Page 14 of Her Wicked Highwayman
“Nay, lass. I’ve made enemies that wouldna be troubled at the thought of torturing my identity out of an innocent woman. The less ye see, the less ye ken, and that is better.” He graspedher hand and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist, which sent flutters of fresh excitement through her sated body.
“But I know your name,” she reminded him. “And I know that you are Scottish.”
“Am I, lass?” He chuckled. “Or am I something quite different?” He now spoke with an Irish accent.
“Your name isn’t Tyburn, then?” Startled, she lifted her head to stare at him in the darkness, where she could only see the faint moonlight that seemed to condense in his blue eyes.
“I amanyman,” he now said with a Welsh accent. “I ameveryman.” This time with a Yorkshire voice. And it wasn’t just the accent that had changed. He was able to completely change the sound of his voice, so that it didn’t sound like the man she’d come to know in the last hour.
Diana wanted to know his name, wanted to see his face. She deserved to know the real man, the one who’d taken her virtue and given her such forbidden dreams. She deserved to know who might have left the quickening of new life inside her. She stilled at that sudden realization.
“I have a right to know who you truly are,” she said. “What we’ve done tonight... it might result in a child.”
To her surprise, this gave him pause. He was quiet a long moment, as if he realized he had not thought of the possible repercussions until just now. But what did she expect? He was a marked man, doomed to hang if he should be discovered. It was foolish to think he could take responsibility, even if he wanted to. Which was why his next words shocked her.
“I will meet ye in two months’ time, at the same place I leave ye tomorrow. If ye are with child, we will discuss what we shall do. Now lie down and sleep. I want the comfort of ye in my arms.” He nestled her into his embrace and pulled the sheets up close to their chins, keeping them warm.
Even though he burned like a fire in the deepest winter of her soul, new fears now spread like cold, insidious shadows between the flames. What would she do if she bore this highwayman’s child? He was a thief, a villain, a disreputable scoundrel. Their child would be beautiful and mischievous, of that she had no doubt. She would love that child with every fiber of her being.
But she could not weather the scandal of bearing a child out of wedlock. It could cost her what little she still had. Tyburn placed a hand on her belly, tenderly stroking her as he curled his arm back around her waist.
Diana’s heart shuddered. A child of her own, a child born of pleasure and sweet, glorious fire. Oh, that child would be loved fiercely. Diana let out a breath and closed her eyes, savoring what few hours she had left to ease the loneliness in her soul—and wondered who the man beneath the mask truly was.
CHAPTER 3
Diana was in a cozy sitting room, a book resting in her hands, the lazy sun making her skin glow with warmth. Her father’s voice was a gentle rumble as he read aloud from one of his favorite novels. Purple wisteria draped over the windows outside like feathered plumes. Colorful butterflies wove among the petals. The sound of a piano echoed down the hall as Eleanor practiced scales, then she began to play songs she’d composed herself.
The smell of freesia filled the air as her mother carried a vase filled with them into the room and set it on a nearby table.
“Those are beautiful blooms, Mama,” Diana said. Her mother’s face shone as she smiled at Diana.
“Everything the earth makes is beautiful,” she replied. “Every ephemeral cloud, every bit of everlasting stone.”
Eleanor began to play a new song. The melody was one Diana had never heard before, yet it was familiar.
Something was not right. She felt... strange. Not quite herself. Diana set her book down and went to the tall gilt mirror that hung in the sitting room. The door next to it opened. Eleanor slid past her as she entered the room and joined their parents. The feel of her as she passed was more ghostly than real.
Diana’s gaze moved from her family back to her reflection. The others were seated at the table, speaking softly and smiling as they had so often done... years ago.
That was it, that was what made no sense. The woman looking back at her in the mirror was too old—she should be thirteen or fourteen, not three and twenty. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the table was now empty. The sunlight, once so bright in the room, had begun to fade. Her family had vanished...
She spun back to the mirror and gasped. Her family was still reflected in the perfect morning light, but only in the flashing silver of the mirror’s world. With a trembling hand, she reached up and touched the glass. Her foolish heart broke the moment she realized she wouldn’t be able to pass through the mirror and into the life she wanted to reclaim. But the mirror only vibrated beneath her touch, as though the rising despair in her heart and soul seemed to be strong enough to fracture this moment that existed only between time and space.
“Mama!” she called out. “Eleanor,please!” She pressed her palm flat on the mirror, trying to push herself into their world. Tears rolled down her cheeks as they ignored her and went on with their happy day. She felt like she was dying. Why couldn’t they hear her? Why wouldn’t they let her in?
She beat upon the glass, trying to break it, trying to find some way into the world of the looking glass. The darkness around her grew as the candles burned low, until only twilight reigned around her. But she did not look away from the world in the mirror. In the reflection, her parents and sister stood up to leave. They were leaving her...
“Let me come too,” she begged brokenly. “Please! Let me come with you. Do not leave me!” Her mother and father passed out of sight into a sunny corridor far out of her reach, her sister not far behind.
She screamed her sister’s name. Eleanor halted, one hand on the doorframe. She turned to look at Diana over her shoulder, and their gazes locked.
“You must wake up, Diana,” Eleanor said. “You must wake upnow!”
Diana heaved a sob as she jolted upright in the darkness. It was night, and she was no longer in the sitting room. Her family and the cursed mirror were gone. Gasping for breath, it took her a moment to realize she was not at home at Foxglove. She was in a strange bed. She shifted and flinched at the soreness between her thighs. A stranger lay beside her, one arm draped over her waist. The shadows made soft grooves in the lithe, muscled arm that loosely held her.
Tyburn . . . the highwayman.
Tyburn slept on. She covered her mouth, hoping he wouldn’t feel her shake, nor hear her weeping. The dream still fluttered at the edge of her memory, like the wings of a butterfly kissing her skin. It had felt soreal, as if she’d actually been with her family again.
