It was the very last thing I had of Martha’s.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Countess

  “I found this.”

  My plan had been to offer to sing or dance for her in exchange for her mask, but the sudden panic in her eyes had me faltering.

  “What did I say about touching my things?” Her harsh tone would have scared me except her voice broke on the last word.

  She yanked it from me, tucking it against her chest protectively.

  “I have not harmed it!” I said quickly to reassure her.

  Her reaction was a surprise to both of us. I wished I could see her face behind that horrible mask as she realized she was supposed to be trying to be mysterious and nonchalant. Bea let the fiddle droop and hang loosely from one hand, but she could not fool me. That fiddle meant something to her.

  If I had learned one thing in all my nights conversing with musicians, it was that it did not take much to stroke their ego. I knew I could repair whatever old wound I had just inadvertently opened.

  “Did you expect me to simply sit in the corner all day? I must say, you can unearth a lot about a person from their home, and it has been fascinating learning about you.” I gave her my sweetest smile.

  “I should keep you bound when I can’t keep you in my sight,” she muttered but I heard no actual threat behind her words. She still had not set down the instrument. Her thumb stroked along the slender neck as she cradled it.

  “Will you play it for me?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m not here to entertain you.”

  “I am quite sure you would not enjoy if I try and find things to entertain myself. Who knows what kind of mischief I could get up to,” I said, trying to regain some of our previous camaraderie.

  I planned my next words carefully. I did not want to drive her away now, but her words previously had sparked something interesting in the back of my mind. “Perhaps I could slip out of here and ask Anabelle to show me what you will not.”

  Within the holes of her mask, Bea’s eyes flashed. A grin stretched itself across my face.

  That is more like it.

  “You can’t afford her, and you’re not leaving this cabin. Also, if the other option is you causing mischief, what’s to stop me simply gathering my ropes and putting a stop to it before you can try anything?”

  “Please, will you not play for just a while?” I batted my eyelashes and gave her my most pleading look. “Bea, I am utterly bored, and I do so love music. If you play, I shall dance for you and I will not utter one word of complaint for the rest of the night, I promise.”

  She groaned.

  “This isn’t a holiday,” Bea replied, exasperated.

  “Of course not, but would it do me any good to simply sit and cower? Should I not attempt to enjoy my time since you horrible fiends may soon end my life?”

  “You may have a point,” she conceded with a shrug. “It’s not out of the question until we get paid.”

  My insides lurched at her casual approach to my potential murder, but I ignored it and pressed on.

  “What use is life if you do not live it? I refuse to waste what precious time I may have left, so will you play for me or not?”

  She paused and gave a long groan.

  “I promise I will not ask any more of your debaucherous pleasures with prostitutes tonight if you play me something good.” I jutted out my chin. “Nor will I try to run away or complain. I shall behave myself and be as good as gold.”

  Again she hesitated, but I knew I had her.

  “You know you want to,” I sang, already wiggling with the prospect of being able to let go and dance so close I could taste it. I desperately needed some levity, something to get rid of all my anxious energy.

  “Nothing is as good as gold and if you misbehave, I’ll take my belt to you,” she muttered but there was no real menace behind her words.

  I squealed in delight, not only at her acquiescence, but at my own triumph. I knew I could wheedle her down.

  “No complaints at all.” She pointed a warning finger at me. “Not one single complaint for the rest of the time I have to suffer your company.”

  I frowned at her phrasing. “There is no need to be insulting. But fine, I agree to your terms.”

  “I think you’re lying. I don’t think you’re capable of keeping your mouth shut, brat,” Bea said but a smile played at the corner of her lips.

  She tucked the fiddle under her chin in a fluid manner that suggested that this was not only something she had done many times before but that was second nature to her. I bet she played every night, here alone in her cabin.

  I held my breath as she touched the bow to the strings.

  The first notes were deep and slow. I felt them to my bones as she closed her eyes. The song she played was not one I knew, but after the gentle start, it picked up to be melodic and cheerful. I leapt to my feet. My limbs found the rhythm with ease. I swayed and turned and hopped in the cramped cabin. It would be so much better with space to really move and a partner to clasp hands with, but it was still enough to lift the weight from my shoulders and bring a true smile to my lips.

  Bea was smiling too, her eyes open now, watching me as I responded to her playing with steps I knew from countless formal dances. Her smile grew to even show teeth as I brought out my more salacious moves from wild nights spent at some friend of a friend’s manor house with hired musicians and enough wine to incapacitate a village.

  Her eyes met mine. A challenge, as the pace picked up. I grinned, whirling again, keeping up with her as her bow flashed and her fingers became a mere blur.

  I wished I had my heels so that I could stomp out a beat to match her song. I clapped and whooped and spun and dipped, my heart racing and my mood lifting to the skies.

  “Another!” I gasped as her last note rang out. My blood was singing, and I could tell that there was a smile stretched across her face as well although her mask hid most of it.

  THUD THUD THUD

  I just about fell over in fright as someone hammered on the door.

  “Bea! We can hear you in there!”

  Bea rolled her eyes. “Entertain yourselves!” she yelled back but the thudding on the door continued.

  “Tom’s playing sounds like someone strangling a cat!”

  “Don’t be a bore!”

  “We’ve got a bonfire going and we need music!”

  “None of you would know good music if it stared you in the face!” Bea groaned but picked up her fiddle and headed for the door.

  She glanced back at where I stood, a little lost, in the middle of the cabin. “Be good. I’ll be back later.”

  “But…” I trailed off.

  “Later.”

  And then she left, leaving me standing there with my heart still pounding with the ebbing joy of frivolity. I ached to keep dancing, to beg her to stay and play some more. Dancing alone would simply be too sad, but she was gone quicker than I could gather myself.

  As the voices outside the cabin faded, shame flooded through me.

  How stupid I am to forget myself! To forget my situation even for a moment.

  Part of my curse of being so pathetically needy for something to keep myself out of my own head was that I often forgot that others were not. Hot tears stung my eyes as I tried to choke down the lump that had sprung up in my throat.

  Stomping to the bed, I threw myself on the painfully hard mattress, punching my pillow in frustration as the muted music met my ears.

  I stewed for hours, sniffling and feeling sorry for myself and listening to the whispers of music that mocked me from wherever the highwaymen had their bonfire, until Bea returned late in the night.

  “I’m surprised you’re still awake,” she said as she dumped her boots by the door.

  “I could hardly sleep with that racket out there,” I snapped.

  She chuckled. “What’s wrong, buttercup? Feeling left out?”

  “As per our agreement, I do not believe I am allowed to say.” I sniffed and turned away from her.

  “Depends on how you phrase it.” The scent of bonfire smoke wafted over me as she reached over to poke me in the ribs. “You could say, ‘oh Bea your playing was so magnificent I am overcome with emotion’. Or you could say, ‘I am so glad you are here now as I have languished for the return of your wit and charm all evening’.”

  “I do not care to inflate your ego further,” I retorted.

  “As you wish.”

  I expected to feel her weight joining me on the bed, but instead I heard her footsteps cross the room.

  All of my ire was forgotten as the first notes of a gentle lullaby filled the cabin.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Highwaywoman

  I was in trouble.

  My captive was a beautiful woman, but she was also an utter brat. That enticing combination was certain to bring out the very worst in me that was dying to put her in her place. But damn it, I was charmed by her. I could maybe have crushed that down somewhere deep inside, but then she’d danced for me.

  The music she inspired me to play brought life into my sad little cabin. And oh, this woman could dance. Music was my solace. One that others only saw the very top layer of. But last night, when I all but fled the cabin as soon as the spell of her dancing had been broken by those louts hammering on my door, she had looked so utterly dejected that it tugged at my heartstrings.

  My mind had been filled with her all through the time I was at the bonfire playing jig after jig for increasingly drunken outlaws. When I returned, she still looked like a kicked puppy. So, I played for her. I really played. The lullaby was one of my earliest memories that my mother and my aunt used to sing together for Martha and I to get us to sleep. I’d never been a good sleeper and storms terrified me, but that lullaby would never fail to soothe me. I kept that lullaby close to my heart and hummed to myself often still when I couldn’t sleep. It’d been years since I’d played it on my fiddle.

  It’d had the same effect on Victoria, and she’d gone from red-rimmed eyes and shoulders tensed up around her ears to curled peacefully on her side.

  She was sound asleep now, her quiet snores thunderously loud in the silence of my cabin.

  Cursing myself into the next life for letting myself be so weak as to start caring for her, I folded my arms tight across my chest. I should never have played for her. I should never have opened myself up even a tiny bit. If anything went wrong with this cursed job, then she’d be killed in an instant and, damn it, I’d regret that sorely.

  She’s currency, nothing more.

  I glanced at the sleeping form next to me. Her thick eyelashes lay against her cheeks, forehead smooth and unfurrowed by the ire she was so quick to throw my way. Her full lips were plump and softly parted in her sleep. My gaze trailed down the gentle curve of her neck. The shirt she wore was loose and the neckline gaped showing more silky skin.

  God, she’s beautiful.

  I froze.

  I can’t be thinking that about her! Oh, I’m such a fool. I need to get out of here. I need to get out of here now.

  Silently and painfully slowly as to not wake her, I slipped from the bed. I snagged my boots and my coat as I crept to the door. My thundering heartbeat wanted me to run—to flee— but I forced myself to tiptoe.

  Only when the door was shut and locked behind did I let out the breath I’d been holding.

  When I’d wrestled my boots on, I jogged a little way out, far enough that no one would see or overhear any sounds I might make. We had lookouts of course but only on the actual established paths. Not here in the rugged tangled weeds. Even so, every crunch of my footsteps had me cringing.

  Once I was sure I was alone, I sought out a suitable place and then actually had to cover my mouth as I laughed out loud. There was no good place for this. This was a needy, shameful urge to do sinful things to a woman whom I could never have. A woman I didn’t even know, for goodness’ sake! I just needed this out of my system.

  I sank to my knees in front of a grizzled old tree and braced myself against it with one hand, breathing harder than my exercise warranted. Her big, dark eyes didn’t take much effort to conjure in my imagination. I’d seen them with a hint of scheming. Now, however, they were filled with devious intentions in my mind. Those full lips. I imagined stroking her bottom lip with my thumb before guiding it into her mouth as she looked up at me with a lust-filled gaze. I imagined her wanting me, needing me, begging me.

  My hand had snaked its way into my trousers already. The lightest graze had me squeezing my eyes closed. I bit my lip. Her touch would be light and unsure if it were her hands on me. I would show her what I liked, and she would be so good at following my direction. I swallowed a groan as my fingers slid through the soft hair between my legs to find wetness at the center. It felt like I’d been wet since I first met her. Her cunning little plan and innocent face. She was an angel with a devil’s soul, and that did something to me.

  I wanted the angel on her knees and praying to me. I wanted the devil, biting and scratching and flaying me with sharp words. She was such a delicious, forbidden delicacy.

  What sounds would she make in the throes of passion?

  Angelic soft moans coupled with the foul venom she’d been spewing at me for the last four days. Four days.

  How has it only been four days? She couldn’t possibly take up so much space in my mind after so little time.

  I rubbed harder. How dare she. How dare she make me this wanton and desperate. No matter how long it had been since I satisfied myself, this was obscene. I should punish her for making me so weak. That thought sent a fresh wave of heat through me. I ground myself against my hand with a throaty moan.

  The things I could do with her. Oh, I could make her moan. I could make her scream. I could bring her pleasure that her sleazy, no—good betrothed could only dream of bringing her. I could have her crying my name in her sleep years from now on just the memory of me. Alone in a fancy manor with everything her heart desires, pleasuring herself to once upon a times with her highwaywoman.

  I bit down on my knuckles to muffle my cry as I shattered.

  I eased out a shaking breath as my thighs trembled. I rolled over onto my back and stared up at the leafy forest canopy, swaying gently above me in the breeze. I huffed out a humorless chuckle.

  This is a new low.

  I couldn’t have her. She wouldn’t want me, anyway. I scowled at a falling leaf. Reality was cruel.

  ——

  “I’m done.”

  That was the first thing Martha said as I opened my door to the knocks that thudded around midnight. The fire that she had once held in her eyes was burning brightly once more.

  “What?”

  “I’m leaving. I’m done,” she said, pushing past me and wringing her hands. “I’m so sorry, Bea, but you once said you could spare me some coin if I chose this. Do you still have it?”

  “Of course. I kept it just in case. Martha, what happened?”

  A muscle worked in her jaw and, for a moment, I thought she wasn’t going to tell me at all.

  “Johnny had bruises,” she said finally.

  I gasped. Martha’s husband was a drunken animal, and he took it out on his wife more often than I could stomach, but Johnny was barely two years old.

  “I need to take my baby and run. It’s the only way.”

  “Can I come with you?” I asked, tears welling up in my eyes.

  She cupped my cheek. “I’m sorry, Bea. You can’t come right now. They said they can only take me and the baby just now. I’ll send word when we are safe, and you can come join us. This village has seen far too much death and sadness in recent years.”

  “You promise?”

  “I promise. You, me, and Johnny can be our own little family.”

  “When do you leave?”

  “Tonight.”

  ——

  With my head marginally clearer but my mood worse after my release, I stomped my way back to the village. I had to get this mess hurried along and get Victoria—Countess Edmunton—out of my house and out of my life.

  There was nothing else for it. I needed to speak to Fang and get this disaster moving along. I could go back to paying for my company like every other wretch here rather than tormenting myself with what I couldn’t have.

  My thoughts were still full of her as I stormed straight to Fang’s hut, throwing open the door without knocking.

  He was there, goblet in one hand and pipe in the other as usual, his closest cronies surrounding him, guffawing at whatever quip he had just made. The laughter trailed off as I entered.

  “We need to talk.” It dawned on me as the words left my mouth how reckless I was being. One did not simply demand things of Fang. It was too late to take it back now, though.

  Fang took a long draw from his pipe and blew out a cloud of smoke.

  “What do you want? I’m busy.” He didn’t even turn to look at me.

  “We need to organize the ransom for the countess as soon as possible.”

  “Leave us be and go play babysitter.” He scoffed. “From where I stand, your part of this is done.”

  “I disagree. My part in this is still sitting in my damn cabin.”

  Fang finally broke from his company to face me. My heartbeat hammered inside my chest. I’d gone too far. He set his pipe and goblet on the arm of his chair, straightened and sauntered towards me, slow and unbothered.

  What on earth am I doing? This is suicide.

  I stood tall, even as he got close, crowding my space with his huge frame.

  His hand shot out to snake around the back of my neck and yanked me so close that our foreheads pressed together. “Are you telling me what to do, Bea?”

  His stench clogged the air around us and I all but choked on it.