Page 56 of Gentleman Jim

“Perhaps that’s the trouble,” he said. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

She shoved his chest. “Let go of me, you great oaf.”

“Just one kiss.” His grip on her arms tightened painfully. “It’s the least you owe me.”

“I don’t owe you anything.” She fought to break free of his bruising grasp. Her hand found his injured shoulder in the struggle. She pressed hard against his bullet wound.

Fred let out a hoarse yelp. For a split second she managed to get loose, but then he seized her again, more roughly than before. The delicate sleeve of her new ball gown tore in his hand.

“Oh!” she cried. “Now look what you’ve done!”

He didn’t seem to hear her. He was too intent on his purpose. “Hold still,” he muttered as his mouth sought hers. His breath was hot on her face. “You may enjoy it.”

At that very moment, the air was rent by a thunderous crack.

The horses screamed and the carriage veered sharply to the right. Maggie was flung from Fred’s lap straight into the door.

Aunt Harriet woke with a start. “Good gracious! Have we lost a wheel?”

Maggie struggled to her seat. Her hair had come loose from its pins during her tussle with Fred. She pushed it back from her face. “That wasn’t the wheel,” she said breathlessly. “It was a pistol shot.”

“Nonsense,” Fred said. “Something’s merely happened to the carriage.” He hammered on the ceiling. “Coachman? What the devil is going on?”

The coachman made no answer.

But someone did.

A deep masculine voice broke through the darkness. “Stand and deliver!”

Aunt Harriet’s rheumy eyes grew wide as saucers. “Heavens!” she cried. “It’s a highwayman!”

Fred dropped back into his seat. His face was ashen. “Stay calm, ladies. Leave this to me.”

Maggie’s heart pounded in her ears. She told herself that she wasn’t afraid. Not terribly so. Highwaymen didn’t kill ladies, not as a general rule. “It’s all right,” she said to Aunt Harriet. “He’ll only want our jewelry.”

Aunt Harriet’s blue-veined hand flew to the diamond necklace at her throat. “Can our outriders not protect us?”

Maggie shot a look at Fred. “We don’t have outriders. Only the coachman and a footman.”

“I said leave it to me,” Fred snapped. He reached for the carriage door. His hand had no sooner touched the handle than the door was wrenched from his grasp.

It flew open, revealing a sinister figure enveloped in a heavy black cloak. His face was covered by a mask, his eyes shadowed by a tricorne hat pulled low over his brow. In his hand he held a horse pistol of truly startling proportions. He leveled it straight at Fred.

“Evening, guv,” he said. “Mind stepping out of the carriage?”

“We don’t want any trouble,” Fred said. “We’ll do whatever you ask of us.”

“Then do it.” The highwayman gestured with his pistol. “Out you come.”

“Ooh,” Aunt Harriet moaned.

The highwayman glanced at her. “Madam.” He touched his hat in a mock salute. And then he looked at Maggie. His large frame seemed to still for an instant.

And no wonder.

She knew how she must appear. Without her wrap, there was no hiding her disheveled state. The torn sleeve of her ball gown was plainly visible in the light from the carriage lamp, as was her loosened coiffure.

“It seems I’ve interrupted something.” Turning his attention back to Fred, the highwayman very deliberately cocked his pistol. “Step out, guv, before I haul you out myself.”