To Wed A Rebel (33 page)

“Don’t play games; this is serious,” chided Aunt Georgia. “You must marry soon and well, if you’re ever to be happy.”

“Your version of happiness and mine are grossly different.” Harriet knew better than to argue, pursing her lips, but her protest came out regardless. “Any friends I had when younger have been married off to clerks or clergymen, locked away in stuffy houses with boorish men to live out their days. It’s not for me.”

“We all must do what we can to survive, Harriet,” said the older woman, enforcing her words with a stern, yet concerned voice. “You have good prospects. Do not throw them away over fantasies borne from all the silly books you read as a child – ”

The room hushed. The magistrate’s voice rang out. Aunt Georgia was soon forced into silence and Harriet was saved for the time being. It was a familiar argument and yet, if Harriet could delay any union for as long as possible, she knew her position and home would be restored. The right investments, prompted by wise bankers, would see her through.

A little more time, that’s all she needed – along with a few more adventures out in the green mask – then she’d have enough capital to move forwards.

She only prayed that her luck was better than her brother’s.

“My apologies for interrupting what has been a splendid evening, especially as it concerns a rather grim subject,” began Sir Fielding. He was a stocky man in his later years, defined by a mane of wispy white hair and whiskers that gave him all the appearance of an ageing lion – one that still had bite. “The Green Highwayman.”

Harriet’s heart stopped. Her eyes widened. A second was an eternity. For a small moment the magistrate’s glance met hers, but only as his gaze travelled across the room.

“On several occasions the West Country has been terrorised and tormented by that wretched soul and it’s time we put a stop to it…”

A whispered exchange took place behind Harriet, with one fellow commenting to his friend, “I quite like him. All of his targets have been extremely wealthy gamblers, crooks and arrogant fools who
need
a little terrorising.”

“He robbed your father,” the friend retorted.

“Exactly – we all know what an arse he is.”

Aunt Georgia shushed the talkative pair with a vicious glance and Harriet strained to listen to the magistrate, hoping that no one could hear how her pulse raced or see the guilt in her expression – or the shameful pride.

“We have drafted in the very best to capture the thief, to root him out and make him pay for his crimes. After serving in Spain, later capturing three known robbers on London’s outskirts, and with a personal commendation from the Duke of Wellington, there is no one more suited to the task of intercepting the villain…”

She gripped Aunt Georgia’s arm too tightly and her expression could not hold the calm she wished it would. Where was her mask now?

Gone, left behind, useless.

“And he will make short work of this scoundrel,” continued Fielding. “In fact, he already came face-to-face with the criminal only the other evening.”

What?
Harriet reassured herself that all attention was fixed on the gentleman speaking, that no one would look towards her, or see her growing agitation and confusion. She was wrong. One man sought out her eyes and Harriet offered a fleeting smile towards her almost-dance partner, which took her unawares. Her anxiety fled momentarily, caught up in the warmth he exuded – a secret, soft look shared between them.

A balm before the stinging bite of the magistrate’s next words.

“We’ll have the Green Highwayman hanged at Newgate Prison by the season’s end,” announced Sir Fielding, to a short cheer. “And it will be Major Edward Roberts who will see it done.”

Applause broke out as the man himself, Edward, stepped forwards. Harriet’s smile was snatched from her face and her breath – turned to splinters – caught in her throat. The room turned dark at the edges and seemed to spin, a carousel of colours, merging into one dark, despairing mass.

Hanged at Newgate Prison.

“Are you quite all right, dear?” Aunt Georgia leant towards Harriet after she flagged slightly, pushing concerned words towards her as though they could be used to prop her up. The two talkative gentlemen were there again, to aid her lest she fall, each gripping one elbow. Not eager to draw any further attention, she quickly regained her footing, fanning herself with her hand.

“Yes, no, I – I need a little air, that’s all,” said Harriet quickly, the blood draining from her face. “I’ll be quite all right – no, you needn’t come.”

She pushed her way through the crowd, barely seeing any faces, tripping towards the main doors and into an empty foyer. The August evening air hit her in a wave, blissfully chilled against her cheeks, as her satin-clad feet found the street beyond. Light spilled out behind her, throwing her shape upon the cobblestones, and the music had started up again.

He has already come face-to-face with the criminal.

Then it was he, Edward, who had fired at her, who had almost killed her – who had asked her to dance – and who had been drafted in to find and capture the Green Highwayman.

To capture
her
.

“Damn it,” she breathed. “Fool.”

“Miss Groves?”

Harriet started, faced by the very man she knew would haunt both her every waking moment and her nightmares from that point on.

“Major Roberts,” she greeted him with a watery smile, stepping a pace or two away, small movements, a head-start.

“May I ask you for a dance – or would you prefer a duel?”

It took all her effort not to stumble backwards, to keep her expression neutral. “I – pardon?”

If she ran would he catch her? How could he already know who she was? When did he –

“A dance,” repeated Edward, slowly, an imposing silhouette in the doorway. “Miss Groves, would you dance with me?”

Every instinct Harriet held told her to refuse, to build a wall between them, to do all she could to never see him again. She had to protect herself, her family, her life – everything she had fought to keep safe all this time.

He was dangerous, he was her demise, he was her death – holding his hand out towards her.

And yet she reached for it.

“Yes, Major Roberts,” she said, drawn to him and the danger he posed, unable to stop herself. “I would like nothing more.”

CARINA™

ISBN: 9781474050012

To Wed a Rebel

© 2016 Sophie Dash

by Carina, an imprint of HarperCollins
Publishers 
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