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R AIN PELTED HIM AS HE raced across the meadow to Lark Manor, not daring to borrow a horse lest word circulate that his bride had left him and Grandmother behind …

but then the rain had begun, and he was certain some were leaving the tournament in lieu of waiting out the rain under the tents.

In any event, he had lost precious time.

When he had bested Sir Josiah and discovered her nowhere to be found, he sought Grandmother, who turned out to be blissfully enjoying her goblet of vanilla ice under the tent, watching the rain pelt the nobility who were too far from the tents to seek shelter in time.

She had confirmed that Evie had returned home, which had him thinking she had run.

Grandmother sensed his need to find his bride and assured him that the good doctor would escort her home in the gig and sent him on his way.

He leapt over the hedge of the garden, the gravel skittering underfoot as he raced through the gardens to the back door, leaving it wide open as he ran inside. He didn’t bother with propriety as he shouted, “Lady Larkby? Evie! Where are you?”

The butler appeared, pale. “Sir Sebastian? The lady said she had some unexpected business in town and departed in the carriage less than a half hour ago.”

He grunted. They had made so much progress, and she had trusted the highwayman before.

And yet she must have suspected him of something dastardly to run away from Grandmother and risk her career.

“Order Brigand to be saddled at once and inform my grandmother that I shall be at my wife’s townhouse for the night.

” He charged up the stairs and drew on his dark clothing and heavy cloak for the rain.

He paused, staring at his desk. He would need proof that he was not a criminal nobleman.

She had believed his word one too many times without proof.

He removed a key from a hallowed-out book on the shelf, unlocked his desk, and withdrew a letter with the seal of the Crown on the bottom-right corner.

He tucked it into his waistcoat, beside his heart.

The journey to her townhouse was short, but as the rain thickened, darkness enveloped the city and made riding difficult with the blasts of wind whipping between the buildings.

He reined in his mount as he watched the women run into the terrace apartment, ducking under a plaid blanket to shield them from the rain and the wind that plastered their skirts to their limbs.

He directed his horse to the servants’ entrance.

He patted his horse at the rear of the home.

“Stay here, friend. You shall be taken care of in a moment.” He eyed the door.

It would be too obvious, though perhaps the servants were busy, but he would not take the risk of alerting anyone to his presence.

He climbed on the saddle, leapt for the ledge over the doorway as he had done once before.

He jerked open the window and climbed inside.

He raced down the hall as voices on the ground floor floated up to him.

From what he heard, the footman was instructed to keep the doors barred from anyone else while they packed the home.

He slipped into her room. He kept his hood drawn and leaned against the window frame with his arms crossed, waiting to speak with his wife.

It probably was not fair to consider her his wife after only standing before the vicar and signing their names hastily to a certificate that bound them by law, but he could not bear for her to think ill of him …

even though he deserved it after robbing her and stealing across the countryside with her in the saddle before him and then marrying her without confessing all first. It was abominable. And entirely unknightly.

But that first kiss.

It had sparked an interest that he had never felt before, and by the ardor in her kiss, he felt, if only for a moment, a mirroring of his desire in the sweet maiden.

It had taken everything in him not to kiss her for the weeks they had been together and again when they’d stood before the vicar—in truth, he supposed he might never be allowed to kiss her lips again, even if he had hoped it and thought of it every time he beheld her in the morning light …

and afternoon light and evening light. All the lights.

He ran a hand over his face. He was a sop.

The latch sounded, and she hurried inside with her taper, firmly shutting the door behind her.

She set the taper on the dressing table, the mirror reflecting the light so that the room danced in its soft glow, highlighting her pleasant form.

He had no right to gaze upon her as if she were truly his bride, nor could he afford to dwell on how pretty and brave she was—a combination that nearly strangled his resolve to keep her at arm’s length.

Perhaps when this is all over, I can visit her enough to keep the gossips at bay?

But the mere idea of only seeing her briefly while on holiday plagued him.

Now that he knew her, he was not certain how to continue in a world without her.

She looked into the mirror and caught sight of him in the reflection. She gripped something on the table and, turning, flung it straight at him.

He ducked as a book fell short at his feet. “Where do you think you’re going, my lady?”

“As far away from you as I can manage,” she spat, reaching for a painted porcelain vase.

“I thought you required my protection.” He tossed back his hood and lifted up his hands. “Am I not holding up our part of the deal?”

“Deal? Deal!” Her voice rose. She pinched the bridge of her nose, as if to gather herself.

“Our deal was off the moment I discovered your duplicity. You are the highwayman.” She nodded to his hair.

“If you had not shorn your hair, I would’ve recognized you in an instant, but you are so cunning, you thought of that on your own.

How long did you know that I was Lady Larkby?

Did you plan it the moment you found my diary?

Did you know before I entered the stagecoach?

Did you think me a fool and laugh at me behind my back? ”

“Certainly not. And I am not so cunning as all that. After I left you the first time in your terrace home, I had an unfortunate encounter with head lice, which in the end was most providential.” He took a step toward her.

She darted a step back. “Stay where you are.”

“I have, of course, since then gotten rid of them, by the most extreme means.” He grinned.

“That is not why I retreat.” She clenched her fists.

“Are you even a knight of the Prince Regent? Or have you duped your grandmother as well as the whole of Bath into thinking that you were someone honorable? A knight of the Crown? Such a crime is unforgivable by the law—worthy of execution, I believe.”

“I am a knight. I have not lied on that score. In fact, I have only lied to you once.”

“Once is enough. A knight who is also a highwayman is not to be trusted in a time of war. If you are not a spy, then you are a thief without honor.” She shook her head. “I have gotten in too deep with you. We may be connected by law now, but it won’t be for long. I never wish to see you again.”

“That does not suit me in the least. Besides”—he slowly crossed the room, stopping short before her and removing the porcelain from her hand, setting it in the basin—“everything is not as it seems. I am not in actuality a highwayman by trade.”

She snorted. “Pray tell that to my ruined pelisse and gown and Sir Thomas.”

He ground his teeth and ran his hands over his bristly hair. “I felt terrible about abducting and robbing you, but it was necessary to preserve my cover. But I returned your funds with interest. Did you not wonder why I did so?”

“Your cover? Then you are a spy.”

“Of course not. I serve the Crown.”

“How is nearly ruining my reputation in the process of your robbing the coach serving the Crown? Was that part of your cover as well? You should think over your lies carefully, as a true gentleman would never compromise a lady thus.”

“I do not become a highwayman for my own amusement, Evie. Sometimes there is a greater mission than preserving a nicety.”

“Nicety? You are no buffoon. A reputation is everything—you nearly brought my character into question, no matter how inadvertently. I hope it was worth it. If it is true that you were acting on orders, did you at least find whatever you were looking for that day?”

He swallowed back an explanation. “I am not at liberty to divulge my mission.”

She crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. “What did the Prince Regent require you to take from my carriage?”

He crossed his own arms, mirroring her. “Again, I am not at liberty—”

“There was no other passenger on that coach besides Sir Thomas and me. Judging from the pile of stolen goods and funds that you dumped from the saddlebags, you robbed the coachman and us but did not go through the trunks, so you must have found what you were looking for. And as the Prince Regent does not want for money or jewels … I’m guessing your objective was obtaining …

Sir Thomas’s letters? But why would you want those? ”

Perceptive. He turned to the vacant fireplace, setting his boot on the grate. He mulled over how much he dared to tell her. He feared if he looked at her, she would know the answer.