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As the driver sped up, the coach bounced mercilessly until Thea felt like a kernel of popping corn by a fire.

Was it possible to outrace a highwayman?

Even before her inner chorus added their dire prediction, she suspected the odds were rather slim. “Do you have any weapons

we might use to protect ourselves, my lord?”

Abernathy ignored her. He seemed far more concerned with stuffing the contents of his pockets into the seams of the bench

upholstery than with his guests.

Lady Broadbent clutched her hand, her countenance fraught with worry. “Oh, Miss Hartley, I wish you had not told that tale.”

“Surely, you don’t imagine that I conjured a highwayman with my story.”

An arched brow was her only answer before all the jostling sputtered the lanterns. They were instantly pitched into a darkness

tinged with the acrid scent of oil smoke.

This wasn’t her fault! Besides, she’d merely taken a few liberties with the tale that Mr. Fife had relayed to her that morning.

So, if anyone was to blame...

And yet, she rather liked the idea of conjuring a highwayman. There was something altogether intriguing in the notion that

words— her words—could hold such power. Wasn’t that what she’d wanted? To have her words matter enough to be acted out on the London

stage?

She couldn’t stop herself from remembering how engaged the small crowd surrounding her had been. They had been enthralled by the carriage chase, the mysterious fog, the daring highwayman. They’d liked the danger of it all.

Truth be told, so had she.

It was well-known among her family that she suffered from eternal ennui, without any hope of a cure. But what if this was

the cure? What if tales of danger were what she’d been searching for all along?

Perhaps that was the reason her plays had never struck a chord with Kellum.

Not that she wanted to think about him at a time like—

A shot fired. Then the carriage lurched to a stop.

She held her breath, determined to take in every detail of that moment. Even if it was to be her last. Even if she had to

use her own blood to write the scene in the dirt on the side of the road...

A shiver rolled down her spine, and she realized she’d gone a bit dark again.

Suddenly, the door swung open with a crack. But there was no one there. Just the black of night staring back at them.

Then a figure moved among the forest shadows, large and looming. As it drew closer, a shaft of moonlight broke through a part

in the clouds and fell upon a broadbrimmed hat, a tattered black cloak whipping in the wind, and the glint of a pistol in

his grasp. And it was aimed directly at Abernathy.

Thea knew that the highwayman’s words would seal their fates. And, should she survive this encounter, she suspected that those

words would also make the perfect opening line for the play.

She waited, crossing her fingers and silently beseeching the stranger into saying something truly bone chilling.

“Stand and deliver,” the highwayman ordered.

Thea bit back a sigh of dismay. That deep, forbidding voice was wasted on such a mundane line. She could have come up with something far more threatening in her sleep.

“I... I don’t have anything,” Abernathy stammered, his arms raised.

A black-gloved thumb cocked the flint lock with an ominous click. “Out with you, maggot, and empty your pockets.”

Abernathy did as instructed. Then, after a fruitless search turned up nothing, the highwayman growled.

“See? I t-told you. I have n-nothing.”

“And if I search your carriage?”

“No. Please don’t.” Abernathy went pale as if he feared the highwayman might discover the women tucked away in the shadows.

For just a moment, Thea wondered if he had some redeeming qualities, after all.

Then, raising a trembling hand, Abernathy pointed toward the interior. “The women. They have jewels and reticules filled with

baubles and whatnot. Take them. Do whatever you want with them.”

Lady Broadbent gasped and strapped a protective arm across her charge.

Thea, on the other hand, was far too incensed to stay hidden in the shadows. “Of all the nerve!”

Her outburst must have shocked the highwayman, for he stood motionless beneath a wedge of silver light bleeding down through

the trees as she moved into the open doorway.

But she only spared him a glance. Her target was Abernathy. “You dare to offer us up as collateral in order to conceal all

the money you stuffed in the upholstery? Well, this is what I think about despicable men like you!”

As she spoke, her hands began fishing into the nooks and crannies of the opposite bench.

Grabbing a fistful of notes, she threw it at him.

“There. That’s about a hundred pounds, I’d say.

Oh, wait. There’s more.” Her fingers wrapped around something smooth and solid.

“And here’s a golden watch— Correction, make that two golden watches.

” She hurled one after the other. “Let’s see what’s inside this leather coin purse. A ruby signet ring and—”

“Shut up, you worthless wench!” Abernathy lunged, his hands outstretched to strangle her.

Thea was so angry—not just at Abernathy but at Chedworth and Kellum and every man who’d ever disparaged her sex—that she was

prepared to fight back.

She had her claws at the ready, but Lady Broadbent grasped her wrist to pull her back to safety. Abernathy grabbed the other

an instant before the highwayman knocked him to the ground.

She lost her balance, teetering forward into the night air. And she fell...

Directly into the highwayman’s arms.

She landed against him on a soundless gasp, her eyes wide.

An instinct for survival attempted to order her to scramble away. A lifelong habit of observation, however, shoved that coward

aside and took note of every detail.

As any proper highwayman ought, he masked his identity with a strip of black silk over half of his face. The only thing she

could see beneath that broadbrimmed hat was the outline of his mouth and the incipient emergence of a night beard beneath

the skin along his chiseled jaw. Below that was a dark neckcloth. And he must have been wearing black shirtsleeves as well

because she saw no glimpse of white through the open collar of a caped greatcoat.

He said nothing as he held her against his large body.

But she could feel the strong thud of his heart as his breath fanned across her cheek, warm and spicy.

His strong hands were positioned beneath her arms in the manner that one would catch a child hurled through the air.

And she did, indeed, feel small against him.

Fragile, too. He seemed to take additional care to shift his hold to her back as if he feared breaking her.

Dazedly, Thea wondered if she might already be broken. She felt lightheaded and muzzy as if in a dream. Fearing that she might

wake up and fall flat on her derriere, she clutched his shoulders for support.

His hands flexed in response, causing a tumult of tingles to cascade over her body, beginning at her scalp and sliding sinuously

down her spine.

She drew in a surprised breath, her nostrils filling with some combined scent of pine forest, saddle leather and a spice she

couldn’t name. Whatever it was, it dipped below her lungs and curled warmly in her midriff. Her stomach felt peculiarly weighted,

pressed against his as it was. And she had the insane desire to rest her cheek against his shoulder. Perhaps even bury her

nose into the curve of his—

Abernathy suddenly unleashed a cry of attack.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the viscount swing a fallen branch toward the highwayman’s head. She barely had time to

flinch.

Fast as a whip, the highwayman’s arm shot out. Fist closing around the thick branch, he tossed it aside as if it were nothing

more than a twig. Then he took Abernathy by the throat and lifted him to his toes.

Yet, even with the villainous viscount thrashing and clawing, the highwayman held her with sureness, keeping her from harm.

In the process, his arm had snaked completely around her waist and she was pressed so fully against him that her face ended

up an inch away from the crook of his shoulder.

Well, when in Rome... she thought, and gave in to the impulse.

“Are you”—he turned his head, the stubble along his jaw rasping softly against her cheek, and she went still, midbreath, like a rabbit caught eating the lettuces—“unharmed?”

She exhaled in relief, glad he didn’t ask if she’d been sniffing him like fresh linens on the clothesline.

“I believe so,” she said, her voice oddly hoarse. “You should probably put me—”

Abernathy’s foot shot out and the highwayman grunted as it found its target.

“Wolf. Guard,” the highwayman commanded.

Then a low bloodcurdling growl came from the shadows.

The hair on Thea’s nape lifted and she huddled closer. There was no way she was going to let him put her down now.

“Call it off. Call it off. Please, I beg you...” Abernathy whimpered, his words choked. But, clearly, he was still breathing.

Pity that.

As if wholly unbothered by the man dangling from his other arm and the woman attempting to climb him, the highwayman took

a step toward the open carriage door and simply deposited her.

She slumped down on the bench, wondering why her chaperone had stayed so silent. But then she caught the familiar odor of

smelling salts wafting in the air.

“Here,” Lady Broadbent said, her regal voice quavering as her trembling hand reached out. “Take our jewelry, but please leave

us unmolested.”

The highwayman stiffened. “I do not take from women.”

He sounded so affronted that, for some reason, it made Thea smile. “What do you plan to do with Abernathy? Not that I care,

mind you. I’m merely curious.”

“Tie him up and put him in the driver’s perch,” he said with an unconcerned shrug. “Do with him what you will.”

When the man moved to close the door, she quickly asked, “Can I offer you a bit of advice?”