze ruffled the leaves, sending whispers of sound floating through the air. As she stood in Jack’s arms, her head upturned for his kiss, the rest of the world disappeared. Nothing existed but the two of them. Without conscious thought, her hands moved to the buttons of her bodice, unfastening her clothing and letting it fall to the ground. There would be no waiting for the night to fall. She wanted Jack and she wanted him now.

Chapter Three Tim, the stable boy, hid behind a tree, watching the scene unfold before his eyes. He’d been right to follow them. As soon as he saw the stranger, he’d known that he was up to no good, that he harbored evil designs on Bess. Bess herself had not wanted to go with the stranger, he knew. He’d heard her quiet shriek as they walked across the yard, and the look of startled fear that had momentarily passed across her face. She was scared and the stranger was forcing her to go with him. There was no time for cowardice or for hesitation. She was in danger. It was up to him to save her. Tying the horse he had been currying up to a post, he’d sneaked after them, taking care to keep enough of a distance behind them so they could not hear him. He’d turned the corner just in time to see the stranger pull Bess into the trees by the side of the lane. She must be too frightened to scream, he thought. The poor girl was not to know that he was there ready to save her. There was no sense in giving the game away and

rushing after them. No, a proper rescue would need an element of surprise. It was a pity he had not stopped to pick up a weapon before hurrying after them, but he would find a solid stick of wood and carry that. A blow to the head with a decent-sized log and the stranger would no longer pose a threat to anyone. The muffled sound of voices distracted him from his search. Ah, there they were, the two of them, in a tiny clearing where the trees thinned out enough to let a patch of sunlight through. And the stranger was kissing Bess, his beautiful Bess, and ripping away her bodice with his eager hands, letting her breasts swing free in the sunlight. Tim swallowed convulsively. Many was the time he’d gone to sleep in the hayloft above the stable with one hand in his breeches and the thought of Bess’ bare breasts in his head. Just the thought of seeing them, let alone touching them, had been enough to make him come in his pants time after time. And here was the stranger treating with casual affection what Tim had worshipped from afar for so many months. No, for years. He’d been fascinated with Bess’ breasts from the day he’d first started work in the stables. Luscious, plump and white, she would flaunt them at every man who came to drink at her father’s inn. But woe betide the man who tried

to touch her. He’d seen her deck more than one of them with a swift blow if he’d tried to get over-friendly. In his most optimistic moments, Tim had hoped she was saving herself for him, that she had seen the way he worshipped the ground she walked on, and was confessing her love for him by dismissing all her other suitors. He was nearly as old as she was—just turned eighteen —and though he was small for his age, he was still a man with a man’s needs and a man’s desires. His Bess, he was sure, would not look down on him for being younger than her. She would not care that he stood half a head shorter or that his shoulders were still thin and hunched slightly. No, Bess would see through all that to the shining love that lay inside him. One day, he was sure, she would come to love him as deeply and as truly as he loved her. So, what was she doing letting a stranger paw her breasts? She belonged to him and to no other. He would not let her play the whore with another man. He grabbed a fallen stick firmly in his hands. It was lighter than he would have liked, and hollow with rot, but no matter. Right would win over might every time. He was about to charge in to save Bess from the stranger when the man tossed off his coat. The sight of a silver-handled pistol in a holster strapped to his side made Tim’s blood run cold. If he rushed in now, the stranger would shoot him down in cold blood, without mercy, and then who would save

Bess from him? He put down the stick again, taking care to make no noise. It was better to play a waiting game and to catch the man when his guard was down. That way he could save them both without risking his life in the process. And in the meantime he could stare at Bess’ pinktipped breasts, at the stranger’s hands on them, touching what he himself did not dare to touch, caressing what he did not dare to caress, taking what ought to belong to him and to no other. He felt his cock grow hard in his breeches, harder even than when he had merely thought about Bess’ breasts in the dark of the night, alone in his hayloft. His cock was so hard that it hurt, and his balls ached. Quietly he slipped one hand inside his breeches and stroked himself, shifting himself around the tree to get a better view of her nakedness. No one would see him here, or mock him for not being able to find a woman to tend to his needs. Her breasts were full and round. If it were his hands touching them, not the stranger’s, they would spill over, too big to be contained. And her nipples were a deep pink and as small and tight as unripe cherries. They would be sweeter to the taste than cherries though, as sweet as sugar lumps. As if he could hear Tim’s thoughts, the stranger bent his head and licked at her breasts, taking them into his mouth and suckling on them as a foal would suckle on its mother. The sight was too much for him. He sank to his knees

in the leaf mold and rested his head against the truck of the tree. Then he unlaced his breeches and took his cock firmly into his hand. He pumped furiously, imagining that it was his mouth on her breasts, his hands stroking the naked planes of her back, his thigh thrust between her legs and his hands on her buttocks, pulling her closer. All too soon, he felt his cum rise to the top of his cock. Throwing his head back and biting back his cries, he shot his seed into the base of the tree trunk. Temporarily satisfied, he wiped his hand on a patch of moss and re-laced his breeches. The stranger was still sucking on Bess’ breasts as if they were covered in honey, but the sight no longer had the power to arouse him. It disgusted him that Bess was so free with her body to allow the man such liberties, but he could not look away. But that was not the only liberty the stranger intended to take. He fell to his knees and put his head under Bess’ skirts. Heaven only knew what he was doing under there, but whatever it was, it made Bess as shameless as the village whore. She threw back her head, letting her black hair fall over her naked back, and gave a strangled cry of ecstasy. Whatever it was, he needed to know so he could put that same look of bliss on her face and make her cry out for him in the same way. The sight of Bess taking such sensual pleasure, and the thought of one day being the man to give it to her, made his cock twitch in his breeches again. So caught up was he

in the idea of learning the trick to making her cry in such a fashion, that not until the stranger had scrambled out from under Bess’ skirts did he realize that he had lost his chance to rush in and play the hero. Bitterly did he regret it when he realized what was happening now. The stranger had his hand on Bess’ head, and was forcing her to her knees and thrusting his swelling breeches toward her mouth. Though her fingers seemed ready enough on the stranger’s buttons, she must be protesting inside, he was sure of it. Only a whore would reach into a man’s breeches like that and take his cock into her hands. The stranger must be forcing her to do it. He must have threatened her with a dreadful punishment if she did not do exactly as he asked her to do, and pretend that she was enjoying it. Otherwise she would never have bent her head and licked along the side of his shaft and then taken him into her mouth. Despite his recent pleasure, he was swelling again. Fumbling with his breeches, he took out his own cock, watching it grow with satisfaction. Though it was not as long as the stranger’s, still it was thick and strong enough. Bess would find nothing wrong with him when he finally took her to his bed. And then, when she belonged to him and had no thought of leaving him, he would make her take him into his mouth too, and suck on him as she was sucking on the stranger. He would punish her for acting the whore with

another man by forcing her to do the same with him. He would degrade her and punish her out of love, to teach her her place. Before he had had enough of these imaginings, the stranger sank to the ground, taking Bess with him. He watched in fascinated horror, unable to move, as Bess got to her hands and knees on the ground, her ass up in the air in a lewd invitation. The stranger flipped her skirts above her waist, giving Tim a glimpse, the merest glimpse, of round white buttocks and the thatch of hair that lay between her legs, and then he moved between her thighs, blocking the view. All Tim could see now was the stranger’s cock as it thrust in and out of Bess’ cunt. He was fucking her from behind like dogs fucked each other, using and abusing her body, degrading her. He was not loving her gently and reverently as a woman like Bess deserved to be loved, but fucking her hard and fast and making her cry out and buck her hips wildly, like they were both animals. Though he was sickened at the sight of the stranger whoring his Bess, he was fascinated at the same time. He could not stop himself from taking himself in his hand once again and pumping his cock in time to the stranger’s thrusting. It ought to be him behind Bess, thrusting his cock into her slit. It ought to be his hands on her breasts, on her belly, cupping her mound. It ought to be him biting her shoulder so hard that she screamed. It ought to be him.

And, for a moment, it was him, and the pleasure went to him with such a rush that his cum exploded a second time. His eyes closed and his seed came pulsing out of him in spurt after spurt until he was drained dry as the pasture in August. When he came to himself again, it was to the sight of the stranger gripped with the same ecstasy, his hot seed spilling on to Bess’ white buttocks and dripping down her thighs. He turned away, his stomach revolting at the sight, and crept silently backward through the trees toward the lane. The stranger had robbed him of Bess’ innocence, but he would not go unpunished. Somehow, he would find a way to make the man suffer for what he had done. Though he had not been strong enough to rescue Bess, still he would avenge her. Bess sank to the moss-covered ground, her legs no longer able to hold her. Their lovemaking this morning had been explosive, born out of a desperate need to feel each other once again. There had been nothing calm or controlled about it—it had been all raw passion and desire. Now that it was over, she felt nothing but a satisfied glow and a decided ache between her legs. They had wanted each other and now their wants were met. She, for one, had no regrets. She rolled over on to her back and stretched her arms

above her head. “I suppose we had better pick some blackberries, and quickly now, if my mother is not to get suspicious.” “I had rather nibble on you some more.” He reached out and bit her ear gently. “You are sweeter than blackberries.” “Do you want my mother to turn you over to King George’s men?” she asked tartly. “She would do it, you know, if she knew what we had been doing.” The threat was enough to make him silent. She got to her feet and re-buttoned her bodice. “Come, you had better pick some blackberries with me.” “On one condition.” She raised her eyebrows at him. “Well?” “You will come to my bed tonight. As soon as night falls.” She scuffed the toe of her boot in the fallen leaves, her promise to her mother weighing on her mind. “I cannot come too early. I will have to wait until my parents are abed.” She would take care at least that her mother did not find her out. It would only worry her, and to no avail. Satisfied with her promise, he got to his feet and buttoned his breeches. “As soon as they retire for the night then, and not a moment later.” “I will be there, I promise.” Hand in hand, they wandered further down the lane, Bess, at least, tossing blackberries furiously into the pail.

Though Jack picked plenty, he spent more time coaxing Bess into trying a particularly plump and juicy one than in filling the pail. By the time the pail was heavy enough to satisfy her mother, Bess’ mouth was stained purple with the ripe fruit, and both of them had purple fingers. The house had been quiet for ten minutes or more before Jack, lying naked on his bed, heard the faint creaking of his door as it slowly opened. He let out the breath he’d been holding. She’d come, then. Back in the trees, he’d not been so sure of her. He’d given her pleasure, had felt her pussy convulse around his cock as he held himself deep inside her, holding on to his control by the sheer force of his will. Only when she had shuddered in the final throes of her release had he pulled out of her and let his seed erupt on to her ass. Though he was thoroughly satisfied, his orgasm had made him feel uncomfortably incomplete. She wanted him to fuck her, but that was all she needed him for. She was holding out on him, keeping the essential part of her to herself. Her heart would not break when he left to go aplundering. The thought ought to make him glad, but instead it bothered him that her heart was so impervious. Still, she had come to him tonight. For now, that was all that mattered.

“Jack, are you awake?” Her whisper cut through the darkness. “Awake and ready.” It was true. His cock, semi-stiff ever since he had retired to his room to wait for her, had hardened the instant she had opened the door. The bed creaked as she sat on it and the mattress sagged a little beneath her weight. She reached out for him, stifling a burst of laughter as she encountered hard, warm, male flesh. “You are more than a man. You must be a demon come to life, you are so insatiable.” He pulled her on top of him and slid his hands under her skirts to cup her buttocks. “Are you making advances toward me, you shameless hussy?” She unbuttoned her bodice and pushed her shift down over her shoulders until her top half was bare. “Of course I am.” “Do you want to be fucked again? Hard and fast like in the trees today, or slow and gentle?” She wriggled her mound on his hardness and gave an appreciative sigh. “No more advances. I am too sore already. If you take me again, I will not be able to walk come the morning.” Even if he couldn’t fuck her, he could still make it worth her while to come to him. “Show me where it hurts so I can kiss you better.” “It hurts between my legs,” she confessed. He lay her down on the bed and spread her legs apart.

“Does it hurt here?” he asked, kissing the inside of her knees. “Not there. Higher up.” He knelt between her legs and kissed the inside of her thighs. “Does it hurt here?” “Not there. Higher up still.” “It must be here that it hurts then,” he said, as he bent his head to her pussy, parting her lips with one hand and licking her gently. She tasted of all woman, musky and sexy and intoxicating all at the same time. “Tell me that it hurts here. Tell me that my kisses make it better.” She gave a moan of appreciation at his ministrations. “Ah, yes. That feels much better already.” His tongue had found her clit and was lapping at it, swirling it around, tasting her intimately. Her breathing quickened and she began to buck her hips against his mouth. “Shhh, lie still,” he instructed her. “Be a good girl and do not move.” She gave a wriggle of protest. Just the opening he had been waiting for. “I told you not to move,” he said sternly. “You disobeyed me. You are a bad girl and must be punished.” “Punished?” she squeaked, instantly becoming as rigid as a statue. “Yes, punished.” He took the strips of silk that he had prepared earlier and tied them around her wrists and then

looped them over the bedposts. “But first I must tie you up, so you do not think to escape me.” “I will not try to escape.” Her voice was breathless with excitement, but still she held herself motionless, allowing him to do with her as he pleased. “You will forgive me if I do not take you at your word,” he said as he finished tying the silk strips with tight knots and tested them to make sure she could not wriggle out of the bonds. As soon as he was satisfied that she was tied tightly, he began to work on the remainder of her clothes, removing each piece with agonizing slowness and rebuking her when she moved. When she was naked at last, he bent down to kiss her once more. “You have been a good girl,” he said approvingly. “You deserve a small reward.” He flicked his tongue lightly over her nipples, noting with satisfaction how hard and tight they were. As his tongue touched her, she gave a startled squeak and arched her back into him. “That was not so well-behaved,” he admonished her. “You deserve a double punishment. A touch of my whip should cure you of your disobedience.” “You are not going to whip me?” “Aren’t I?” He reached down and picked up the whip from the side of the bed, flexing it in the air with a vicious swish. “Now, raise your legs in the air so I can whip those

smooth white buttocks of yours.” “No.” “I thought I had made it clear to you that disobedient girls get punished. Now raise your legs as I asked you to.” With a sulky humph, she raised her legs just a little. “Higher.” Slowly she obeyed him, raising her legs so he could see the white of her buttocks in the faint moonlight from the window. “Good. Now hold them there.” With a smack, he brought the whip down on her bared ass. She gave a gasp of indrawn breath, but did not lower her legs. “Good girl,” he said. He bent his head to her pussy and gave her clit a light lick, then ran his tongue over her cunt. She was dripping wet, her musky juices running down the cleft between her buttocks. “That is what girls get when they are good.” He raised his head and brought the whip down sharply on her buttocks again. “And this is what they get when they are naughty. Do you understand the difference?” “I will be good, I promise. I will never be naughty again.” He smacked her again, and then again, but though she cried out with each blow, she kept her legs in the air. “I see you are determined to be good.” “I am.”

He turned the whip around, holding it by the top of the handle and pushed the tip of it into her cunt. If he were to fuck her now, he would not have the self-control to take it slowly. He’d thrust into her hard and deep and hurt her. But the whip handle was small and slight and would satisfy her need to be filled while he licked her. “Am I hurting you?” “No.” He pushed it a little way further into her, leaving the tail of the whip hanging out of her. “Good.” She gasped as it entered her. “Mmmm, yes, very good.” Another nudge and it was buried inside her, her pussy muscles closing around it and hiding it from view. The sight of it made his balls ache with the need for release. He took his cock in his hand and knelt over her, stroking himself. He was past being able to think of anything but his own desire for her. She would have to wait until he was satisfied before he attended to her needs. “I’m going to come all over your breasts. And then I’m going to lick your clit and fuck you with the whip handle until you come.” Slowly he stroked himself with one hand, enjoying the tension slowly building up inside him. With his other hand, he stroked her body, enjoying the curves of her breasts, the swell of her hips, dipping in between her legs to tease her clit with feather-light touches and to tug gently at the tail of the whip.

His cum was rising like a river in flood, threatening to spill its banks. Giving in to the urgency in his blood, he stroked himself faster and faster until he could hear nothing but the pounding in his ears and feel nothing but the desperate need building inside him. Beneath him, Bess lay at his mercy, unable to move, her wide eyes watching him as he pumped harder and harder. His orgasm overtook him, stripping away any vestige of his self-control. Throwing his head back and giving a strangled cry, his seed erupted on to Bess’ white breasts in a flood of absolute pleasure. Spurt after spurt of cum covered her, until finally his cock hung limp and wet in his hand, boneless with satisfaction. Tempted though he was to collapse on top of her in exhaustion, he needed to make her cry out with the same pleasure before he was done. Her face was flushed and her lids half-closed. By the erectness of her nipples and the trickle of juice that was escaping her cunt to drizzle onto the sheets, the sight of his orgasm had excited her too. “Did you like that?” he asked her, rubbing his cum into her breasts with a gentle circular motion. “Did you like having my seed spurt out on to your breasts? Did you like watching me take my pleasure, feeling my wetness cover you?” Her only answer was a soft moan, and she raised her hips in the air and let her legs fall open in a wanton

invitation. The tip of the whip handle, glistening with her juice, was just protruding from between her cunt lips. He pushed it inside her further and was rewarded with another moan as she thrust herself against his hand, forcing it still higher inside her. “You want me to fuck you with the whip?” he asked, tugging it gently out again. “You want me to tease your pussy with this nice wooden handle until you come?” “Please.” It was barely a whisper of sound. “I like a woman who knows how to beg.” He bent his head to taste her clit as he slowly pushed the handle back inside her. “You deserve a reward.” Her clit was swollen and distended. Gently, he eased the makeshift dildo in and out of her as he sucked on her clit until he felt her orgasm begin to overtake her. “Come on, sweetheart,” he urged her. “Let yourself go and I will catch you.” Her arms strained against her bonds as her back arched off the bed, her face contorted in a breathless grimace. She held her breath for the space of a dozen heartbeats, and then let out a wordless cry. He felt the convulsions of pleasure rip through her body as if it had been his own. On and on her body shuddered, lost in the grip of pleasure, until she could hold on no longer. As the waves died down, she sank back to the bed, no longer fighting her

restraints. As her orgasm faded, he slipped the whip handle out of her, then reached up and untied the ribbons of silk that held her fast. Freed from her bonds, she collapsed on to the bed, dragging him on top of her. A contented purr escaped her as they lay entangled together on the bed. “No wonder highborn ladies get a thrill out of being kissed by highwaymen,” she murmured, her voice full of sleepy mischief. “If their men folk knew exactly where and how you had kissed them, I fear you would not live long.” He smacked her rump with the flat of his hand. “A highwayman’s stock in trade is more than his brace of pistols, my dear. He also needs a ready tongue.” Underneath him, he felt her shiver, as if she was remembering exactly how ready his tongue had been on her body. “I suppose I am only the last in a long line of women to fall for the charms of your tongue.” There had been few enough women before her, and even fewer that meant anything to him beyond a quick romp between the sheets. Admitting to such a truth, however, would do his reputation little good. A man needed a few secrets. “Unlike other lesser folk,” he said loftily, “highwaymen do not kiss and tell.”

Chapter Four Jack lay awake in the dark, his body sated with Bess’ loving. He could not get enough of her. Even now, rich coaches galore packed with wealthy passengers were rumbling past him on the road to the west, but still he lingered at the inn for another night, idling away his hardwon coins. After all, what did it matter if he took a well-deserved holiday? There would be time enough to get back on the road and add sufficiently to his savings before the ship on which he had booked a passage sailed to the Americas. Nor would it hurt to let the hue and cry after him die down a little before he became active once again. His fence, miserable old skinflint that he was, had paid handsomely for the last haul of stolen jewelry. Enough to keep your average highwayman in wine, women and song for a month or more. If the rascally soldiers thought he had given up the game, or gone to ground somewhere in the stewes of London where they could not find him, so much the better. His eventual return to his profession would be made that much easier. He shook his head in the darkness. Excuses—that was all they were. In the depths of his heart, he knew as much. He didn’t want to ride off and leave Bess alone in the inn, vulnerable to any ill-intentioned man who came along and

spouted words of love in her ear. She was his woman now —and he did not like to share. A life outside the law. That was all he could offer her. Uncertain at the best of times, and at the worst? He shuddered. He had long ago accepted the risks he must run, but Bess’ neck was too pretty to be stretched by the hangman’s noose. “You are not sleeping?” Bess’ voice tickled his ear and her warm hand stretched around his body, hugging him tightly to her. “What is on your mind?” “I should be out on the road tonight, not curled up in a warm bed with you.” Guilt made his voice short. “Are your pockets that empty already?” She gave a sleepy chuckle and nuzzled into his neck. “For sure, you have not emptied them on my account. You have not bought me so much as a length of ribbon for my hair.” True enough, he had given her nothing but a few pretty words in exchange for her innocence. She had made a poor bargain of it. “Do ribbons matter so much to you?” “What use is having a highwayman for a lover if he will not buy me presents?” she teased. “I had just as well take up with a farmer lad who cannot look beyond his plough.” His hand curled around her fingers and held her fast. “You would be better off with a farmer’s lad than with me. He would be able to give you many things I cannot.” She gave a contented sigh and wriggled her body close to his, her lush breasts pressed against his back. “I

don’t care about ribbons or other presents. Or about farmer lads, either. I only care to have you in bed beside me.” That was one thing he dared not give her. “I cannot dally another night. I must be away come morning.” If he did not leave soon, he would lose any desire to go at all. That would be a fatal mistake. With a price such as he had on his head, staying more than a night or two in one place was as good as putting a gun to his own head and squeezing the trigger. “Your pockets really must be to let.” Her body stiffened against his almost imperceptibly and her voice was noticeably cooler. “What’s the vice that empties them so quickly that you must be off robbing coaches every night with nary a break in between times to catch your breath? Gambling? Drinking? Or women more demanding of presents than I am?” “I will not be robbing coaches forever.” “I have no doubt of that.” By now her voice was tart enough to curdle milk. “Jack Ketch will catch up with you eventually and stretch your neck on the gallows.” “I am going to the Americas.” The words slipped out before he had the sense to stop them. “The next ship leaves in a sennight and I shall be on it. Once I reach the Americas, I shall become an honest man and work for my bread in an honest trade.” She sniffed disbelievingly. “If you do not hang before then.”

His face twisted in a grimace. “You need only send word and a posse of soldiers will be waiting at the ship to take me away in chains.” Would he never learn that his safety lay in silence? Women, of all creatures, were not to be trusted. He ought to know better than to entrust his plans even to his lover. Especially not to his lover. “I would not do that to you, Jack. You should know you can trust me that far.” Her hand was warm on his chest, caressing the wariness out of him. He wished he could believe her. “But still I fear for your safety.” So did he. A careless word in the wrong ear and Bess might have him hanged, for all she might not mean to. “Must you rob more coaches?” “I have no other trade, no skill but my knowledge of horseflesh.” “What will you do in the Americas, then, if you have no skills? Take to robbing coaches there?” “In the Americas, I can be what I please—no one would raise an eyebrow were I to set up as a wealthy horse-dealer in Boston or Virginia. But Jack Hall is too well-known in England as a highwayman to be anything else.” He turned to face her, taking her hands in his. “Another lucky strike and I will have enough gold to keep me honest for the rest of my life.” “Take me to the Americas with you.” Her words were a whisper in the darkness. “You…what?”

“Take me with you,” she repeated more firmly this time. “I will not be a burden on you. I have a few pounds saved. They will pay my passage with some to spare. And I have some knowledge of business dealings that might come in useful. After all, I have been an innkeeper all my life. I will make sure your customers do not rob you.” “You have a life here, a family, a good livelihood that will be yours one day.” He gestured at the dark walls that surrounded them. “You cannot want to leave all this, all you have here, and for what? For the uncertain life of an outlaw in a far away country, a country that is barely civilized?” “I do not want to stay here, to be trapped as my mother was trapped, serving rabbit stew and ale to coarse, drunken ploughmen with one hand and fighting off their lecherous advances with the other. In the Americas, I can at least hope for something better.” “You want to leave England forever?” Only direst necessity had impelled him to book a passage across the seas. Surely Bess would not willingly toss away her past, as he had been forced to do? “To leave everything you have ever known behind?” Her hand wound into his. “I will not be leaving you behind.” “I am only a man. There are plenty more in England better than I am.” He would not give up so much for a woman. Not even for a woman like Bess. “But none who make me feel so alive. None that I like

as well as I like you.” Her words were a velvet whisper of temptation. “You hardly know me.” “I know that you are a good man.” Her words proved how little she knew of him. His own mother had disowned him, and his father would turn in his grave to see him take to the road as a highwayman. She had made the decision for him. “I cannot take you with me.” “Please.” The offer pressed against his temples like the threat of a loaded gun. It was so tempting to give in to the danger, to take her away with him, to take with him a bit of home to cling to in a strange land. He screwed his eyes shut in the darkness, fighting the dangerous lure. “I cannot.” Bess deserved more than to be dragged into exile with him. “Or rather, I will not. I have not yet sunk that low.” “I see.” Her voice was curt, her words short and sharp. “You will take my innocence while you stay under my father’s roof, but you will not saddle yourself with me for any longer.” “You know that is not true.” For some reason, it was important to him that she understand his hesitation, that she know why he was refusing her company even though he would have given the world to be able to accept it. He took her into his arms, pressing her naked body close to his own. “It is one thing to seduce a beautiful and willing woman into my bed. It is quite another matter to steal her away from

her home and family so that she will never see them again.” “Even if she wants to be stolen?” He sighed. “Even then.” She pulled away from him. “I had not thought highwaymen would have so many scruples.” Missing her closeness, he shrugged. “We are a strange breed.” “Come back and see me before you go leave England forever,” she wheedled, as soft as butter now. “Give me one last chance to change your mind.” “I will not take you with me, Bess,” he warned her. His mind was not so easily changed. “Then come to kiss me goodbye.” That much, at least, he could promise her. “In four days, then, I will come to say farewell. Three nights before my ship is due to sail, I will come to say goodbye.” “You promise?” “I promise.” Hunched in his dark corner in the corridor outside the stranger’s room, Tim permitted himself a small smile of utter triumph. He’d known something was up when he’d spied Bess leaving her room and making her way to another part of the inn – a part she had no business to be in when night had fallen. Whore that she was, he knew she was creeping through the night to visit her lover. He could

almost have stabbed her through the heart for her unfaithfulness to his devotion. Instead, he had followed her to catch her out in her sinning. Thanks to her whoring nature and his sharp hearing, he now had all the information he needed to get his revenge on the stranger who had tried to steal his Bess away from him. He could hardly believe his luck. The stranger was none other than Jack Hall, a highwayman and a robber, and one who deserved to swing twenty times over for his crimes. Oh, the perversity of women. Bess, his lovely Bess, had been spreading her legs for a common thief. He, Tim, would be the one to make sure that Jack Hall paid for his crimes with his life. And he knew just how to go about it. The local magistrate was a rough man, and he hated gentlemen of the road with a passion. Like as not, he would hang Jack Hall from the nearest tree and ask questions afterward. His boots in his hands, Tim crept down the stairs in his stockings, tiptoeing on the very edge of the stairs to stop them from squeaking. If he walked all the rest of the night, he would be at the squire’s manor by mid-morning. He’d be missed for sure as soon as day broke, but there was no help for it. A brutal whipping would be the least of his punishments when he returned to the inn, but not even the thought of the cruel whip biting into the soft flesh of his back was enough to stop him. Not when he had vengeance on his mind.

He would brave even the vicious hand of the head ostler on a whip to make Bess his. Forever. Once the stranger was hanging in chains at a crossroads, his eyes pecked out by crows and his dry bones rattling in the wind, Bess would need a comforting shoulder to lay her head on. He would wipe away her tears and soothe her wounded soul. In return, she would fall in love with him and he would take her to the forest and make love to her in the exact place the stranger had taken her. He would wipe out those memories with ones of his own making. If she showed herself sufficiently grateful to him, he might even marry her and wipe away the stain of shame she had brought on herself through submitting to the stranger’s lewd embraces. Yes, he would definitely make her his wife. As her husband, he would inherit the inn when her father died. Such a dowry would help him overlook her sluttish behavior. Once she was his wife, he would severely punish any tendencies to sin that he espied in her. He would be her conscience and her guide, and would lead her back onto the narrow path of righteousness. Once she was his wife, there would be no more smiling at strangers and enticing them with her sparkling eyes and her generous bosom. She would be as silent and demure as befitted a virtuous wife. His wife. Even when the night grew as black as the devil’s heart

and he could barely make out the pale ribbon of road beneath his feet, even when he wanted to drop to the ground with weariness and to ease the ache in his blistering feet, the thought of Bess as his wife kept his stumbling onward. Jack Hall would die, and then Bess would be his wife. From the casement window, Bess braided her hair as she watched Jack ride off into the early morning light. He would come back for her. He had promised, and she had no choice but to believe him. If she thought he was going to play her false, she would run mad. Deliberately, she shut her mother’s warnings from her mind. She was not her mother, and Jack was not a man like her father. He would come back to see her, even if only to kiss her goodbye before he sailed to the Americas – without her. Even if he did not relent and let her come with him, she would survive. There would be no child from their liaison – the telltale smears of blood that stained her thighs this morning were a welcome confirmation that she was not breeding. No child to force her into wedding a man from the village, bribed into accepting her with the promise of a large dowry. She wiped a stray tear away from her cheek with the back of her hand. She would not cry over Jack – crying never did anyone any good. Besides, he would return as he

had promised. There was nothing to cry over. Nothing, indeed, to stop her from saving her pennies and booking her own passage to the New World. Jack had long since disappeared into the fog of the early morning, but still she lingered at the casement window, gazing out at the road he had taken. A man could make a new life for himself in a new country, so why could a woman not do the same? The more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea. It would be an adventure, and her life so far had been singularly lacking in adventure. She turned away from the window and pulled on her gown with a grimace, her mind already skipping ahead to the mounds of sausages she would have to fry today. In the Americas, she would leave innkeeping behind for good. With an unaccustomedly brilliant smile on her face for so early in the morning, she skipped downstairs to start on the sausages. Jack wheeled out in front of the lumbering coach, a pistol held high in one hand. “Stand and deliver.” Pulling tightly on the reins with the other, he made his horse rear up, her front hooves slashing the air in front of her viciously. Unnecessary, to be sure, but theatrical enough to plant fear in the stoutest coachman’s heart. Being a highwayman, he had discovered, was mostly about having nerves of steel and the ability to outface an elderly coachman who had no desire to tangle with an

armed and dangerous robber. A decent horse with a good fast gallop and a pair of wicked-looking pistols, and any fool could make his fortune on the road. His luck was in tonight. The coachman pulled his horses to a halt immediately, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and waved it in the air as a token of surrender. “Don’t shoot,” he cried, his voice breaking into sobs. “I’ve a wife and three daughters at home who’ll starve without me.” He tipped his hat to the man. “Don’t do anything foolish and I’ll not harm you.” The coachman was effusive in his thanks. “I’ll do whatever you say, I promise. Besides, the old tartar in the coach has it coming to her, if you ask me.” The last he said in a low aggrieved mutter and followed it with a disgusted spit on to the grass. “What is it, Jenkins?” A querulous voice came from inside the coach. “Why have you stopped here?” Jack leaned over and wrenched open the door of the coach. Inside sat a very large woman, dressed in a monstrous purple and gold gown and wearing several pounds of gold chains looped around her neck, and three diamond rings on her fat fingers. Across from her was a pale, thin gentleman with a wispy goatee. “I fear, madam, you have met with a gentleman of the road. Your valuables, if you please.” “A highwayman?” She gave a shriek that would have woken the dead and prodded the man opposite her with a

fat finger. “Well then, Hutton, what are you going to do about it, then? What are you going to do to save me from this vicious robber?” Hutton coughed, patting his chest with a shaking hand. “He has a pistol, ma’am.” “I don’t care if he has twenty pistols. Are you going to sit there and let me be robbed in my very own coach?” Jack doffed his hat. “Your purses, if you please. Hand them out the window.” The woman glared at him. “I shall do no such thing.” “And your necklaces. Several of them look very fine.” She glared at him and did not move. “Certainly not.” “I begin to lose my patience, madam. Coachman, cut loose the horses.” Her face paled and her manner became somewhat less certain. “You would not abandon us here, in the middle of nowhere.” “I most certainly would. Your purses now, if you please.” Hutton handed over his first, the leather worn shiny with use. A couple of small coins jingled disconsolately at the bottom. “Yours too, my good woman.” Her eyes nearly popped out of her face at the insult, but she dug a fat purse out of the pocket in her skirt and handed it over. He flicked it open, grinning at the profusion of gold

inside. That was more like it. “Your necklaces,” he said, as he tucked it away safely into his waistcoat. Her fingers hesitated at her throat. “I do not have all night.” His voice was a growl of warning. It did the trick. Her fumbling fingers unfastened her necklaces and one by one she dropped them into his waiting hand. “And your rings. The diamonds in particular. I have a lady friend who would appreciate a fine diamond ring or two on her pretty white fingers.” Her mouth fell open in outrage. “You would give my diamond rings to your whore?” “That was not wise of you,” he said, his voice as cold as ice. “Take them off quickly, before I cut off your fingers and have done with you.” In the corner of the coach, he saw Hutton’s hand creep toward his waistcoat pocket. Fearing the man had a pistol hidden away and was planning to play the hero, he almost laughed with relief when the fellow brought out a small bottle and took a surreptitious swig. Traveling with such a woman would make a little Dutch courage a necessity. The woman was holding out a handful of rings. She dropped them into his palm and hid her hands in her skirt. “You still have one more,” he reminded her at the glimpse of gold he spied on one hand before she had time to hide it away.

“That is my wedding ring,” she replied stoutly, though her voice quavered a little. “No man will take that away from me. Not even if you threaten to cut off my finger for it.” She held out her hand to him. “See, it is but a plain gold band, not worth the trouble of cutting off me.” “I would not rob a woman of her wedding band,” he replied gallantly, touched at her bravery in defending what she held most dear. “Fare thee well, and I thank you both for your gifts tonight.” With that, he wheeled his horse about. At the last moment, he tossed Hutton’s pitiful purse back through the window on to the man’s knees before he rode off through the trees. The poor fellow looked as if he had more need of it. It had been foolish of them to travel without a guard, relying on nothing more than good luck to keep them safe. Everyone’s luck ran out eventually, as theirs had tonight. Such coaches were fine, easy pickings. His pockets were heavy with loot. He’d made more in this one haul than he often did in a month or more. He had more than enough now to set up as a horsetrader in the colonies. Better that he take his own advice and get out of the game before his luck ran out. Besides, if he rode hard, he could be back at Bess’ side by tomorrow night as he had promised. A single stolen day with her was worth more to him than another pocketful of bright gold guineas.

Tim crept into the stable just before dawn, his feet sore, but his heart singing. The magistrate, though at first suspicious of his story, had eventually been convinced of his truthfulness. He had refused to change his tale even on the threat of being whipped to within an inch of his life if he proved to be a liar. He had missed a whole day of work and the head ostler would drive him into the ground as a punishment, but he did not care. Bess would soon be his. He could almost smell the sweetness of her above the dung and oats smell of the stable, and the taste of her mouth was burning on his tongue. Soon, very soon, he promised himself, as he sank down on to a bale of hay and closed his eyes in utter exhaustion. As he drifted off to sleep, he could almost feel the warmth of Bess’ soft body pressed against his own.

Chapter Five They came at sunset, just as Bess was scraping clean

the turnips to add to the pot of stew bubbling on the stove. Half a dozen and more of them, their uniforms shabby and worn, but their muskets disturbingly bright and shiny. At their head rode the local squire and magistrate of the area. A nasty piece of work he was, with wandering hands and a vicious temper when he was crossed. Last time he had come to the inn, he had pinched her bottom so sharply he had left her covered in bruises. She had dared not complain, fearing worse treatment at his hands if she roused his temper, already foul enough after her polite refusal to whore for him. Even so, he’d not taken her refusal in good part. That same evening, he’d trumped up an excuse to have her father whipped, and had wielded the whip himself, his eyes filled with savage glee. Her father had not been able to walk without limping for a full month afterward. Bess bent her head to her turnips, trying in vain to still the racing of her heart. Jack was gone. She had nothing to fear from the magistrate but a few more vicious pinches and another leering proposition to share his bed. It must be a coincidence that the soldiers had arrived on her doorstep on the same day that Jack was due to return. She dared not consider the alternative. No doubt they were out recruiting for young men to join their ranks. She would feed them and send them on their way once more, with a few of the duller local boys marching beside them after having been tricked into taking the King’s shilling and joining their ranks.

Soldiers were bad for business. As they entered the tavern, the locals gradually melted away into the shadows until the soldiers had the place virtually to themselves. Even her father melted away into the darkness with the rest, no doubt fearing another beating. The magistrate called loudly for ale for his men. Bess hurried out from the kitchen with a pitcher she had just drawn from the barrel in the cellar. The magistrate watched as she poured the ale into a pewter mug and set it in front of him. “That’s the highwayman’s whore,” he said to his men, jostling her with his elbow so that she spilled some ale from her jug on the table. “A clumsy bitch, to be sure.” She stood stock still for a moment, just staring at the ale as it dripped over the edge of the table on to the floor, as her world collapsed around her. They had found out about Jack. Somehow or other, they had found out about him. And they were here to take him. Jack had promised her that he would come back to see her before he sailed for the Americas. She had pushed him to make that promise. And now that promise she had forced him to make would be the death of him. One of the men took advantage of her slowness to wrap his arm around her waist. “She’s a pretty enough wench, for all that she prefers low company.” He leered at her bosom. “How about it, sweetheart? You’ll be looking for a new man to warm your bed soon enough. You be nice to

me and I’ll show you what a real man in your bed can do for you.” Jack would not stand a chance against half a dozen soldiers with muskets, especially not if he were to be taken by surprise. Somehow or other, she needed to lull their suspicions for long enough to warn Jack they were after him. Though her stomach was churning and she wanted more than anything to be sick, she extricated herself with a saucy wink and a smile. “Your comrades might not appreciate it if you distract the woman who is in charge of feeding you all supper tonight.” She looked around at them all invitingly, her mind working furiously. “You look hungry, gentlemen.” A murmur of assent went around the group and even the man leering at her breasts licked his lips at the thought of a good hot meal. “I have yesterday’s rabbit stew that just needs to be heated up,” she offered ingratiatingly, the glimmer of an idea forming in her brain. “I could have it ready for you in a trice. It’s full of sweet carrots and turnips and leeks too, and hunks of potato as big as your fist.” “We’ll have none of your warmed-over leavings,” the magistrate barked at her, a look of distaste of his face at the mention of all the vegetables. “You’ll bring us out a decent dinner, or I’ll know the reason why.” “We do have a brace of fine fat eels in the larder,” she said slowly. “My mother was planning to serve them to the gentry in the private parlor, but they might not even like eels.

Not everyone appreciates a fat river eel. I could bake them into a fine pie for you.” The magistrate’s stomach rumbled loudly at the mention of eels. “That’ll do better than warmed-over rabbit stew at any rate. Bring us an eel pie, and be quick about it.” She bobbed a curtsey. “Right away, sir.” Once in the kitchen, she leaned against the wooden butcher’s block and took a deep breath to steady her nerves. If she did not manage to distract the soldiers, they would shoot Jack down like a dog, and Jack would go to his death thinking that she had betrayed him. She could not let that happen. She would rather die herself. Her mother was in the kitchen as always, busy with the endless round of cooking. A frown spread across her face when she looked up from her work and caught sight of Bess. “What do they want?” she asked, gesturing with her knife at the common parlor where the soldiers had ensconced themselves. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” “They’ve come for Jack.” Her mother’s knife didn’t falter even for a moment in its chopping rhythm. “I might have guessed he was on the run from the law. His breeches were finer than I’ve seen for many a moon. So what’s he wanted for? And before you take it into your head and ask, no, it wasn’t me who put the soldiers on to him. I might not like him sniffing around my

daughter’s skirts, but I’d never turn in a man you fancy. Not unless he’d earned it.” In her panic at seeing the soldiers, she’d not thought about it before, but now this new worry would not leave her alone. Just who had ratted on Jack? Few enough people knew he was here, and fewer still knew that he was on the run. “He’s only a highwayman, but they’ll hang him if they find him.” Her mother shrugged. “Better an honest thief than a magistrate who’ll rob you blind under the guise of the law. What are you worried about Jack for? He’s ridden over into the next county by now.” Bess pushed herself upright and headed toward the door that led to the kitchen garden. “Someone must have told them he was here. And that he promised to come back.” Just as soon as she had gotten rid of the magistrate and his ragtag bunch of soldiers, she would find out who the traitor was. Walking purposefully now, she strode down to the bottom of the garden. A rotten fishy smell led her to the exact place in the compost heap where her mother had discarded the eels the day before. Luckily, the rats hadn’t gotten at them yet. She poked at them gingerly with a stick. They were probably too nasty even for the rats. Gagging at the vile smell, she picked them up carefully by their tails and carried them in to the kitchen. Her mother wrinkled her nose and flapped her apron at

her as she returned. “Get those out of here, girl. Whatever are you thinking of to bring them back inside? You’ll chase away our few remaining customers with the stench.” “The magistrate has ordered an eel pie. These are the only eels we have.” Her mother looked grim. “Do you know what you are doing, Bess?” “I am making an eel pie,” she replied stoutly. “Nothing more. It will not be my fault if the eels turn out to be bad.” “The magistrate will see it differently.” She fixed Bess with a steady gaze. “Is Jack worth it?” “I would poison twenty magistrates for his sake.” A slow smile spread over her mother’s face. “If anyone deserves to have such a scurvy trick played on him, it is the magistrate. His accounting of our taxes was outright robbery. I doubt a single farthing ended up in King George’s coffers. And I, for one, would dearly love to see him writhing on the floor with a bellyache to end all bellyaches.” The smell was less overpoweringly awful when the eels were washed, chopped and simmering in a pan on the stove. She’d discarded the worst of the slime, leaving the bits of meat that looked the most edible. She opened the lid of the pot and let some steam escape. The smell was still nasty, but not so strong. A good handful of black pepper in the bottom of the pie crust, enough garlic to flavor an entire horse, and a pinch of other

spices, and the putrescence would be hidden well enough. She’d not grown up in an inn for nothing. Every innkeeper worth her salt knew the best way to disguise the flavor of rotting meat. By the time she took the eel pies out of the oven, their crusts baked a golden brown and curls of pepper and spice scented steam escaping form the vents she had cut in the pastry, they looked good enough to eat. Certainly the magistrate was pleased enough to see them, as were his soldiers. Calling for more ale to wash it down with, he dug into the largest pie with his spoon, ladling a huge portion out on to his plate, before passing it over to his men. In a few minutes, all that was left of the pies was a scrap of gravy in the bottom of the pie dish. The magistrate stretched his booted feet out in front of him and belched loudly as she cleared away the plates. “That was a damn fine eel pie, girl. Almost makes up for you being a highwayman’s whore.” She gritted her teeth. “I am no man’s whore.” He tapped the side of his nose and winked at her, a look of malice in his eyes. “A little birdie I know tells me something different. He tells me that you’ve been spreading your legs for Jack Hall himself, who’s wanted the length and breadth of England. And the little birdie says more. He tells me that Jack Hall is on his way back here tonight as soon as he’s finished a robbing of coaches. Back to his bonny

Bess, waiting for him at the window.” He cackled at his own wit, an evil sound that echoed through the rafters. “But bonny Bess isn’t the only thing that’ll be waiting for Jack Hall now, isn’t that right, boys?” He reached down and caressed the barrel of his musket obscenely. “There’ll be a little welcoming party for him when he returns. He’s worth a golden guinea apiece for us all – dead or alive.” One of the soldiers eyed Bess with a scowl as she poured him another mug of ale. “If what the lad says is true, she’s been whoring for him. What if the bitch gives us away afore we can nab him?” The magistrate grabbed her by the hand. “She won’t have a chance.” Ripping the leather thong that tied back his hair, he pulled her wrists behind her back and tied them together so tightly that the thin strip of leather cut into her flesh. She cried out and tried to wrench herself free, but he backhanded her viciously across the face. “You’ll stay like that until your Jack is hanging from a gibbet, as he deserves.” The soldiers laughed and jeered at her as the magistrate dragged her behind him up the stairs and into an upstairs chamber that looked out over the road across the moor. “We’ll see him coming from miles away,” he chuckled. “There’ll be no escape for Jack Hall this time.” Bess could only watch in horror as they arranged

themselves around the room, one man stationed at the window with his musket at the ready, the magistrate slumped in the room’s only chair, and the others sprawled over the floor. The magistrate pulled Bess roughly onto his knees. “We could be in for a long wait, lads. Just as well we have some entertainment with us.” He pawed at her bodice, pulling it down until her bosom spilled free. The soldiers gave ribald catcalls at the sight of her nakedness. With her hands tied behind her, Bess could not fight him off. She could not even get off his lap. His cock was stiffening underneath her and pressing sharply into her buttocks and his breath was hot on her neck, and still he held her there, his greedy hands pawing at her breasts, pinching her nipples viciously between his thumb and forefinger until she gasped. He mistook her gasp of pain for one of appreciation. “The whore likes that,” he said, to sniggers from his men. “I wonder what else would take her fancy? What do you say that we find out, eh?” He put his hands on her skirts, slowly sliding them above her ankles, displaying her calves in their woolen stockings to the grinning men below. Bess shut her eyes to block out their avaricious stares. She knew what would come next, she knew it in her bones. A robber’s whore, that’s all she was to them now. Not even a person anymore, and worth nothing but a moment’s fun. The magistrate would rape her casually, as he would take a

tuppenny whore, and then he would throw her to his men to use in the same fashion. When they were done, he would toss her aside in the corner and leave her there, uncared for, until Jack was captured. If she even lived that long. Treating her like that was a worse sin than holding up a coach and relieving some aristocrat of a few valuables that he would hardly miss, but no one would think to hold the squire to account for it. He was the magistrate for the country. He was the law, there was no other. Her skirts were around her knees when she heard a strange gurgling noise coming from the magistrate’s stomach. His stomach muscles tensed and he let fly a great fart that filled the air with a stench fouler than the rotten eels she had served him for dinner. The men on the floor closest to him scooted away, making coarse jokes about the vile smell. Bess’ burgeoning hope that her rotten eel pie was doing it work already was fading. The eel disagreed with him, that was all. The magistrate gave a great belly laugh. “It’s the eels. I love ‘em, but they disagree with my innards something terrible.” Another loud gurgling from his stomach interrupted him, and he screwed up his face. “Damn eels,” he said, as he pushed Bess aside and staggered to his feet. “Our fun will have to wait. I need the damn privy.” He fixed them all with

an evil glare as he wrenched open the door. “Leave the girl be until I’ve done with her. I’ll cut the ears off any man who dares touch her before I do.” With that, he clapped his hands to his stomach as it gave another, even louder, gurgle, and clattered off down the stairs. Bess claimed the chair the magistrate had vacated, devoutly hoping the eels were giving him a dreadful stomachache. As long as he remained glued to the privy, she had a temporary reprieve. The departure of their leader sobered the men, at least temporarily. Though the crude comments flew thick and fast, none of them dared to approach Bess, or do more than cast covetous glances at her out of the corner of their eyes. The magistrate was clearly a man to be feared. Her hands hidden by the back of the chair, Bess worked at the bonds holding her tied. If she was to have a chance of escape, she needed to be free of them. A sharp splinter on the back of the chair gave her the leverage she needed. Working as fast as she could, but surreptitiously, so as not to attract the attention of the soldiers sprawled out on the floor, she rubbed the leather thong backward and forward along the sharp edge until at last she felt the leather break. With the thong cut, it was the work of only a few minutes to shake the bonds away from her wrists. Still she kept her hands hidden behind her, knowing that surprise would be her ally. She would keep her success hidden until the opportune moment for escape arrived. She had to succeed

on the first attempt, because if she failed she would not get to try again. The minutes slowly ticked by, and still the magistrate did not return. Bess blessed her good luck that he was so partial to eels, but his stomach was too weak to digest them. The soldiers were getting increasingly restless, going so far as to voice their irritation with their leader in muffled imprecations. As the last of the daylight faded from the sky and the evening stretched into night, Bess grew increasingly confident that her eels had done their work— on the magistrate at least. The man at the window with the musket was the next to go. With a muffled curse, he set down his piece barrel up, and made a hasty departure out of the door. Though the others swore roundly at him for leaving his post, he paid them no heed. It was no wonder. The glimpse of his face that Bess caught as he hurtled out of the door showed him to be an interesting shade of green. The stomping of his boots on the stairs was coupled with another unmistakable noise – the noise of violent retching. He had not even made it outside before his sickness overtook him. Her mouth twitched into a smile that she could not for the life of her repress. Definitely the eels.

Within minutes of the man on guard leaving his post, all hell had broken out in the chamber in which they were closeted. One of the men clutched at his stomach, and then, evidently knowing he would not make it to the privy, threw open the casement window and emptied the contents of his stomach out on to the ground below. A second scrabbled under the bed for the chamber pot, set it in the corner of the room, and sat heavily on it, his breeches around his knees, groaning violently as he emptied his bowels. A third lay on his back on the floor, his eyes closed, his face contorted in agony. None of them watched out the window for Jack riding across the moors. And none of them cared two straws that she still sat among them. Other, more urgent, matters occupied their minds. It was time to make good her escape. She rose from the chair, taking care to ensure her hands remained hidden behind her so the break in her bonds did not show. Not that it made any difference to them in their current state whether she was still tied or not. None of the men paid her any heed, not even when she stepped to the window and grabbed the musket that the guard had left propped against the sill. She could have shot them all where they lay, and judging by their groaning and moaning and the expressions of agony on their faces, they would

have thanked her for it. Still, there was no sign of Jack. Taking the musket with her, she picked her way gingerly over the prostrate bodies and out of the noisome air of the chamber. And then, in the quietness of the corridor, she heard the quiet, but unmistakable, noise of hoofbeats, coming insistently closer. Ducking into an empty room, she peeked out of the window. In the moonlight, she could see a lone horse and rider galloping hell for leather along the road that led to the inn. A huge horse, she could see that much in the moonlight, and a rider wearing a cocked hat. Her heart leaped into her throat with both fear and joy. Joy that he had kept his word and come to see her for one last time. And fear that this visit might yet prove his undoing. Immobilized with sickness or not, the soldiers would not willingly let Jack escape them. Not with a price of twenty guineas on his head. One of them would be sure to stagger to his feet and fire off a volley of shots in his direction. And the closer she allowed him to come, the more danger he was in. The casement window creaked on its hinges, but by dint of much pushing and shoving, she was able to open it far enough to poke the barrel of the musket through. It was loaded already—she had seen for herself the soldier filling

it with a twist of gunpowder. All she had to do was to pull the trigger to alert Jack that the inn was no safe harbor for him tonight. Bracing the end against her shoulder and pointing the barrel into the air, she hauled backward on the trigger. It exploded with a report that left her ears ringing, and recoiled with such force that it knocked her to the ground. Staggering to her feet, she stared out of the window. The horse and rider had come to a stop at the noise. As she watched, the rider tugged on his reins and wheeled away back in the direction from whence he had come. She heaved a sigh of relief and sank bonelessly to the floor. Jack was out of danger. Which was, however, more than could be said about her. The magistrate would be furious that his prey had escaped him. Her safety would last only for as long as he and his men were incapacitated, and not a moment longer. The report from a musket shattered the night. Jack pulled hard on his reins, his horse rearing up under him with an aggrieved whinny. Fighting to keep his seat, he clamped his thighs on the horse’s flanks like glue. Whoever was shooting at him from the window of the inn was a damned poor shot. There was no sign that the musket ball had even come close.

He hadn’t lived for so long outside the law without a healthy cynicism about coincidences. The shot had been aimed at him without a doubt. If he lingered, there were bound to be others. He cast one last look at the darkened windows of the inn. They stared blankly back at him, giving nothing away. Not even the light from a single candle flickered in the darkness. That in itself told him all he needed to know. Someone was waiting for him in the darkness, hiding behind the shutters, murder on his mind. It was pure dumb luck that he’d been too impatient and had fired off a shot before Jack was properly within range. Even now his unknown assailant would be feverishly reloading his musket, ramming in the powder and ball in haste, desperately hoping to get off another shot while he still had a chance of hitting his target. His heart ached with a disappointment that could not be plastered over. It ached as badly as if the musket ball had found its intended home in his chest. Bess had been different, or so he’d thought until tonight. She had loved him, begged him to return to her before he sailed off to the Americas. She had begged him with tears in her eyes to take her with him. Could it be that she had played him for a fool? That her tears were as false as her mercenary little heart? He could not bear to think so ill of her, but what other explanation could there possibly be?

Would he never learn? A man with a price on his head could not trust a soul, particularly not a pretty innkeeper’s daughter who pretended to have fallen in love with him. A pretty innkeeper’s daughter who had come to his room at night and freely given him her innocence. His face twisted in a grimace. Perhaps not that freely, when he thought about it. If she was indeed behind the attempt on his life no doubt she was hoping to be royally compensated for her sacrifice. Just like the woman who had come before her, Bess could not see past the twenty guineas that his capture was worth. What would she do, he wondered, if he rode calmly into her trap and allowed himself to be caught, and all for the sake of seeing her one last time before he died? He was tired of running. If he was going to be hanged, he’d rather Bess had the twenty guineas than some rascally soldier. Twenty guineas would be a princely dowry for an innkeeper’s daughter. She’d have the pick of any man for ten miles around. His death would assure her of a comfortable life. Shaking his head, he wheeled his horse around and headed off in the opposite direction. Though he had ridden through the night, and all for the hope of seeing Bess once again, he was not yet ready to die.

Chapter Six Bess’ mother was in the kitchen, chopping parsnips as if her life depended on it, her knife flashing up and down like it was possessed. As Bess crept around the kitchen door, she gave a cry of joy and flung her knife away into the corner of the room. Tears running down her face, she enfolded Bess into a desperate hug. “I saw the magistrate take you away and I was that worried about you. I was bringing the soldiers a new jug of ale as an excuse to see how you were faring when I saw him come down to the privy and I knew that your eel pie was doing its work. Thank heavens you had the good sense to feed it to them.” “They are after Jack, Mother. Somehow, they knew that he cared for me, that he and I…They wanted to hurt him in every way they could. They were going to…” Her voice broke off, the horror she had narrowly escaped striking her anew. “Did they hurt you?” Her mother’s eyes looked almost wild. “I will burn down the whole damn inn with them inside if they touched you,” she said, her voice savage with fury. “The eels worked too quickly for them to do more than tie my hands and to threaten me.” Her mother had retrieved her knife from the corner and was looking at the blade with an assessing gaze. “Are they

all as sick as the magistrate?” She tested the edge of the blade against her thumb as she spoke. Bess gave a watery smile. “Sick as dogs. They won’t be fit for anything come morning.” “And the musket shot?” “I saw Jack riding in across the moors. Sick as they were, they would’ve shot him down if they could have staggered to their feet. There is a fair price on his head.” A frown creased her mother’s brow. “We’ll have to get you away from here. They’ll never believe the eel pie was an accident. Not after you fired the musket and warned away their quarry.” “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?” Bess idly picked up a piece of parsnip and lifted it to her mouth. “Bad trouble.” Her mother slapped her hand away before she could take a bite. Bess looked at her curiously. “What’s the matter? It’s only a piece of parsnip.” “Hemlock,” her mother answered shortly. “In case the eel pie hadn’t worked.” Bess gave a bark of laughter. “And here I was worried about giving them all a bellyache, when you would’ve killed them all.” Her mother stuck out her bottom lip. “You are my daughter, and I love you.” “And I love you too.” Bess was silent for a moment. In

the space of a few hours, her whole world had changed. Her childhood home was no longer a refuge for her, but a place of danger. She would have to feel her way forward in this new world. “I cannot stay here or the soldiers will punish you too, for harboring me. I will have to leave, and you will have to pretend that you drove me away for shame.” Her mother considered Bess’ words. “Or that you died. That would stop any pursuit in its tracks.” “The musket shot,” Bess suggested, an idea forming in her head. “I could have used the musket to kill myself out of shame. Or despair.” “The pastor will swear blind that he’s seen your bleeding body with his own eyes for the promise of as much ale as he can swallow.” “A hasty funeral before the soldiers are well enough to attend.” “A marker in the graveyard with your name carved into it.” Bess was silent a moment, digesting the implications of such a trick. She would have to leave her old life behind her forever, and with no Jack by her side to keep her company in her new life. If she wasn’t so scared of staying, the prospect of leaving like this would terrify her. “But where shall I go?” “I have a cousin in London, married to a tanner. I have not seen her since I was a girl, but she will take you in, for my sake.”

She squared her shoulders. What choice did she have? Stay and be brutalized by the soldiers, maybe even hanged in place of Jack, or to leave now, while she still could. “I have always wanted to visit London,” she said stoutly. Her mother hugged her tightly, squeezing the breath out of her. “You’re a brave lass. But come, pack up the most precious of your belongings as quick as you can. You’ll have to leave most of them behind to lend weight to the story of your death. If we hurry, we’ll catch Old Silas taking his cabbages to market. He’ll take you on his donkey cart as far as the turnpike, and you’ll be able to catch the London mail from there.” Just as day broke, Jack arrived at a likely looking inn, far enough off the beaten track to be quiet, but busy enough that the presence of a stranger would be unremarkable. Exhausted, he handed his horse over to the stable lad and stumbled off to a room. Closing the shutters to keep out the light of the dawn, he collapsed on the bed and slept the sleep of the dead. Not until evening did he wake. He yawned and stretched, feeling as though he’d been trampled by an entire herd of horses. And he was ravenously hungry. He pulled on his boots and followed the enticing smell of thick beef stew down the stairs and into the parlor. The noise level dimmed a little as he entered, but he

hardly cared. Let them be wary of him if they chose – their business was nothing to him, so long as they did not meddle in his affairs. Before long, he was tucking into a plate of hot food as if he hadn’t eaten for a week, and the conversations and quarreling around him had resumed its previous level. Despite his inhibiting presence, the entire room seemed to be fizzing with barely muted anger. A youngish woman, her belly large with child, waddled over awkwardly to clear his plates away and bring him another tankard of ale. “They seem in evil humor tonight,” he said, gesturing with his thumb at the other diners. “A traveler told them an ill story tonight,” she replied as she gathered the plates. Despite the blue circles under her eyes that spoke of a deep-seated exhaustion, there was a hint of anger in her voice as she spoke. “They’ve been arguing about what to do about it all evening.” “Tell it to me.” He spoke more out of concern for her welfare than any desire to hear the tale. Her wrists were thick with swelling and she looked ready to faint with weariness. She looked nervously in the direction of the kitchen. “I can’t stop. I’ve got work to do.” He took out a copper penny and laid it on the table. “That should keep whoever it is you are afraid of satisfied. Now, sit down and take that weight off your feet for a few moments.”

She sat down gratefully, heaving a great sigh, and tucked the copper penny into the pocket of her apron. “Feels like twins, I’m sure, I’m that big.” Her eyes drifted shut and he thought at first she had dozed off, but then her eyes opened again and a black smile crept over her tired face. “I would’ve loved to have seen the soldiers with my own eyes, that’s for sure,” she said in a bitter voice. “I’d have paid the whole copper penny you just gave me for the sight.” He raised his eyebrows. “I’m curious to know what sight would be worth lavishing a whole penny on.” “The magistrate,” she wrinkled her nose as if his name carried a bad smell with it, “and a group of his soldiers came to grief last night in a tavern about a day’s ride away from here.” He stretched his booted legs out in front of him. She was clearly a woman after his own heart. “You don’t have much sympathy for magistrates in general?” “Not for this one. He’s a rotten piece of work, and would have me whipped if he heard me call him so. It seems they were blaming it on an eel pie that disagreed with them. The chap who saw it says they were sick as dogs all night, from every end they could be, if you get my meaning. I wouldn’t like to be the cook at that inn when they get back on their feet again.” The familiar nausea crept back into the pit of his stomach. Was the entire countryside crawling with soldiers,

trying to take him, wanting to hang him? “What were they doing at the tavern in the first place?” he asked, in a tone of studied casualness. “Seems they’d had word that the innkeeper’s daughter was friendly with a highwayman. With Jack Hall, no less.” She gave a snort. “Whoever told them that was spinning them taradiddles, and no mistake. I met the lass once. She’s a pretty thing, but her nose is stuck firmly up in the air. She’s refused half the men in the county already. She wouldn’t look twice at a highwayman if he came a-calling. At any rate, she was none too pleased with the soldiers coming to arrest her supposed man. Rumor has it that she cooked the eel pie herself.” Was she talking about Bess? Bess’ tavern? “The soldiers didn’t get their man?” She shook her head. “They tied the lass up and made her watch out of the window to see them shoot her lover. And to taunt her, they tied a musket next to her, pointing at her heart. When they were all rolling around on the floor groaning and holding their stomachs, the lass supposedly heard her lover a riding down the road and fired the musket off into her own heart to warn the highwayman off.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “So the story goes, anyway. Leastways, he didn’t arrive when the soldiers expected him, anyway. Course, even if he was her man, if he was like most of them, he likely wasn’t planning on coming back for her in the first place. She probably just warned off some random stranger instead, and gave up her

life for naught.” His Bess was dead? He shook his head, not wanting to believe the story. His Bess, whom he had left only a few days ago, her eyes bright with unshed tears, her heart on her sleeve for all to see. She had been warning him away from the tavern, not shooting at him. That explained why there had only been the one shot and why it had gone so ridiculously wide even though he should have been well within range. He’d wondered about it at the time. The woman tapped him on the shoulder. “Are you feeling all right?” Her watery blue eyes were clouded with concern. His Bess had not sold him out after all. She had given her life to warn him of the danger facing him. He dug in his pocket and drew out a silver penny. “Thank you for telling me your story.” It would be a long, hard ride through the night again, back the way he had come, but he did not care. He would visit Bess one last time, as he had promised. He had to keep his promise. After all, his promise had cost Bess her life. Jack rode into the inn at daybreak. The yard was hushed and quiet in the gray light of early morning. One of the stable boys was sitting on the cobbled stones in front of the barn, his head in his hands. Jack swung off the back of his horse and tossed the

boy his reins. “Stable her for me, will you. Give her a good rubdown and don’t stint on the oats. She’s had a hard run.” She was a poor dumb beast and did not deserve to suffer for her master’s foolishness, or for his sorrow. The boy lifted his head, but when he saw who was addressing him, he made no other move to rise or even to catch the reins. When Jack looked closer, he saw that the lad’s eyes were rimmed with red and his dirty face was streaked with tears. The boy fixed him with a glare of pure hatred. “She’s dead. All because of you.” Jack’s heart stopped in his chest. It was true, then, everything the traveler had reported. Bess had saved his life, but it had been at the cost of her own. Any way he looked at it, she had made a bad trade. “She was going to marry me. She would’ve married me in the end, if you hadn’t come along and taken what wasn’t hers to give you.” He put his head in his hands and broke out into huge, despairing sobs that racked his bony shoulders. “She was going to marry me, and you as good as put the musket to her head that killed her. If she’d saved herself for me, as she ought of, she’d still be alive. If she’d not played the slut with you, I never woulda called the magistrate.” His trigger finger itched to put the boy out of his misery. So, this stable boy was the louse who had informed on him. “Where is she?”

“What’s it to you? Haven’t you done her enough harm?” He reached into his greatcoat, the palm of his hand lingering on the butt of his pistol. How easy it would be to dispense his own brand of justice, right here and now, and send Bess’ killer to the hell he deserved. “Answer me. Where is she?” In the face of Jack’s fury, the boy’s defiance was shortlived. “Her ma turned out all the customers and put the coffin in the parlor. She’s to be buried this afternoon.” Soldiers or no, he would be at Bess’ funeral, though they shot him down where he stood. Her ghost was due that mark of respect from him. “In the churchyard yonder?” The boy sobbed anew. “Won’t have her in the churchyard, I guess. They’ll have to bury her outside the walls, iffen they even let her that close. Suicide’s a powerful sin. I woulda married her. She should never of done it.” Even as Jack walked away from the lad, sickened to the marrow of his bones, the boy kept his muttered litany of despair and grief. “She shoulda married me. She shoulda saved herself for me.” The coffin was indeed in the parlor, as the boy had said. Jack knelt down beside it, his hat in his hands. “I’m sorry, Bess. I’m sorry.” In the face of such a tragedy, his words were impossibly inadequate, but he had nothing else to give her. Nothing else but a love that came too late to save her. Behind him, he heard a door open and shut, but he did

not turn around. Let whoever it was come in. If he were to be shot dead now, it was no more than he deserved. It ought to be him lying there, cold in his coffin, not Bess. The boy was right. It was his fault that she was dead. A tear prickled down his cheek and he wiped it away with the back of one gloved hand. Crying would do her no good. Better that he revenge himself on those who had dealt her the fatal blow and lose his life that way than through a useless sorrow. His knees stiff and sore from the hard ride, he clambered up from the ground. Today would be as good a day as any to die. Bess’ mother stood by the door, just watching him. He stopped in front of her. “Where are the soldiers?” She did not answer. He could see the indecision in her face. “Where are the soldiers?” he repeated. “Are they still here?” “Rocks,” she whispered, tilting her head at the coffin. He stared at her blankly. “It’s not Bess in there. It’s rocks. Wrapped up in flannel and then packed with straw so as they don’t roll and rattle and give the game away.” “Then where’s Bess?” he demanded. “What have you done with her body?” “She’s not dead. Leastways, she wasn’t just a few

hours gone when I put her on to Old Silas’ donkey cart myself to hitch a ride to the turnpike where she can catch the stage.” His head felt light all of a sudden. “You mean she’s alive?” “As alive as you or me.” She walked over to the coffin and tapped it lightly with her fingertips. “The soldiers were not pleased that you escaped their net. Bess could not have stayed here in any safety. This seemed like the best way of putting them off the scent.” She was not dead. He still had a chance to find her, to thank her for saving his life and to make a life with her in the Americas as she had wanted. For certain she would not be able to return to her mother’s inn now. There was nothing to stand in the way of their happiness. The shock of it all made his knees tremble. “Where is she now?” “We thought a big city would be the best hiding place – even if they learned of our little trick, the soldiers will not bother to chase her so far. She’ll be rattling her bones on the stage to London.” A smile crept over Jack’s face. God willing, Bess would be in his arms again before the night was out. If there was anything he knew how to do, and how to do well, it was stopping coaches. Bess leaned back into a corner of the coach, closed her eyes and tried once again to sleep. Despite her

weariness, the rattling and bumping and swaying of the heavy coach would not allow her to do more than doze fitfully. Each time she sank into a dream, one of the wheels would go over a particularly large stone, or bounce over a deep rut, and she would be shaken wide awake once more. How she envied the older gentleman opposite her, from whom a series of bone-shaking snores regularly emerged. It could only have been a few moments later when she was rudely woken by a confusion of shouts outside and the coach shuddering to a stop. Were they at another of their stopping points already? It seemed only a moment ago that the horses had last been changed and the fresh horses had started off again with a new enthusiasm and new jolting. She peeked outside, but no welcoming lights beckoned her with the promise of a steaming hot pasty and a mug of warm ale to take the chill from her bones. Sighing, she wrapped herself deeper into her blanket. The thirty miles to go to London had never seemed so long or so wearisome as they did then. Just then, the door was wrenched open. “Out,” a harsh voice demanded. “All of you. Out.” The silhouette of a pistol waving at them gave his words an extra persuasive power. The large lady sitting beside Bess gave a squeal of fright and even the elderly gentleman opposite her ceased his snoring and woke with a rude start. Bess held tight to her small traveling valise as she clambered out of the coach. It was all she had in the world,

and no one, not even a highwayman, would take it from her. Waving his pistol, the highwayman had all the passengers line up before him in a row. Bess found herself in between the elderly gentleman, now no longer snoring, and a young girl in a maid’s pinny whose eyes were white with terror. The highwayman stalked up and down the line. Bess stared at him. Though she had not recognized his voice, he looked somehow familiar. His stance, the looseness of his stride, even the shape of his hat reminded her of Jack. Of course, it could just be that all highwaymen looked vaguely alike when they were robbing coaches. “Are you going to kill us all?” the large lady, a little further down the row, asked in a quavering voice. “Kill you all?” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “That’s a rather bloodthirsty thought for a lady. Here I was hoping that I could get through tonight without killing anyone.” “I have twenty guineas on me that I was taking back to my husband,” the large lady said, her voice shaking with fright. “But you’re welcome to it if you’ll let us all go free.” “A kind offer indeed, madam, and a brave one.” The harshness of his voice dropped away. “But I was after something a good deal more precious than gold tonight.” Bess stepped forward. It was Jack’s voice. She knew it was him. He had somehow found where she was and had come after her. “Take it then, if you want it so badly.” The elderly gentleman beside her tugged her

backward. “Don’t do that, Miss,” he whispered urgently in her ear. “I’ll challenge him to a duel and fight him to the death before I’ll let him ruin an innocent young lady. I may look old and useless, but there’s a bit of fight in my bones still.” Jack sauntered down the line to stand in front of her, brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Pretty Miss Bess. You’re quite right. I’d rather have you than two hundred gold guineas. Come, we have a long way to ride tonight if we are to make our crossing.” Bess turned to the elderly gentleman, her heart singing with happiness. “Don’t fret. He’s no more a highwayman than you are. And I will go with him with all my heart.” Jack swung on to the back of his horse and pulled Bess up behind him. She clasped her arms around his waist and leaned her head against his shoulder. Jack had come back for her, as he had promised. He had found her. She had come home. As he wheeled the horse about, Jack reached into his pocket and tossed a coin into the large lady’s basket. It gleamed gold in the moonlight. “For your generosity on behalf of your fellow passengers.” Then, with a touch of the spurs, they cantered off into the darkness, to the ship that would take them off to the Americas to start a new life together.

Epilogue The warm Boston summer sun streamed through the open French doors, splashing across the rumpled bedding. Snuggling up to her man, Bess could scarcely believe how her life had changed over the past four years since their flight from London. Even with Jack’s savings, it hadn’t been easy starting afresh, bur how their work had been rewarded. She understood well now why America was called the land of opportunity. She gazed dreamily across the expanse of fields and wooden fences. “Just look at that, Jack. All that is ours, earned honestly, well, mostly. As far as we can see belongs to you and me. Highwayman Horsetraders has come a long way thanks to your knowledge of horses.” “And to your excellent business sense, Bess, my beloved wife. Any why this sudden thoughtfulness?” “Well, me Ma’s ship is due to arrive this week. I’m just trying to see our new world through her eyes. I reckon she’ll scarcely recognize us in our finery when she docks. Then when she sees her little guest house, she’ll faint with the shock of it all.” “No she won’t, she’s a tough old bird. Just like her daughter.” Jack did his best to duck under the covers as a large feather pillow pummeled his head.

“Who are you calling a tough old bird!?” Bess abandoned the pillow as he burrowed deeper, instead choosing to half-heartedly pummel him with her fists. She squealed, abandoning her attack when he started tickling her, instead wriggling to escape when he blew a raspberry against her stomach. Then she felt him caress her mound, and all thoughts of escape fled her mind as she lay back, enjoying his touch. He caressed her slightly rounded stomach. “Our baby’s in there. In six months, we’ll be parents. Who’d have thought old Jack Hall would be a father one day?” She couldn’t resist teasing him in retribution for his old bird remark. “Well, you will be. And you’d better get your fun now,” she urged his hand back down between her legs once more, “‘cos once the little one arrives there’ll be no more of this for quite a while.” Needing no further invitation he threw back the bedclothes. As he knelt above her she enjoyed the sight of his cock, semi-rigid, swollen with his obvious desire for her. Lying back on the soft mattress she moaned as he knelt between her bent knees and brought his tongue to her wet slit. She clutched the sheets as he licked lightly on her clit, little flicks that caused her breath to come in short gasps. The morning breeze felt wonderful on his skin, the sounds of the fields drifting into the room. With longer licks he continued tasting her cunt, starting at the very wet entrance, teasing inside briefly before continuing up to her hard engorged clit.

He was forced to stop momentarily as Bess shuffled round on the bed so her head was close to his cock. He gazed once more at her ripe nakedness. Always a beauty, her pregnancy had only increased her sexiness, her figure nicely rounded and somehow more aglow than ever. Beneath him she lifted her head and licked at his balls, urging him with her hands to move, bringing his now hard cock to her mouth. He bent over to once more tasting her clit, while she licked at the head of his cock, her tongue sending waves of pleasure through his body as she concentrated on his sensitive glans. “Come around here, I want to really taste you properly.” Hastening to obey, he moved around so she could fully get him in her mouth. Allowing her to guide him with her hand at the base of his cock he slowly pumped, her wet lips and tongue massaging him almost causing him to come there and then. It took only a few more strokes before he had to pull out for fear he would come too soon. Needing a moment to cool, he turned his attentions to her breasts, now fuller than ever with her pregnancy. He loved the softness, the way her nipples stood so proud when tickled and lightly pinched. Once more he admired her lying in the summer light, her eyes closed as he brushed his hands over her breasts and down to the navel. Taking her hand he guided it to her pussy, where she ran her fingers through her soft hair before slowly sliding two fingers into her wet cunt. He loved watching her enjoy herself. And he knew she knew too, as she always made

sure to make as much of a show as possible. He couldn’t resist slowly stroking himself as he watched her spread her pussy lips and slide a wet finger over her clit. Pulling her knees close to her chest she reached behind and repeatedly dipped two fingers deep into her cunt, clearly enjoying the feeling. He moved to the foot of the bed where he could enjoy the view of her sliding her fingers in and out of her cunt. Unable to hold off any longer, he moved forward and slid deep into her, thrusting in and out of her in full strokes, each time just leaving her entrance before once more plunging to the hilt. Then withdrawing completely he got Bess onto her elbows and knees. With a fine view of her ass and cunt he once more plunged deep into her. Carefully angling his cock he massaged her sensitive spot, just inside her pussy, causing her to make little cries of pleasure until her body tensed with a powerful orgasm. Making her happy made him feel like the king of the world. Bess collapsed on the bed, panting. She rolled over and looked up at Jack, who knelt above her, still standing proud. With a wicked smile she reached up, and while one hand gently massaged his balls the other stroked his cock with long sensuous strokes. It was only a few moments before he too shuddered in a powerful orgasm, his cum leaving sticky trails across her breasts. Before he could regain his balance she pulled him down to her, holding him close so his sticky juice covered them both.

Laughing, he kissed her deeply. “Have I told you how much I love you this morning?” “Not in so many words, but a lady does like to hear such things.” “Well then, Bess my wife, I love you until the Atlantic waves stop crashing against our new homeland.” “And I love you too, my husband.” She gave his naked rump a little slap. “Now let’s get untangled, there’s far too much work still to do before Ma arrives.” He pulled her close. “Let’s not. Let’s lie here so I can show you again just how much I love you.” Bess squeezed him back and looked out the open doors at the horses in the fields, a small tear of happiness blurring her vision. Jack was right—the work could wait a little while. She and Jack had found such beauty and contentment in their new home in this land of freedom that it was a crime not to enjoy every moment of it.

About the Author Leda Swann is a senior executive in a large corporate, the mother of four young children, and partner of a

wonderful man. She likes scuba diving, swimming, and any other sport that involves getting cold and wet on a regular basis. She is also the author of outrageously sexy romances, keeps fur-lined handcuffs in her bedside drawers, and fights hard to remember to remove the silk ties off her bed head whenever her parents come to visit. Leda welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

Tell Us What You Think We appreciate hearing reader opinions about our books. You can email us at [email protected].

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