Page 34 of Her Wicked Highwayman
Andrew rested the birch in his palm and gazed at the labyrinth of pain he had carved in the young footman’s flesh, allowing the pleasure to zing through his veins, soothing himwhen Phelps’s news would have normally put him in mind to kill. There were already two graves deep in the woods because he had lost control. Too many more and people might start asking inconvenient questions.
“Back, are they? Double the guards on our next money transport to London,” Andrew ordered. “And tell them to kill the moment they are stopped by anyone wearing a mask. I want those thieves dead.”
“Yes, my lord.” Phelps backed out of the room and closed the door, leaving Andrew to stare at his latest toy.
The young man had broken too soon, had wept at the first strike on his flesh. Tapping the cane irritably against his palm, Andrew closed his eyes and summoned up the image of the Lennox boy from so many years ago. Such a pretty young face, such strength and defiance in those blue eyes. Andrew had been filled with a desire to plunge a knife into the boy’s chest, to see if he would wail or fight in silence up until the moment the life faded from those eyes. Was there nothing sweeter than taking a young, pretty creature and destroying it inside and out?
He had hunted the lad in his own fashion, but the boy had avoided the gambling hells that his father had frequented. Rafe had danced around every trap, every clever snare Andrew set. He’d left no debts to be bought. He was too quick to be abducted, although attempts had been made several times over the years. Rafe was harder to catch than any fox, but he was worth the hunt, because his pain was exquisite to see, and Andrew couldn’t get Rafe’s pain out of his mind.
Who could have known that killing the boy’s useless father would have woven such a stunning tapestry of suffering? It was his dream to wound someone so deeply, and he hadn’t even had to touch the boy. It made him want Rafe all the more, and what he wanted he always got, even if it took years. Like a spider perched at the far corner of his web, he couldn’t wait tofeel that first tremor as his prey stepped onto the sticky strings of his trap. The mere thought of it made him glow inside with excitement.
Soon.
CHAPTER 8
“Stop fidgeting,” Ashton growled.
Rafe scowled as he continued to tug at the cravat at his throat, which had tightened around him like a hangman’s noose. Hewasfidgeting, but he’d be damned if he let his older brother order him around, especially while trapped in the confines of a coach on the way to a ball he hadn’t had the least desire to attend.
Rosalind sat beside Ashton, her arm entwined with his, grinning at Rafe from the seat across from him. “Rafe, ’tis only a little country ball.”
Her light Scottish accent made him suddenly long to be back at home with Isla. She had wanted to come and see him dance tonight, but she was young, and sadly, it simply wasn’t done for a child to attend balls. At least, not balls of this sort, the glorified mating rituals that adults put themselves through. Perhaps he could talk his brother into having a small family one so he could dance with his daughter. By now, she would be tucked away in her bed, sleeping while her nanny was on guard for the night.
“You’re enjoying this far too much,” Rafe muttered to Rosalind as he forced himself to stay still.
The coach hit a rut and pitched to the side, making him brace himself against the wall of the conveyance.
“Bloody hell, is the driver aiming foreveryhole on the blasted road? When are we going to arrive, anyway?” Rafe had asked that question three times already, and he wanted out of this coach.
Ashton shared a look with Rosalind, and Rafe’s scowl deepened. They were amused at his expense.
Rafe stuck his head out of the coach window to see if the Merton house in the distance was any closer. Lit torches were stationed in a line down the long drive, and the light from them danced against the line of carriages ahead of them. He counted nearly twenty. That meant the ball would be packed to the edges with dozens of eligible women. He sank back into his seat and grimaced as he realized his brother and sister-in-law would force him to meet half of them tonight.
“We need not stay overly long, Rafe,” Ashton soothed, but his tone was teasing. “Justlong enough for you to find a wife.”
While Rafe was fond of this new, softer side to his brother, he did not enjoy being on the receiving end of his teasing.
“If Rosalind wasn’t here, I would plant a facer on you, brother,” Rafe growled. His hands clenched into fists where they rested on his thighs.
“You would try,” said Ashton.
“Oh, but you must think of Isla,” Rosalind said. “There might be a wonderful young lady here tonight who would be the perfect person for you and your daughter.”
Blast and damn.Rosalind knew how to sink a knife into his ribs with the truth. He must think of Isla, and she did need a mother. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to accept the idea of marrying a woman just for his child. He needed to find someone who would suit them both, and he wasn’t sure such a lady existed.
“I will look, but if I find none to interest me, I will leave, no matter how early it is.” He crossed his arms over his chest and stared a little too petulantly out the window into the darkness.
“Dance with ten women and I will let you leave,” Ashton said.
“Five,” Rafe countered. Not that Ashton could stop him from leaving, but he did love a good haggle.
Ashton stared at him, steel behind his blue eyes. “Eight.”
“Fine.” The brothers shook upon the agreement, and Rosalind rolled her eyes, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like a Scottish word for fools.
When their coach finally stopped in front of the Merton house, two footmen helped Rosalind down and took her cloak and gloves. Ashton and Rafe followed her up the stairs and into the crush of the crowd.
Golden light filled the hall as they joined the queue of guests waiting to be announced before entering the ballroom. Once inside, Rafe took the measure of the Merton ballroom with a mild, somewhat jaded curiosity. Paintings in gilded frames hung on the walls and a string quartet played at the front of the room. It was certainly a ballroom that could challenge some of the best in London. Mr. Merton was rich indeed to have such a country house so well furnished and designed. The music drifted with a pleasant laziness through the room as people danced. For a moment, Rafe allowed himself to let go of his past and take in the present moment of merriment around him.
