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“I’ll be the judge of that.” He tugged open the reticule’s ties and unceremoniously shook out her belongings—a letter, coins, a tight roll of pound notes bound with a thin red ribbon, a pencil, and her journal.

He leafed through the journal, flipping it upside down while fanning the pages before setting it aside, whistling a lively tune as he added her money to his pile.

At least he would not humiliate her by reading her thoughts, notes, and sketches of her characters.

It was a combination of a diary and ideas she was working out for her new story, an entirely lethal combination if ever lost to her, given her nom de plume was known only to her dearest friends.

Others might disregard the content as musings of a love-addled girl.

But in truth, if she did not make a love match, she wished to remain single all her days.

She could have a good life living off her modest income as a writer and staying at her small apartment in Bath, which her father had bequeathed to her.

Even though a love match had not yet occurred and she was four and twenty and well on her way to confirmed spinsterhood, she was female and did, on occasion, develop fancies for a gentleman that were captured in her journal. No one had the right to read her innermost thoughts.

And as much as she feared what might happen to her on this adventure, she would most definitely be recording and sketching the highwayman’s striking profile and features, the ones she could see at least, for future use in her stories …

if she lived long enough to write more novels for her publisher and readers.

She patted the horse’s mane, the highwayman’s golden hair catching her eye once more.

The color was unusually bright for a grown man, and the locks so thick they would make any woman jealous.

She would sketch everything she could remember about him, guessing the placement of his cheekbones.

Even with only her assumptions of how he looked beneath the mask, she would easily find him after she was safely at home in Bath by his stunning locks alone.

She would see that he was brought to justice for daring to hold up her coach.

“Am I so admirable that you cannot take your eyes from me?” He grinned up at her as he rummaged through the pile. “I must warn you—many a maid is drawn in by my dangerous allure, but I am as difficult to catch as the waves upon the shore.”

She rolled her eyes at his poor metaphor. “If by admiring, you mean preparing my description for when I hire a thieftaker, then yes.”

“I wish you the best of luck, my lady. But as no one has caught me yet, I doubt you will be able to.”

And yet I tricked you into thinking I was ill.

He stuffed a packet of letters into his waistcoat, and as the only stagecoach passengers had been herself and Sir Thomas, she knew they must belong to the older nobleman.

But why did the highwayman bother with them?

Perhaps she could trick him once more while he was engrossed with his loot.

She eyed the horse, determining what it would take to get in the saddle unaided while he was distracted by his greed.

There was a nearby low-hanging branch. If she climbed atop it, she could easily crawl into the saddle.

She was a decent enough rider. She grasped the branch, hefted herself up, and scooted onto the limb, stretching her leg over the saddle to ride astride.

She plopped down hard in the saddle, grabbed up the reins, and kicked the horse with all her might. “Yah!”

The beast kept munching the patch of grass. She kicked him again, but he did not budge.

“He answers only to me.” The highwayman’s eyes sparkled with mirth as he gathered the coins and notes. His gaze seemed to inadvertently rest at her stockinged calves for half a moment before he shifted back to his bounty.

At least the arrogant highwayman had some manners. She straightened her shoulders and kicked the horse again, using the reins as a whip, as she had seen him do. Nothing.

The man had the nerve to laugh, tucking the remaining loot into his saddlebag as he rose and whistled to his mount, who perked his ears and at once trotted to his side with Vivienne bouncing in the saddle and listing to the left.

“That’s a good boy.” He scratched the horse’s chin, as if he were a devoted dog.

She gritted back a retort and, seeing no other way around it, moved her leg back over the saddle, tucking her skirts close and sliding from the horse’s back.

Her skirt caught the saddle on the dismount, and she lurched, splaying out her hands to brace her fall.

He closed the distance in an instant, his arms encircling her waist while her face smashed into his waistcoat, which smelled of leather and woodsmoke.

“Allow me.” He held her against him with one arm, his full lips inadvertently brushing her temple as he reached behind her and freed her muddied blue muslin skirt before setting her on the ground.

Oh my. Her cheeks flamed as she shoved herself away from him and his kissable lips, toeing the saddlebags he had abandoned to catch her. “Why do you care for those letters anyway? You tucked them in your waistcoat instead of casting them to the side.”

He rubbed his jaw. “The gentleman protested at the time, saying they were from his deceased daughter. Mayhap I was too hasty in taking them from the man.”

She blinked, hope blooming. “You have a heart after all.”

He shrugged. “I can return them for a price.”

“Of course. Mayhap you were too hasty in taking my money as well.” She crossed her arms to hide her trembling limbs at her daring. “Do you feel guilty yet? Or should I wait an hour or so and inquire about your conscience again?”

“You will recover soon enough.” He gestured to her ensemble. “You are quite fashionably dressed under all that mud you acquired when you fainted out the door of the stagecoach at my feet.”

“And yet, as you have pointed out numerous times, I was taking a public stagecoach unescorted. Which means either I have no one who cares for my safety enough to send a carriage for me, or my family is too poor to accommodate me.” She lifted a brow.

“You seem gifted enough to fly from horseback to the stagecoach top without missing a beat, and somehow you miss this fact?”

“I would argue that your pelisse and muslin gown are cut in the height of fashion.”

She gaped at him. “Y-you know muslin?”

He leaned against a tree trunk and gestured to his attire. “It takes a fashionable eye to look so dashing in my work. I had my garments specially tailored to fit my needs, such as leaping from a horse to atop a stagecoach, while also being swashbuckling.”

“Pray, what is the name of your tailor, so that I may send my stepbrother to him?”

He laid a hand over his heart. “That I shall keep as closely guarded as my own name.”

“Very well, Goldie the highwayman. You have managed to evade the constables. Are you going to release me now? I am fairly certain a passing wagon will take pity on me and give me a ride to the nearest village between here and Bath.”

“Goldie?” He cringed. “Perhaps you should call me Bash after all.”

“Mr. Bash?”

“Just ‘Bash.’ And what will I call you, my lady?”

“Just ‘my lady.’” She looked about for a fallen limb to wield like a club. As if that would knock him out. She shook her head at her desperation.

“Fair enough. I could hardly allow you to wander about on the road, my lady, for anyone to find.” He slung the saddlebags over the horse’s rump, tying them into place. “You said yourself that a lady should never be unescorted.”

She quirked a single brow. “Now you choose to be noble? I believe the time for chivalry has long since passed.”

“Not all highwaymen are cads.”

She snorted and stepped over a tree root, picking her way toward the road. “I think I would rather take my chances on the open road.”

He swung up onto his horse and followed her, unaffected by her distance from him. “Dusk is nearing, and not all highwaymen are as gallant as yours. I would not leave you unattended, a helpless lady such as yourself.”

“You presume much, sir. You are neither gallant nor a proper escort.” She picked up her pace. Ten yards and she would be through the tree line. Lord, let there be a coach passing nearby. She broke into a run, leaping over tree roots and ignoring the branches snagging her muslin gown.

Hooves filled her vision as he raced up beside her and in a single motion lifted her into his saddle. His arm encircled her waist, pinning her to him, as if she were a butterfly in her nephews’ entomology collections, fighting for freedom until her wings were tattered.

“After my mission is complete, I shall attend you to your destination. Now, can I trust you enough to release my hold on you? If you try to leap, I’m afraid you are in danger of being trampled under my horse’s hooves.”

She sagged against him. There was no use wasting her energy in fighting a man so strong and swift.

She would have to outwit him. “I hardly think you could approach my home in Bath in a mask.” She turned and eyed him, a hint of curiosity burning to see if his eyes were as brilliant as they appeared beneath the cloth mask.

He slowly released her, and seeing as she did not attempt to leap from the saddle, his arms kept a respectable distance from her. “Try me. I am quite good at what I do.”

“Thieving?” she tossed over her shoulder. “I wonder how you got good at it. Gallant indeed.”

“No. Becoming invisible,” he whispered into her hair, sending a chill down her neck as he returned them to the spot in the clearing she had fled. “Now, we shall wait here until the moonlight guides our path. My horse needs to rest, and so do you. We have a long journey ahead of us.”

“And if I yell the moment we are in a populated village?”

“While we are traveling, I will suggest that you comply with my demands. I would not wish to tell you what would happen if you yelled, but to begin, your reputation would be shattered. If you stay silent, I can at least save your reputation … as long as no one on the coach knew your name, and as you were traveling alone, I am assuming you did not wish to share it.”

She pressed her lips into a firm line. The comely fiend had guessed correctly and had a point. She would have no choice but to comply until she found a means of escape.