Page 130 of A Perilous Passion

“There always are,” interrupted Hester with a sniff.

Charlotte found it difficult to reconcile the reclusive, secretive Lord Beckport she knew with the wealthy, lascivious rake her friends were making him out to be. Experience had taught her that gossip was a cruel weapon. It could ruin one’s character in a single blow—often without good reason—and she set little store by it.

Yet, this new picture of Beckport held a particular fascination. It seemed he was more dangerous to her than she’d thought. Had she been aware of the voraciousness of his…appetites, she might have been much more alarmed when she’d woken to find him in her bedchamber.

Or more excited, a devilish voice within her murmured.

“I wonder if the highwayman will attend the ball.”

“Thea, whatever made you think such a thing?” Hester said with a snort.

“He is supposed to be very dashing and bold…and used to wearing a mask.”

Charlotte chuckled, despite herself.

“Well,” Hester said, “the Culverdales are hardly likely to send a voucher to a high toby. Even if they had his direction, which I’m sure they don’t.”

“But he could be anyone, couldn’t he?” Charlotte ventured, her imagination taking flight.

“Exactly,” Thea said. “So, no one would know him. I think he sounds quite gallant, myself. He held up Martha Weeks and Philip Carey the other day, and he kissed Martha on her cheek, took only a little of her coin, and refused to touch the locket she inherited from her grandmother. He said a beautiful object like that belonged on the bosom of a beautiful woman.”

“Did Philip Carey do nothing to protect her?” Charlotte asked, intrigued by such benevolent behaviour in an outlaw.

“What could he do? He had only a sickle and a basket of eggs he was carrying for Martha, while the robber had a brace of pistols. Carey had no coin on him at all, but the highwayman took away a few eggs in his pocket.”

She laughed again and digested the fascinating tale a moment, then told Thea, “You won’t be meeting this generous thief at the assembly. If he has to resort to stealing eggs for his supper, I can hardly imagine he’ll have even a bed sheet to wear for a costume, let alone get his hands on an appropriate mask.”

“No,” disagreed Hester. “He’ll put in his appearance after two o’clock, on the road, in hopes of catching out unwary guests returning homeward.”

“He’ll hang if they catch him,” said Thea, becoming serious as she opened the lych-gate into the churchyard. “Whether gentleman or commoner.”

Hester frowned. “What a gloomy thought. I’d far rather talk about the ball.”

“Yes! I’m so looking forward to it,” Thea said, her whole face lighting up.

“Oh dear,” said Hester, as they drew nearer to the church. “Someone’s moved your display into the porch, Thea, and it’s wilted.”

“Bother!” exclaimed Thea, her face falling. “Why didn’t I think to bring a watering pot with me?”

“No matter,” Charlotte said. “I’ve just remembered something I urgently need to do at home. I’ll run back and send Adam up with a bucket, if you don’t mind waiting.”

Before her friends could either say yea or nay, she hurried off, back the way they’d come.

Seeing the graveyard, she suddenly couldn’t stop thinking about Justin’s letter. How depressed he sounded! He had something terrible planned, she was sure of it. She vividly recalled how he could sometimes be afflicted with a black melancholy.

She knew now she cared for him only as a friend. But how could she live with herself if he took his own life, when a few carefully chosen words from her might have prevented it?

She must write back to him, whatever the risk.

And somehow let him down gently. Because she was coming to realize her love for him had just been the brief flutter of a young girl’s heart. Now that she was older—and much wiser—she found her heart yearned for someone else. For a man who took her breath away. A man who made her long for things she’d never experienced.

For a man who—as he’d avoided her for the past three weeks—clearly did not return her feelings.

Chapter Twelve

September was nearly over before Rafe spoke with Charlotte again.

He’d seen her, of course—he told himself his mission involved keeping an eye on everyone, including her—but the truth was, he couldn’t keep away.