A woman is revealed…

By day Miss Harriet Groves is a highly respectable lady, and a darling of society with her quick wit and blonde beauty. But by night Harriet dons a disguise, riding out into the countryside as the feared – and often revered! – Green Highwayman.

A life of crime was never the plan, but saving her family from ruin keeps Harriet riding into danger under the cover of darkness. A danger made all the more acute by the arrival of Major Edward Roberts, the man commissioned to unmask Harriet’s legendary highwayman and bring him to justice!

Harriet’s far too clever to fall into any trap the major sets to capture her alter ego. Understanding it’s best to keep your enemies close, she sets out to thoroughly distract the major from his duty using all of her womanly charms.

Only allowing Edward closer has unexpected consequences for Harriet. How could she have guessed that time spent sparring and flirting with Major Roberts could inspire an excitement in her equal to the adrenaline surge she experiences on her night-time adventures? It seems the dashing major is a danger to her life, and her heart…

Unmasking of a Lady

Sophie Dash

www.CarinaUK.com

Sophie Dash is usually found chained to a laptop in her David Bowie pyjamas, with a spaniel dribbling on her feet, a pen in her hair and biscuit crumbs across her keyboard. She has a cardboard cut-out of Spock in her basement, knows all the words to Disney’s The Little Mermaid and has seen Pride and Prejudice more times than you. Follow her on Twitter @TheSophieDash

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Title Page

Author Bio

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Endpages

Copyright

Chapter One

A pistol snapped in the night, a glimmer in the darkness. A horse was covered in a sheen of sweat as it ploughed onwards, hooves hammering on the ground with such a force as could summon thunder. The cool air crept up the rider’s sleeves and under the collar of her ill-fitting jacket, nipping at any exposed skin, as Harriet Groves fled.

She had not meant tonight to go as it had. The mayor’s carriage should have been an easy target, but there had been a man waiting for her, waiting for the highwayman who haunted the Wessex roads.

It begun as it always did – protests, shock, fear and overdressed aristocracy forced to part with their jewels and finery. It was her maidservant, Mary, who sounded the alarm, before a stranger’s weapon was fired. Harriet felt the shot pass between inches of her concealed face, burying itself into a tree trunk at her side with a heavy thud. She turned to the man who had fired it, movements fast, catlike. No one had ever tracked her down before.

From the coach’s swaying lantern she saw his strong, tall frame, the light casting shadows across his features – obscuring them from sight. There was no doubt that he had been waiting for them, had anticipated them. She could feel his eyes on her, boring through her skin, her heart skittering beneath her breast as though a sparrow were trapped behind it, shedding feathers in her lungs.

Harriet brought up her own pistol, halting him in his tracks, stopping him from reloading. Ever since she had first begun this terrible business, she had dreaded this moment. The night she would have to kill a man. Somewhere nearby an owl shrieked, a fox cried out, the branches above raked one another in the night. It was all dulled to Harriet as the blood rushed in her ears, though her hand remained steady and her resolve was hard.

“If you’re going to fire, damn you, fire,” the stranger growled, steeling himself for it, for death.

Harriet never uttered a word in response, though she wanted to – an apology, perhaps – but speech would give her away, for a woman’s voice would undo all her hard work.

She fired, purposely aiming far above his head, before dashing towards woodland cover. She ran as fast as her feet would carry her, ignoring the brambles that clawed at her ankles and the low branches that swiped at her head. Another distant shot snarled somewhere behind her, giving chase, driving her onwards. She climbed onto her waiting horse with a practised motion, before following her maidservant down a different track. She rode deep into the shadows as though the Devil himself were on her trail. For all she knew, he was.

The green leather mask across Harriet’s face cut into her cheeks, her identity further obscured by a wide-brimmed hat, giving her the guise of a man. All who encountered her and her pistol, on the dark Cotswolds roads and traders’ paths, thought of her as such.

They rode hard and long until dawn tinged the horizon a light navy, as though the sky had run out of ink at the edges. The pair slowed, deeming themselves safe and near home, hearts beating ferociously, skin prickling with perspiration.

“How dare he? Who was he?”

“I don’t know, miss,” said Mary, as rattled as she was.

“We need to be more careful; our targets have been too obvious.” She wrenched off her mask, catching her blonde hair with it. “This shouldn’t have happened.”

A narrow manor house loomed in the distance, a dark smudge nestled beneath a low hill. The night-scented stock in the garden’s borders pervaded her senses, along with the crisp, cool morning dew. It was calming. She had played in this garden as a child, had wrestled with her brother, made play at duels with sticks for swords, until she grew up and times became hard and all the pretence became reality.

The slow journey down to the vast property was quiet and disturbed only by chattering birds, awake and alive and happy to be so. The moon was still out – a slim stroke set into endless blue. Harriet breathed it all in – home, morning, life. It was almost enough to erase the dangers and troubles that had plagued both women that night – almost, though not quite.

Harriet’s maidservant, Mary, kept her mistress’s mare still as she climbed from it, pulling her own scarf from her nose and mouth.

“I didn’t even see the pistol ’til he had it, Miss Groves,” she began, equally shaken. “Didn’t hear him. I should’ve – ”

“No, Mary,” interrupted Harriet, holding her maidservant’s shoulders tightly. “We’ve not been cautious enough. We have snatched up the wrong attention and should count ourselves lucky the shot did not hit us or the horses.” Lucky that whoever that man was, whoever had been watching them, tracking them and waiting to strike, had only fired in warning. “Take them to the stables and get some sleep. I will not need you today.”

“But, miss, the trip into Bath, the ball – ”

“You need to rest; you look exhausted.” She smiled kindly, taking their loot from the other woman as it was handed to her, and stuffed into a small satchel. “I can dress myself for one morning.”

The maidservant nodded, eyeing the stolen goods, mouth bracketed by hard lines. “I don’t like having it in the house. It’s too dangerous.” She was a sensible individual, older than Harriet, with a boyish figure, dark features and unwavering loyalty. Her parents had worked for Harriet’s family, as had their parents before them.

“No one will find it in my rooms, for no one would dare search them. We are safe, I promise you that. If we try to sell all we have taken now, we will be caught. We’ll wait a few months, try it with our usual contacts, like always.”

Mary nodded, seeing the logic though she did not look convinced, and hesitating as she took up the horse’s reins.

“We are safe,” repeated Harriet, as she attempted to stifle a yawn. The sun was rising up beside the grounds, its soft glow erasing the sins that had passed that night, warming her bones. It would be a beautiful summer’s day. “Everyone thinks the Green Highwayman to be exactly that, a man. No one would ever suspect Harriet Groves of Atworth House.”

***

The following morning was a whirl of movement – boxes were bundled onto a borrowed carriage set up for the journey, the house was alive with activity and Harriet soldiered through it all with tired eyes and a mind haunted by the figure she had met on the road towards Bristol.

“When can I go to a ball, Harry?” The question and a heavy pout came from her younger sister, Ellen, who was none too pleased at being left behind. She bore a strong resemblance to her older sister, with fair hair, sharp features and eyes as green as the nearby meadows. A spaniel followed dutifully behind, chancing a lick at the young girl’s hand whenever it strayed within muzzle distance. “It’s not fair, I want to see the dresses, that’s all.” Ellen clung to Harriet’s wrist and was subsequently pulled along to their father’s study. The young girl was growing fast, though she was still barely fifteen. “Please, Harry?”

“When you are little older,” answered the girl’s father, affection in his voice. Stout, grey and far too lenient, Mr Jacob Groves was once again buried in a newspaper – or at least, he pretended to be, for Harriet noticed the letter he had quickly covered up on his lap, though she kept her thoughts to herself. Mr Groves pulled his gaze up for long enough to catch the attention of his eldest daughter, Harriet, his expression growing a little sterner. “Try to enjoy yourself or I’ll have your aunt extremely cross with me again.”

Harriet’s expression was exactly the same as her sister’s for the moment. “I swear, she wants to introduce me to every single eligible bachelor in the country.”

“And has not one been a match for you?”

Harriet only pursed her lips further, though she could not keep the smile from fighting its way onto her face.

“She only wants to see you happy, see you married off to a wealthy man, see you safe.”

“I am happy here, looking after you, as I always have been.” The prospect of wedding a man who would watch her every move, police her thoughts and force her into a wifely role was a repugnant prospect. She was not an obedient dog to be chained up and made to obey. “I know where I belong – it’s here.”

“I will not last for ever, Harriet.”

He, like the once grand house, was failing. The roof leaked, one wing was shut, windows had been boarded up and the few staff they had retained had not been paid in months. They stayed out of loyalty, and because, naively, they hoped the Groves family fortunes would turn.

“Enough of that, Father. Now be good while I’m away,” she instructed him, pressing a kiss to his forehead and forcing a bright smile. “Try to leave the study once in a while and don’t let Ellen go to the river on her own; she always stays there far too long entertaining that little dog and she’ll catch a chill.”

Ellen only dropped her sister’s hand when she was promised a present from Bath (and one for Millie the dog too), releasing Harriet and prompting her to begin her journey. She knew, stomach turned to stone, that her father was reading a letter from her brother, Giddeon, who was deep in his studies at Oxford, and even deeper in debt. It would be a request for yet more money the Atworth estate did not have. Upon her return, Harriet would discuss it with her father. They would sell more land, she would take a further look at their finances, mortgage the property. It would be solved. She would fix this, for there seemed no one else capable or willing to face their difficulties. Her father’s health was fragile, her brother gambled incessantly and she feared her sister’s reputation would be affected should further word of their debts spread. If all this meant that she was forced to don the green mask more often, she would, regardless of the consequences. It was worth it, for them.

***

The carriage journey to Bath lasted mere seconds, for the very moment Harriet found herself in the monotonous cradle of movement, her eyes fell shut. Even with all the worries, anxiety and the towering figure in the woods who had shot at her, sleep took her kindly away. And if she dreamed at all while the rolling hills passed and the hamlets faded into villages and then into towns, she knew she dreamed of him.

It was only the gentle coaxing of her aging footman, Barnes, with his thick West Country accent, which pulled her to wakefulness.

“We’ve arrived, Miss Groves.”

“Already?”

The day had worn on without her there to witness it. The late afternoon was already enshrouding Bath’s butterscotch-coloured stone and worn cobbles in a light, amber sheen. Before Harriet could come fully into consciousness, helped from the carriage and into a townhouse’s chequered hall, she was swept up into a firm embrace.

“I was worried sick! What kept you? Are you quite well? You’re lucky that rogue didn’t catch you.” The warm woman, Aunt Georgia, clad in pressed rustling silk and too many pearls, creaked as she released her niece. “Let me look at you!” Harriet was grasped firmly once more and surveyed by a round, open face. “Don’t you look pale? Have you been eating well? You’re far too skinny; we’ll never get you a husband. It’s that damnable country air. It’s not good for you – ”

Laughing at the barrage of questions, despite her weariness, Harriet’s mind was snared on one sentence the older woman had uttered. “Rogue?”

“The Green Highwayman! Now, I know they say he only attacks at night, but you can never be sure with these fiendish men. He’ll kill one day, mark my words. It’s high time something was done about him and if you ask me…” Conversing with Aunt Georgia was a lot like playing with a skipping rope as a child. One had to choose the exact moment to leap into the conversation, between the rope’s swooping arc, before the woman strayed off on another tangent.

“I am perfectly well,” interrupted Harriet, squeezing the woman’s hands. “Really, I am.”

“Of course you are, now that you’re here and you’re safe, you’re – you look awful, dear, truly dreadful,” insisted Aunt Georgia. “Let’s get you something to eat, shall we?”

“I am a little tired, that’s all.”

“Go change, come down for dinner and then to bed, I think? You must tell me what you’re wearing tomorrow night for the ball, though I took the liberty of purchasing a few simple things, mere trifles, honestly. Don’t be cross with me. I know you’re not in a position to get them yourself and I cannot have you looking like a vagabond in front of all our friends. Oh, I did write for your cousin, Alice, but her father sent back a terribly curt reply. I’m sure there’s a man involved. We’ll get one for you soon, as rich as a sultan, I swear it. And did you hear the Gilvrays bought out the entire stock of…”

She continued rambling, detailing the minute occurrences from every inch of their social circle, and all Harriet could do was nod.

“Yes, Aunt Georgia,” she said absently, offering a small wave as she shifted towards the staircase to her usual room, where her belongings would already have been unpacked. “Yes to all of it.”

***

The Bath Pump Rooms were unparalleled in their ability to host both the wealthiest and well-connected families in the country, along with all the best gossip. It was only a few hours into the ball and Harriet was aware that the Earl of Avesbury’s daughter had been rescued from an almost-elopement, the Duchess of Morsdown’s chandelier had come loose at a dinner party and narrowly missed crushing her husband, and there was to be an announcement tonight by Bath’s magistrate, Sir Charles Fielding, the gathering’s host.

The building was fairly new, constructed in the same sand-coloured stone as the rest of the city, and housed the warm springs that the Romans used to bathe in. Music filled the chambers, accompanied by laughter and incessant chatter. Men were in their finest garments, many in officers’ uniforms with polished buttons and swords at their hips. The women were draped in silks and jewels, hair coiled high atop their heads. Ostrich feathers were dyed to match dresses, shawls were draped precariously on shoulders and there was enough flesh revealed to barely remain tasteful.

“That’s her,” said one girl to her companions as Harriet passed by. “The one I was telling you about. She’ll be out on the streets in mere months.”

“There’s always work as a governess,” said a fellow to her right, though Harriet felt their piercing glares. “And she’s from a noble family.”

“Would you employ a creature like that, after knowing what her brother’s done? They’ve bad blood and poor form. They’ll drag down anyone who gets near to them, mark my words. The only reason she’s here is that aunt of hers and I bet they’ll bleed her dry…”

Harriet’s pale blue dress whispered along the tiled floor, as though the cruel words still followed. Her walk sped up, for she could hear no more. It was nothing new, though it still stung. Wine and humiliation had put colour in her cheeks and she found her own alcove, where stone pillars led off to other rooms and offered privacy. More than that, they gave her the opportunity to find refuge in her own thoughts – and escape curious eyes.

“You have not danced at all this evening,” said a deep voice, pulling her roughly from her reverie.

Alert, she turned to find the speaker, yet there was no man, only shadows. She spoke to them, lips pursed. “That’s because no one has asked me.”

And none would, with all the rumours that found her.

Before her was a stone pillar, fluted with shallow grooves she ran her fingers over it, and barely wide enough to hide someone behind it. It was cold to the touch as she circled it, hearing another set of footsteps matching her own, turning the other way. She changed direction, trying to catch him out. He did too.

“Then you have been watching me, sir?”

“I noticed you. There’s a difference.”

“Hardly.”

There was something strikingly familiar about his voice, though she could not place it. However, Harriet was known to many, had dined with numerous families in Bath and a few in London. Perhaps, somewhere down the line, she had met this stranger.

“Do you usually sneak up on unassuming women at parties, sir?”

“Only when ordered to.”

She turned quickly, expecting a flash coat-tails and not the imposing, unreadable man who met her. Harriet let her hand drop. He had a tall frame with a lean strength, broad shoulders and stature all the more imposing for the army officer’s uniform he wore. Grey eyes, like the ocean during a violent tempest, studied her. Ruffled, sandy-brown hair fell across a high forehead and the sudden urge to run her fingers through it took her by surprise.

“I did not mean to frighten you,” he said, apologetic, though still imposing.

Harriet’s eyebrows rose, head inclined to the right. “What makes you think I am frightened, sir? Trust me, it will take far more than that.”

“Then I shall have to try harder.”

Harriet could not have managed to be demure if she tried, though a blush did find her cheeks – more to do with the wine than the gentleman before her. It was not the first time a man had unsuccessfully tried to woo her and it would not be the last. The poor soul had to be new to Bath’s society, for he would not have approached her otherwise.

Worse still, she almost liked him.

“Sir, I must ask – ”

“Forgive me, Miss Groves.” He bowed, a little on the stiff side. “I am Major Edward Roberts. Your aunt, a friend of my mother’s, was concerned for your welfare and sent me to enquire about your well-being.”

“Oh.” Harriet curtseyed slowly in return, finding disappointment swell within her. Yet again her aunt pulled the strings, playing matchmaker. A shame, she thought, he had almost seemed interesting. Now, he was merely another fool to be brushed aside. “You can tell her I am quite well, thank you,” replied Harriet, a little coldly. “It was nice to meet you, Major Roberts, now if you don’t mind – ”

“Humour me,” he said. “If we are both seen to converse for a short while longer, we’ll be free from any further commitments this night.”

She studied him, looking for a trick or catch in his words and only finding truth; he was as uneager to enter into mindless matches as she was. “Fine.”

“You have a good view from here.”

“I do,” she agreed. “It’s a nice distraction.”

The latest fashions, the handsome couples, the overheard snippets of conversation offering glimpses into other lives. She had already committed to memory all the beautiful gowns she knew her sister would like and who wore them.

“I have not seen you here before, Major Roberts,” she added, for politeness’ sake, vowing to have a few stern words with her aunt later. “Have king and country been keeping you from us?”

If only they’d kept you longer…

“Amongst other things.”

It was Harriet’s turn to talk and she groped around her skull for a subject. A minute or two more and they could part ways again. “It must be strange, having experienced war and battle and soldiering, to be here amongst all this?”

“I find it oddly normal,” the officer said. “It’s as though the rest happened to someone else, as though I read about it in a book.”

“Do you miss it – the soldiering?”

A wild, feral look claimed his features – a glimpse of the man who strode, sword in hand, fearless, into the worst that Hell and all its monsters could conjure. “I am good at it.”

His response only caught her off guard for a second and she recovered well. “I do not doubt that for a moment, Major Roberts.” There was a challenge in her next words. “Dancing or fighting, what are you best at?”

“If you would care to dance, I could let you be the judge.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“It is.”

“But without seeing you fight, sir, I would not be able to comment on the matter.” She smiled, receiving a barking laugh in return. “Although, I suppose one dance would keep our watchers happy, more so than a duel. Then they’d free us, surely, from any further commitments this evening?”

A stone’s throw away, across the ballroom, was Aunt Georgia and a willowy woman Harriet assumed to be Major Roberts’s mother.

“And we could go our separate ways,” he agreed, holding out a hand. “A worthy plan.”

She studied him for a short while longer, weighing up her options – and she would have gone along with their ruse, had not a thin man with a bureaucratic air interrupted them.

“Pardon the intrusion,” said the sallow pen-pusher, adjusting his ill-fitting wig and paying no mind to Harriet. “Sir Fielding wishes to make the announcement and requests your presence at once, Major Roberts.”

“Of course.” The soldier nodded and turned back to Harriet. “You’re free.”

“For now,” she said. “Though I doubt it will be for long, if I know my aunt.”

“Then I shall endeavour to liberate you later, perhaps?”

“I shall wait with bated breath,” she replied drily, though he took the reply in the good humour it was intended.

Major Roberts grinned, a flash of teeth and an amused, throaty noise, before he followed the other gentleman. If her eyes lingered too long on his fading form, there was no one else to know.

To her own annoyance, she liked him – and she’d made a promise to herself never to like anyone purposely selected by her relatives. It was true; Aunt Georgia was getting better at matching her up with possible suitors, though she did so hate to admit it. And she wasn’t inclined to entertain this one for long either, even if he was…different.

There was a gathering around the room’s main hall, curiosity palpable in the air. The music had ceased and Harriet found her way easily towards her aunt in the small crowd.

“I had hoped you would like our Major Roberts,” the older woman said softly, attempting to tease a response from Harriet.

“He is passable, I suppose.” Harriet caught sight of Aunt Georgia’s frown and found she enjoyed it far too much. Truthfully, the man was more than passable, which made a pleasant change from the usual boring fops that were thrust her way. That didn’t mean he’d last though.

“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 aging 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.”

Chapter Two

The warmth within the dancing hall was an oppressive wave after the fresh night air, dizzying as it brushed against her bare arms and curled around her lithe form. Or was it the soldier’s doing, his presence, which brought the rising heat? She felt safer out there, under a pinprick of stars and the crescent moon; Harriet was herself when the night came, even if she was concealed behind a mask. The thrill, the chase, the risk – she belonged out there, as the Green Highwayman. Under the cover of darkness she was herself and she was free.

She wore a different disguise now – one of polite, contrived civility.

It was crumbling.

Her hand slipped into Edward’s as though it belonged there, fettered, bound, imprisoned. His immovable form beside her quickened her pulse as he assisted her up the few, small steps and back inside. She kept her chin up, smile false, fearing that he would be able to read the deception on her face, as though it had been inked onto her pale, clammy skin.

They had met before; she knew it for certain now. In the woods, a night ago, on the tracks between the two main southerly trading hubs. She had shot – fired into the air – purposely missing him and yet firing nonetheless. If she had wanted to meet her mark, she could have extinguished the threat he posed. But she had promised herself, long ago, that she would never resort to that. However desperate her situation became, she could live with being a thief, but not a killer.

She had not crossed that line yet.

“Are you ready?”

“I am,” she replied.

More than ready.

How many had he killed? How many other robbers had he dragged to the gallows – a noose for a necklace, the hangman’s knot around their throats? She caught Edward’s eye, though he was at ease, nodding her way. Her demon from the forest. Harriet felt captured now, snared by him, unable to pull herself away without questions asked.

“Are you cold?”

“No,” she said quickly.

“You are shivering.”

“Excitement,” explained Harriet, bunching her fingers into fists until her nails bit half-moon indents into her palm. “I do so love to dance, don’t you?”

Edward’s reply was calm, still surveying her, attempting to get her measure. “It’s a necessary evil.”

Harriet couldn’t meet his eyes, for she only saw her executioner. Mere moments ago, he had been a simple, if affecting creature. Pale eyes that pierced her, a dark humour that already shone through and matched her own, a connection eager to be woven between them.

Now, she saw an enemy.

And it excited her more than it should have.

A new song began, the musicians ready, the melody fast. Dancing couples found their positions opposite one another, joined by the new pair, who made a handsome couple.

The farce would continue. Harriet had to act accordingly: smile when he smiled, respond to his enquiries, play her part to the man who would see her killed if ever he knew the truth. Tonight was simply a game and one she would play. It would not be the first time she was forced to entertain a man she disliked or mistrusted.

“You seem preoccupied?”

“I – no, not at all.” Edward’s question forced her to shut down her inner thoughts, ignore the nagging doubts and tingling fear. “It’s been a long evening.”

“I see,” he said, offering a small bow at the dance’s beginning. “Then I can only assume I am boring you?”

“Hardly,” replied Harriet, a curtsey following. “You’re interesting.” That, at least, was true. “Everyone else comes to these such gatherings to share gossip and brew scandal. This is purely a space for people to talk of the excitement others partake in, being too scared to pursue adventure themselves.”

“And do you pursue it, Miss Groves?”

A weapon in her hand, damp earth kicked up as she ran, a laugh on her lips and adrenaline surging through her veins. That was what she pursued and no man would take it from her.

“Not in the same ways you do, I am sure,” she said sweetly. “We women must find our amusements elsewhere.”

“By embroidering cushions and singing pretty songs?”

“You mock me, sir.”

“Only a little.” Edward had a soldier’s charm, all hard edges and brash wit. “Does that upset you?”

“On the contrary,” said Harriet, close enough to feel his breath ghost upon her jawline, down her neck, across her collarbone. “But you haven’t seen my embroidery, it is quite thrilling.”

He laughed again and she found, mutinously, that she wanted to prompt further outbursts. See his head tilt back, those teeth flash, the easy countenance waiting behind those guarded eyes. No. There was a brief respite from him, when dancing partners changed during the song’s course, where she caught her breath and roped back her common sense.

“I imagine capturing that highwayman of yours will spark many discussions, sir,” said Harriet, finding satisfaction in his ignorance, her own words dampening that tiny affectionate spark he’d kindled. “Your name will be on everyone’s lips up and down the country.”

“Only after I catch him.”

“And you think you will?”

“I’ve never failed before.”

Harriet kept her sweetness, that unaffected smile, as she replied, “There’s a first time for everything.”

She would lie low; she would find other ways to reach her financial aim. If only her brother would keep himself from trouble, she could tide them all over by selling off more land and securing a loan or two and making that one, final investment. The Groves family would survive.

“Is it fame and glory you want, Major Roberts?”

“No, only justice,” said Edward, eyebrows drawn together. “Wouldn’t you rather sleep safer in your bed at night?”

Safer. Soon she would not have a bed to sleep in – or even a roof over her head. Men like him would take it from her. And God, she lost it then, for a small moment, the faux serenity she had cloaked herself in.

“I sleep well enough, but your concern is appreciated.”

“You are an odd creature, Miss Groves.”

“Thank you, sir,” she replied, ice in her tone, frost on her lips. “That is quite the compliment.”

“I mean it is refreshing,” he amended, taking her hand once more where the dance allowed it. The touch felt like a burn, a brand. “The other ladies present are tittering, simpering fools.”

“You cannot blame a woman for wanting to secure a husband and you are prime marriage material.”

An officer, good connections, a grand reputation and handsome features. For any other girl, he would be hard to resist, despite his tactless nature. In fact, as she and Edward moved across the hall, Harriet felt many a jealous gaze land upon her.

If only they knew this was the last place she longed to be.

“It is wrong to be hard on them, for they only want to secure your attention,” said Harriet, more harshly than intended, too eager to find fault. “The fairer sex has no other way to survive, but to depend on artless men like you.”

“I am not here to be depended on, madam.” She’d struck a nerve. Good. “I am here to capture a criminal and then I will go back abroad to fight.”

“Is fighting all you do?”

“Yes,” said Edward. “It is.”

God, she should have shot him when she had the chance.

The music ceased abruptly and applause began. Edward stood before Harriet, stock-still with that same unfathomable expression. She longed for a pistol’s weight in her hand, for protection.

“But a man cannot fight all the time. I dance as well – or had you not noticed, Miss Groves?” The room was still aflutter with chatter and laughter, though nothing could distract the couple from one another. “Life is a fight; we do what we must to get by.”

Chin angled upwards, her question bold, she asked, “How many men have you killed?”

Edward’s strength and tall frame were impossible to overlook as he took a step towards her, too close for comfort, and his answer too honest for her liking. “More than I can count.”

“And you will kill again before you leave the county, will you not?” The anger was there, the hurt, the betrayal. It should not have felt like one, but it did. She had been charmed by him; she had let him in – if only for a moment – a moment too long. It would not happen again.

Not ever.

“Yes,” he answered simply. “If I have to.”

She felt trapped under his gaze, a butterfly pinned to a board. “What if you do not find this rogue, Major Roberts?”

“I will.”

“And then?”

A severe looked claimed Edward, his attention solely on her. “Do not trouble yourself with such thoughts, for the bandit will be dead in a week, Miss Groves. Then we can all go back to our lives.”

“A week?” The two syllables were all she could utter. He had made the remark so offhandedly and casually that its gravity would not take root in her mind. A week to live? Not if she killed him first. “You’re so brave, Major Roberts, so self-assured. I cannot help but feel sorry for your intended prey.”

“Don’t.” If he picked up on the insincerity in her words, he did not reveal it, hearing only what he wanted to hear. “When a man chooses the darker road, he must face the consequences.”

“Hear, hear!” A portly figure a few paces away raised his glass, causing Harriet to start back, skin prickling. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“Miss Groves,” said Edward. “This is Captain Renner.”

Another toast came at Harriet’s elbow, before their conversation was brushed aside. Others claimed the soldier’s attention. It was an easy way out, even if she resented it. Harriet’s chest was tight when she strode back across the ballroom, as though it had been bound. Another dance was about to begin, but it would spin on without her. She didn’t belong here anyway. They all knew it – and the major would soon find out. Old acquaintances and new ones glanced her way, not a single kind look, nor a welcoming word. Heavy footsteps, a graze upon her wrist, his voice, again.

“Miss Groves?”

Harriet’s steps faltered as she pushed her smile back into place. “I need a little air. It’s ever so stuffy in here.”

“Let me escort you – ”

“No,” she pulled herself away from his touch. “I can manage alone – and besides, there are so many people here you should meet, it would be selfish for me to keep you longer.”

“Then I am all for you being selfish.”

An honest grin, belonging to a girl far younger and much less jaded than herself, claimed her pointed features. “I am sure we shall run into one another again.”

Whether we like it or not.

“I shall look forward to it.” A small nod and Edward took his leave, turning back only once, leaving Harriet with only echoes of emotions, nothing fully realised, all forbidden. Once upon a time, in another far-off world with happy endings, she might have let herself fall for a man like him.

The knowledge frightened her.

A soft hand touched her elbow, wrenching an audible gasp from her, her stomach flipping.

“What’s wrong, Harriet?” It was only Aunt Georgia, her mouth puckered into a frown. “I know that look. Something’s happened – tell me.”

“Nothing,” soothed the younger woman, holding her aunt’s arm and squeezing it companionably. “Can we leave?”

“Of course, yes,” the woman said instantly, putting the back of her hand against Harriet’s forehead, testing her temperature. “But you look terribly peaky, as though someone’s walked over your grave.”

Harriet nodded blankly and was led out through another exit, her movements automatic and rigid. She had held up carriages; she had robbed the wealthiest, most corrupt souls in the city with an easy grin. She enjoyed the rush it had given her. As the Green Highwayman, she was famous; she was unstoppable. Yet that man – that Major Edward Roberts – had rattled her to her core. With only a few words he had pulled the rug from under her feet and taken her composure with it. Even now she cast a look back into the gaiety within, as if wary he would find her – and half wanting him to.

The time between when their carriage was called for and when it actually arrived felt like an age. Aunt Georgia’s worried stare was a dead weight on her shoulders, but she did not question Harriet – as they both knew she undoubtedly would – until they began moving back through Bath’s dark streets. Nothing could keep that woman from gossip.

“This isn’t like you. I shall call for the doctor the second we’re home.”

“A dizzy spell, that’s all. Sleep will aid it,” replied Harriet above the carriage’s movement. “I am sorry to worry you.”

“Harriet.”

“It is nothing.” She heard her aunt huff loudly, deprived of further information. The interrogation was far from over and Harriet knew this would be only a small lull in her demanding questions.

“Was it that Major Roberts? The militia are all the same…”

“He was a perfect gentleman.” If only he wasn’t, then she would have a real reason to hate him. Confused feelings darted around her mind like silverfish fleeing daylight. Her hands were a tight ball in her lap, for she could still feel the ghost of his grip, see the humour in his eyes.

“Oh, thank goodness, I am relieved to hear it.” Aunt Georgia beamed, sagging back against the cushions. “For he’s to be a guest at my dinner party two days from now, on the Thursday.”

“What? No,” gasped Harriet, mouth agape. “No, I can’t see him, I can’t – ”

“His mother is a good friend of mine, or at least, a friend or sorts,” amended Aunt Georgia. “I don’t think she’s good friends with anyone. She’s a prickly character.”

“I have to leave tonight. I think Father might need me. Ellen had a sore throat before I left. I should go.”

“Then you can enquire after their health when your maidservant, Mary, gets here tomorrow. We need the extra staff to cope and she’s a good worker,” said the older woman, putting an end to the discussion, as though she had not heard her niece’s protests. “It will be a splendid evening, trust me. You could even try to enjoy yourself, for a change, if the whim took you.”

“But, I…” There was nothing else Harriet could say and no excuse to be offered that would make sense. “I am looking forward to it, Aunt Georgia.”

Another evening with Major Roberts. Their third, if she counted their gunpowder-drenched meeting, when he was only a shape in the darkness, commanding she not draw back from his death if indeed she meant to kill him. The scene replayed in her head over and over, only this time her memory filled in the blanks, gave the shadow a face, a smile.

“The major is handsome, is he not?”

“He is handsome,” Harriet agreed absently. “And he is just and courageous and far too good for the likes of me.”

Aunt Georgia had a look that suggested a plan in the works and Harriet was not ignorant; she knew what the woman intended.

“Nonsense, Harriet,” said Aunt Georgia. “If anything you’re his superior, for the Groves family line stretches back centuries. Our blood is almost royalty.”

“I did not mean station.”

“Then what did you mean, dear?”

Harriet pressed her tongue to the back of her teeth to stop forbidden confessions from escaping.

“It’s nothing. I am overtired; pay me no heed,” she eventually replied, as the night passed beyond the carriage windows and left the ball behind.

Dead in a week, Major Roberts had promised.

He seemed like a man of his word.

Chapter Three

Mary’s arrival at the Bath townhouse the next day was a mixed blessing. She was the sort of woman who was only happy when she was occupied and therefore got in everyone’s way constantly. Harriet had resolved not to worry the maidservant with all she had learned the night before, despite how isolated she found herself. If they were both caught for highway robbery, the sentence would be harsher on Mary for her lower standing in society. It was not fair, nor right, and therefore Harriet was determined to protect her from it. This was a burden she would bear alone, no matter the consequences.

“I am still not quite recovered from everything. Perhaps I had a little too much wine and it was ever so hot in there,” she told her Aunt Georgia when the woman tried to rouse her for a trip into the city’s centre. She could not stand the idle chatter and vacant wandering through various shops – not now, while her mind still lingered on everything that had taken place. Besides, they’d only attract further stares and unkind remarks. With a huff, Aunt Georgia left Harriet to entertain herself and that was how she preferred it.

Not a stone’s throw from the house was a public garden and though the roses were waning, showering petals upon the pathways, walking helped to clear her mind. It was as though all her thoughts were heavy furniture that she was trying to rearrange in her skull, but nothing fit as it should and there were too many sharp edges.

The dinner would take place tomorrow. She would see Major Roberts again. This time it would be different, she promised herself. This time she would control her impulses and there would be no further shocks. She was sharper in mind and quicker in wit than most men she met and this one was no different. There was no need for him to catch on to her other activities, no reason that she might give herself away, if only she could keep a cool head and a guarded heart.

***

Night came though she prayed it would not, for it brought tomorrow all the closer. Sleep was fitful. She dreamt that the major was in her room that was not a room, but a courthouse. The walls were a thick, dark wood with odd scratches from broken fingernails. And there, looming in a bright corner, he stood before her as an avenging angel, weighing in on her crimes with a flaming sword and a righteous manner. Nothing she said or did could persuade him that she was innocent – for she could not convince him if she could not first convince herself. Waking in a cold sweat, Harriet curled up by her room’s window, a blanket draped across her shoulders and tucked around her feet.

Would he understand all she had done?

If she told him… Would he… No.

Men like him saw right and wrong, good and evil, nowhere in between. Wherever she fell, it was far too close to sin.

On any other such evening she would have taken out her horse, breathed in the night air and cleared her head – along with a few purses – only now she could not risk it.

The lights and colours and activities in Bath’s centre held no interest for her when the sun finally emerged. She kept to herself, despite frequent attempts from her aunt to coax her into visiting various acquaintances. In her mind, it was as though the death sentence had already been passed and she was awaiting her journey to the scaffolds.

She didn’t want to be afraid; she didn’t want to be a coward. She couldn’t afford to be.

Only a brief trip to buy ribbon for her sister – traded with the little she’d pilfered during her last outing in the mask – pulled her from the townhouse, while the preparations for the upcoming dinner party stirred up the lower floors. Harriet toyed with the idea of leaving, returning to Atworth House, and forgetting her commitment to her aunt who so enjoyed her company. Feigning illness would not work as there was nothing that would frustrate her more than being shut upstairs in a house filled with people and being unable to converse with them. It was her duty to attend the dinner, but that did not mean she couldn’t stay as far away from a certain someone as was humanly possible.

***

As with all unwanted appointments, Thursday evening came with a startling speed and, with it, Major Roberts. Harriet wore the plainest dress she could find, soft grey in colour, determined to remain near invisible. It was a little worn, but it was her own – not from the lavish stash Aunt Georgia had purchased for her. It was wrong to continue to borrow from the woman, to already owe her so much when she could give so little. One day, soon, she could pay it all back.

The stairs creaked as Harriet descended to a small hall already filled with aging, familiar faces. These were a select few who knew her Aunt Georgia, all wealthy, the majority kind and harmless.

At first, fingers white on the bannister, she could not see him. Harriet’s heart skittered in her breast as she paused in her step, halfway between the upstairs and downstairs, when she spotted his dark-blond hair. There was a startling openness to his stance that invited one in. His voice was commanding though good-humoured. The lines on his youthful face betrayed the laughter he had shared with intimate companions.

He could never share it with her.

It was a ridiculous notion, one that shook her into activity, her mouth tilting into a polite smile that did not meet her eyes.

“Mr Polton,” she said, claiming one wrinkled man’s attention, desperate to distract herself. “Is your wife not with us this evening? You must pass our well wishes on to her.”

Idle chatter was a calming distraction, as she learnt of Mrs Kelly’s renovated garden and her son’s latest adventures, had a brief discussion on literature with Mr Bruntworth and had Aunt Georgia, subtly and under her breath, ask her why she was determined to dress like an old spinster at her young age.

“Didn’t you like anything I picked out for you?”

“It was all wonderful, Aunt Georgia,” Harriet reassured her. “But, I, well, it’s…”

Major Roberts. He approached as she had known with a terrible certainty that he would. Aunt Georgia was no longer by her side, leaving Harriet penned into a wood-panelled corner.

Eyes the same colour as stone and equally as hard appraised her. “When you said we would run into one another, I didn’t expect it to be so soon.”

“One of life’s little jokes, I suppose,” she replied, body humming with tension. All the words and small talk she had rehearsed in her head, having planned for this moment, left.

He held her gaze, waiting for her to speak and she did the same of him. After a moment too long, when the silence had become almost unbearable, he asked, “You’re well then, I take it?”

Stiff and curt, she replied, “Yes.”

“That’s good.”

“It is.” Her mouth was packed with sand, but not enough to stop her next foolish question. “Surely you’ve no time for dinner parties when we’re all in terrible danger from that thief?”

“He’s only a danger to people’s finances. I do not truly think he can do much harm.”

The statement jarred, a small wound to her pride. “Perhaps you underestimate him?”

“I know his type; he’ll pose no challenge,” said Edward, offhand. “He lacks real bravery. They always do.”

“I imagine it’s far easier to be brave when you have the Duke of Wellington’s approval and the mounted guard at your disposal.”

Again, he studied her, the softness leaving his handsome features, his reply half indignant. “Have I caused some offence, madam?”

“Not at all, Major Roberts,” said Harriet, fighting to keep her voice level, wishing she could put a gulf, a world, a moon and a galaxy between them that she would never cross. “I speak of what I do not know. I merely would not wish to titter or simper in your presence.”

“Is that what this is about – my remarks from the other night?” A heavy, impatient noise left him, before he attempted to make amends. “Perhaps I spoke too harshly then, forgive me.”

“There is no apology necessary.”

And yet there was, but from her, for she was doing this all wrong, being wrong.

“And yet you continue to treat me as though I have wronged you, Miss Groves.”

More an accusation than a question, she asked, “Why does that trouble you so much?”

He had no answer. He ran a hand across his face, before mustering up a reply. “You are infuriating.”

“That is a step up from being an ‘odd creature’ I suppose.”

“A poor choice of words on my part, but that does not excuse – ”

Dinner was announced. Their conversation was cut short. The relief both felt was palpable in the air. It was done. She had met him, been civil – as much as she could – and she need not speak to him ever again. It was that simple. Relief swelled in her like a tide, washing up on the shore and pulling away pebbles of doubt and frustration.

In the orderly bustle of guests Harriet seated herself as far from Edward as possible, choosing a safe, if dull evening between Mr Polton and the doddery old Colonel Jessops who, she knew from experience, would spend half the night mumbling about various battles he had experienced at sea (the majority of which were fictional).

Before all were settled, Aunt Georgia spoke up: “No, no, Mr Polton, you must switch places with Major Roberts. It will balance out the table.”

Ice laced Harriet’s stomach. She met Edward’s eyes across the silverware and both knew manners would not let them argue the point. Ever the perfect gentleman, Edward acquiesced. His elbow brushed against Harriet’s as he took his seat and the contact forced into her a cold silence.

It was a game, she reminded herself. Her pulse beat exactly as it did when she was stalking the roads at night. It was what she lived for, the thrill, despite how immoral it was.

A silent agreement had fallen between herself and Edward, for they ignored one another throughout the first few courses. Despite that, she could not help but watch him: the angle of his strong jawline, his laughter at a neighbour’s joke, the quirk his mouth took when speaking. It seemed impossible to her that such a man could be an enemy, her killer, when he seemed so human – she had not given him permission for that. But she had only glimpsed the gentleman and not the soldier – who knew what he was capable of?

When she did not watch him, she felt his gaze upon her.

It burned as it crept along her neck, her collarbone, her mouth.

God, it was impossible to hate him – and that only frustrated her more.

She needed a distraction. Colonel Jessops continued his seagoing blatherings beside her and Harriet was well-versed enough in his stories to know what to say and when to hum in agreement.

“And that was when we flogged the quartermaster,” grumbled the Colonel. “Mutinous wretch that he was.” His fist hit the table and rattled their plates. “Do you know what he said? Do you?”

“Please do enlighten me.” She met her cue, her response flat, though that did not deter the speaker.

“The little runt said it was what any other would have done, said it was the honourable action, mark my words, he thought himself honourable!”

“I am truly shocked, Colonel.”

“As you should be, m’dear. I remember it well…”

A snatch of conversation across the table plucked at Harriet’s attention, and that of her maidservant’s, who was assisting with clearing away the dishes. They exchanged a harrowed look.

The bureaucrat Harriet recognised from the Pump Rooms asked Major Roberts, “Not caught the Green Highwayman yet? The clock is ticking and Sir Fielding has high hopes for you.”

“All in good time,” replied Edward levelly.

“I want him dragged through the streets, flayed, hung,” burst Mr Polton from his own seat, prompting murmurs of agreement. “The whole city wants his head. He’s dangerous.”

“Sir Fielding trusts I will bring the man to face his crimes and I will,” promised the soldier, with neither malice nor cruelty, only a solemn vow to be all he had been asked to be. “He cannot hide from me – none ever has.”

“And you’ll shoot him, you’ll kill him?” Polton’s chin wobbled as he bellowed, puffing air and spittle. “A trial is too good for him. I want him shot, sir!”

Crockery fell on the polished wooden floor. Cutlery clinked and bounced. Bowls were split and dessert remnants were artfully splattered upon the walls.

Mary was on her knees, scrabbling to pick up the broken pieces, her hands trembling and her head bowed. “I was clumsy – my apologies – ever so sorry.”

Harriet’s cheeks reddened from second-hand embarrassment on Mary’s part, along with her own concern at the conversation’s turn. Edward’s intense eyes landed on her and she could not pull her glare from his, both trapped and attempting to discern the other.

“That did give me a turn.” Aunt Georgia laughed, firmly putting the conversation back on track. “Mr Polton, do remind me – ”

Forcing her attention back down to the tablecloth, Harriet was breathless, despite having not left her seat. This was more difficult than she had ever thought it would be. Simply sitting there, listening, while men talked about her life and made rash judgements. It was infuriating. She had escaped it so far, had rarely been forced to listen to others condemn her actions. If only she could bring a pistol to the dinner table; these days she found conversations far easier when they consisted of threats.

“Miss Groves?”

Warily, through her eyelashes, she gauged the major’s expression and found no suspicion there. Why would there be? She was Miss Groves, not a wanted criminal. I’ve made you a damned fool. With each word, gesture and glance, her strong will was unravelled. And I’m sorry for it. This was not what she had planned, this was – this was not her design. There had to be a way to achieve her aim and protect him in the process, to save him from humiliation. Tonight would have been far easier if she did not find him so interesting, so self-assured, so like herself.

Plus, he was rather nice to look at too.

Yes, she should have shot him when she’d had the chance. It would have saved her a greater grief.

“Major Roberts…” She trailed off, tongue darting out to wet her lips and conjure words to them. “Forgive me, for my earlier – ”

The dining room’s main door was slammed back on its hinges. A drunk young man stumbled through it, laughing obscenely, his fine clothes ruffled. Already, from where she sat, Harriet could smell the drink on him. The male dinner guests were on their feet and blocked the figure from view. He was shouting, raving, and when he spoke, Harriet’s sudden curiosity at the stranger’s identity was cruelly sated.

“Sister, dear Harriet,” said a blond man with similar features to her own, clutching the sideboard to remain upright, fingers skimming off and elbow making contact instead. “You’ve got… Look at you, all dressed up – who are these people? Wait, don’t tell me, I don’t care.”

Giddeon.

“You mustn’t say such things,” began Harriet, who glanced to her appalled Aunt Georgia. The young man should have been studying in Oxford, not here and certainly not drunk. “I mean, it’s good to see you, only – ”

“If it was, then you’d have invited me,” he slurred, stumbling round the room and grasping at stationary furniture as though it danced from his grasp the moment he neared it. “Where’s the wine?”

“I think you’ve had enough.”

“Giddeon,” Aunt Georgia said sharply, her guests appalled and amused in equal measure. “This certainly is an unexpected surprise.”

Harriet was soon at her brother’s side, attempting to stop him from toppling over, guiding him back to the door while embarrassment flamed in her cheeks. He was far stronger, despite his intoxication.

“I should’ve been invited, Harriet…”

“Now is not the time,” she replied hurriedly, struggling to stop him from toppling and bringing her down with him. Here it was, confirmation to all who knew them, that her brother was a wreck, a gambler, a drunk.

“It is never the time, is it? I – I need to talk to you, because father will not reply to my letters – not a single one, Harry.”

“Later,” she snapped, anger and shame boiling up inside. “We will talk later.”

Not here.

Not in front of them.

Not in front of him.

She had known he would ask for money and she could not have him voice it here and give weight to all the rumours that circulated about the Groves family. When one debtor crawled from the woodwork, others followed, and they would lose it all before she was able to secure it.

Giddeon was heavy and uncooperative, for Harriet’s brittle strength was not enough when he struggled against her. It was only when another presence joined them that the pathetic scene was ended and Harriet was able to hoist him up.

“God, thank you, I – oh.” Harriet’s humiliation was complete. “It’s you.”

Edward had gripped Giddeon’s other arm.

She spoke no further, teeth clacking together as she clenched her jaw. The pair quickly and efficiently pulled the limp man from the room, his shouting reduced to mumblings and then heavy breathing.

“The next floor,” instructed Harriet, as they manoeuvred Giddeon up the staircase with minor difficulty. “There is a guest bedroom.”

“Allow me.” Edward easily draped the drunk man across his shoulder, prompting a few curse words from Giddeon. “Is he usually like this?”

She shook her head, curls of hair escaping their pins as she followed. “Only since our mother died, a few years ago.”

Never once did Edward falter as he followed Harriet’s directions, before gently placing the man on a four-poster bed with more care than he deserved. It was a stuffy room that was in desperate need of airing, rarely used, though clean. A lamp, set down by Harriet, offered enough light to see by and painted their shadows against the patterned walls.

“Major, you didn’t need to step in,” began Harriet, shifting to the window with light steps. She busied herself with the latch to avoid facing the soldier, though her fingers fumbled and she bruised a knuckle on the fastenings. “But thank you, for – for helping him.”

It was growing increasingly difficult to hate Edward when he was being gentlemanly and courteous.

With a shaky exhalation, she confessed, “I have been more than unkind to you, sir.”

“You have,” Edward replied bluntly.

“It was unfair of me.”

“Yes, it was.”

She could feel his strong presence behind her and she closed her eyes, groping around in her skull for the right words to say. “I am sorry for it now.”

At the sound of his approach Harriet stilled, breath catching in her throat like shrapnel. His hands found her shoulders and she could feel the heat he radiated. Edward’s movements were slow and hesitant, as if asking permission, and she gave it without thinking, leaning back until his rigid, unyielding form was pressed against her, stubble brushing against her ear.

For all the dangers Harriet courted, this was another altogether – and she welcomed it. In the servant’s halls she’d heard about military men and their reputations, knew they were easy with their affections and that suited her well, for she could never truly return them; she was not one for a stable relationship, a binding marriage. This was a jump into an unknown world that would pull the ground from under her feet and just as easily place a grave there.

But this – the scarred hands along her arms, teeth upon her neck, hot breath in her hair – she could manage. Harriet shifted, twisted round, angled her mouth upwards, but she never made contact.

“It’s hard to fathom you,” he said, the words a rasp against her cheek. “Who are you, Miss Groves?”

The spell was broken; she drew back.

It was the way he said it, soft, easy, almost loving. She had never wanted to be a cruel person – then again, she had never wanted to be a criminal either – but this was cruel. To string him along, to manipulate his feelings like this after all she knew, all she’d done, was a game she could not play.

“I do not want to be fathomed, sir,” she managed to reply, tensing up, pushing her palms against his chest. “I only wish to be left alone.”

“I don’t understand.”

Edward’s hands stayed on her arms, rough against her smooth skin.

“Whatever it is you’re looking for, Major Roberts,” she said gently, but firmly, eyes down and unable to meet his, “it is not here.”

He released her. The absence of him against her felt as though all the warmth had been pulled from the room, cold air filling the space between them, raw and unforgiving.

“There’s another, I take it?”

“No,” said Harriet. “There never will be.”

“Then your family will not allow it?”

“It is not their choice, but mine,” she replied, a half-truth, better than nothing.

Blood rushed in her ears, drowning out the man’s retreat, the creak upon the floorboards. She could call out, call him back, tell him everything and hope he would understand. If there was ever a chance, it was now. He was a soldier, yes, he was a killer – but he was a gentleman too and by all accounts a fair one. Surely he would have mercy?

“Major Roberts, I…”

“Yes?”

Harriet’s voice faltered – so did her courage. “Give my apologies to the others downstairs, would you?”

Edward’s footfalls paused. “You will be missed.”

Harriet risked a glance up at him, peering through the lamp’s soft glow. She asked a question she regretted in an instant. “By anyone in particular?”

“You will be missed,” he repeated, before his silhouette left the doorway.

Legs shaky, Harriet gripped one of the bedposts, nails digging into the wood. Giddeon’s low snores grounded her – her mind racing, pulse pounding. She was a thief and he was the soldier set out to capture her. Whatever primal, desperate, needy thoughts he conjured in her, she would not succumb.

Mary came in not long after, apple sauce staining her pinafore. “They’re going after the Green Highwayman, miss, and you didn’t tell me?” She closed the door, casting a quick glance at Giddeon, who was out cold. “They’re going after you?”

Harriet nodded slowly in the dark room, her vision unfocused. “I should have told you earlier, I know, only I did not want to worry you,” she confessed, chancing a look at her maidservant and finding only understanding there. “I don’t know what to do. I keep trying to find a solution; I can’t.”

“Who was that man, the one you were sat next to, the one I saw on the landing?”

“Major Edward Roberts.”

Harriet’s eyes were burning, skin hot, veins wrapped around hot coals. She only felt this way when on horseback, darting through the night, saddlebag filled to the brim with jewels and money that was not her own.

“He’s – he’s – this will sound ridiculous, but I cannot bring myself to lie to him, to his face. I don’t trust myself around him.”

“But you must. He’s a danger to you – to us both.”

“I know, I know.” It was all that Harriet had told herself, warned herself against. “It is as though he can read all my secrets with the merest glance.”

“It’s a little stirring in you, a brief fancy, that’s all.” Mary’s fingers tucked a stray curl behind Harriet’s ear and cupped her cheek. “You’re young, it happens, but it doesn’t mean anything.”

Harriet nodded, calmer, hand pressed against her stomach. “I know, it will pass. It has to.”

“Go back downstairs, Miss Groves,” urged Mary. “Go make nice with him and he won’t suspect a thing. Men never do. I will take over here.”

“No, I can manage here by myself,” she said. “The more I stay out of temptation’s way…”

Is that what he was? The uttered word was a slip she had not intended, but it was the truth. This was not simply a desire to spill her secrets or to appeal to his mercy. If he had asked, if she were freer, she would have given him far more.

“I will be fine here, Mary,” she said again, hoping that if she repeated it enough, it would be true. “I can’t see him again, not yet, for I don’t know what I’d do.”

Chapter Four

Harriet slept like the dead. For a moment her mind was a peaceful, blank slate. Sunlight probed through the curtains in thick bars, stirring her into a wakefulness that brought back last night in an exhausting surge. Crumpled against her pillows, Harriet could still feel the brush of Edward against her and heat coiled in her belly at the thought. She didn’t want to get up today. She didn’t want today to exist; she would hide from it. In a month or so he would be gone, unsuccessful. Harriet would continue her work.

If only she could stay in bed that entire time, pull up the covers, hibernate, until the danger was past.

The bed soon lost its appeal, either too hot or too cold, too hard or too soft. Harriet washed, dressed and tidied her hair, though she stared a little too long at her reflection in the looking glass, not knowing who looked back at her, before finally seeking out company.

Giddeon was a hung-over wreck in the conservatory, glowering at the sun’s warm glow that streamed inside, head bowed over a newspaper.

“I am low on funds,” he said the moment his sister appeared. His head was propped up by one hand, his hair – the same soft-yellow colour as hers – a ruffled mass.

“You are meant to be at Oxford,” she informed him, her tone frosty after the stunt he had pulled only hours before.

“I was expelled.”

Harriet sank down onto the patio chair opposite him, a weight dragging at her shoulders. A wren called from the narrow garden beyond. Vines shone with greenery, albeit chewed and moth-eaten due to the late season. It seemed unfair that the morning should be so peaceful and bright when her life was anything but. “Do I want to know why?”

“Probably not.” Giddeon grinned into his tea, though the reaction seemed forced. “It’s far too dastardly for your feminine ears.”

The young man had grown up in body and yet not in mind, too impulsive and determined to waste his life on the worst that society could offer. Harriet still remembered fondly back to when they were children and he would scrape his knee and turn to her for help. They had been close once, though that had changed when their mother fell ill and Father seemed to become ancient overnight. Now Giddeon pushed her away, seeking a destructive path she tried in vain to pull him from. The only help he sought from her now was financial and she would offer it where she could, even if she damned herself in the process.

“That was quite the performance last night.”

“Aunt Georgia hasn’t said a word to me all morning because of it.” Again, Giddeon seemed pleased with himself, though he winced from time to time due to a piercing headache that Harriet was sure he deserved. “Once I have what I need, I’ll be gone from here.”

“There is no more money to give, Giddeon.”

“Damn it, Harriet,” he said suddenly, knocking the table, a teacup clattering in its saucer. “Just stop paying those blasted old dependents – the ones who’ve retired. They can’t keep claiming off the estate if they don’t bloody work on it.”

It was a discussion they’d had before and Harriet would not budge and neither would her father. But her father, they both knew, would not live for ever. Then Giddeon would be in charge.

“Those are families who have worked for us their entire lives,” said Harriet. “We cannot abandon them because they are old and infirm. It would not be right nor decent.”

A hollow, half-laugh left the young man. “Who cares about right so long as we’re happy?”

“Are you happy, Giddeon?” Both knew the answer; her brother’s lost, haunted eyes held neither triumph nor joy. They had not for a long time and yet Harriet knew – for all her attempts – she could not help someone who would not first help themselves. “You will have to take responsibility for your own well-being one day. Father’s health is ailing and I can only do so much.”

“I am not the right man for that,” he said softly, facing the garden beyond, rather than look at her. His moods were mercurial and hard to anticipate, drink having taken its toll. “Find someone else.”

“There is no other.”

“This won’t work, Harry,” he replied cruelly. “I won’t turn into you. I can’t stay in that damned house and once it’s mine, I’ll get rid of it. Now do as I command and sell more land.”

“We cannot – ”

“Just do it, Harriet.” His desperate temper was back, his fingers at the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut as though he could block out his sister, his responsibilities and the life he was making for himself. “I owe people; I have debts to pay.”

If he meant to rattle her with his shouts, he would not succeed. “No – ”

The table went sideways, with it the crockery, splintering on the flagstones. Harriet did not move. She’d been shot at, cursed, threatened and much more in recent months. This did not frighten her, not when all she saw was a scared little boy.

“What have you done, Giddeon?”

“It’s not what I’ve done, it’s what – it’s what others will do – Harriet…” His feet crunched on the shattered china. “There’s a man after me. He says I owe money – I don’t. He’s a cheat. I won’t pay up, and yet he’ll… You see, he’s done far worse to men who’ve withheld far less from him.”

If he’d been lying, Harriet would have known. The bloodshot eyes, the shaking hands, the gin on his breath. He was panicked, frightened, backed into a corner.

“He’ll hurt you, won’t he?”

Giddeon wouldn’t answer, only gritted his teeth and sniffed. “You want me to take charge of the estate? Then these are my instructions. Sell the land. I want the money; I need it before the week’s end.”

There was a finality in his voice this time and Harriet rose from her seat, disappointment all too heavy in her gaze.

“There are other ways,” she replied cryptically.

“Such as?”

“I will handle it,” said Harriet, her appetite absent as she left him and whatever monster he was pretending to be.

Her brother’s debts could be settled without unravelling all the plans she’d made, all the investments she had laid out, and Harriet knew how. The books could be balanced and a little land sold off and the rest she would find on the highways. It was manageable, even if it was risky.

Tonight she would don the green mask once more, if only to keep her brother alive.

***

The townhouse was silent when evening came. Darkness did not fall gently across the city of Bath, but seemed to bubble up quickly from the cobblestones, raising ink that summoned shadows and stirring up sin. Sleep’s hold had taken over the townhouse and all who lived underneath its roof – Aunt Georgia, her guests and the servants – were tucked up in their beds. This was a routine Harriet knew well as she steeled herself for the night’s activities. Her body sang with a razor-sharp excitement at the prospect and she wondered what colour her soul was when such moods took her. Blue, grey or black as pitch? She was taking a big risk and yet the bigger the risk, the greater the adrenaline that surged through her veins.

Tonight she would be unstoppable – she couldn’t afford not to be.

Giddeon had left hours before, slamming doors, cursing and leaving Aunt Georgia’s nerves in a jangled state. Guilt gnawed at Harriet’s insides like a rat, for if her aunt knew her own activities when the stars found their footing in the darkening sky, it would break her heart. She only wanted the best for them all, but then again, so did Harriet – and she was the only one capable of doing something about it.

A tentative knock sounded on her bedroom door as she wrenched her boots on. They were moulded to her feet, shaped, worn and flecked with mud.

“Mary,” hissed Harriet, knowing full well who it was. “I cannot let you risk your life for this family, not again. I will go alone tonight.”

The maidservant entered the room with a scowl, pushing the door closed behind her and holding concern on her strong features.

“There has to be another way, Miss Groves.”

“If there was, I would have found it,” said Harriet, scraping her hair back from her face. “We’ll be ruined if I do not act. I only need to steal enough to keep my brother from trouble. The rest is manageable.”

“How can you trust him not to spend that lot like he has all the rest?”

“He’s my brother,” replied Harriet. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Is there no match that could be made? A husband, perhaps? You’re pretty enough, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“And be locked up? Never. I would rather die in a real prison than be condemned to a loveless marriage.” Although she had thought on it lately, even if the idea repelled her. It would mean safety, but every refuge had its price. “And I will never use a man purely for his purse-strings; I will endanger my own happiness, not another’s.”

A door slammed downstairs, a jarring boom like a thunder’s clap, before a man’s shout joined it.

“Stay here,” said Mary, hands fisted into her skirts. “Get changed and I shall see – ”

Aunt Georgia’s shrieks poured into the house and up the stairs, conjuring the small hairs on Harriet’s skin into standing. She pushed past her maidservant, in a man’s breeches and shirt, hair falling down in straggled lumps at her shoulders. Her heavy boots drummed down the stairs to find the front door wide open, letting the brutally cold air sweep in. She wanted her pistol; she anticipated a fight. She heard her aunt’s uneven breaths.

Whoever it was, whatever they wanted, she was ready.

“Harriet!” Aunt Georgia stumbled from the drawing room, blood on her hands and down her white nightdress. “You must come quickly. It’s Giddeon; he’s been shot.” She looked past Harriet’s shoulder, where Mary stood, stock-still with shock. “Bring towels and hot water.”

Harriet’s immobility lasted a mere second, the crisis bringing clarity to her racing thoughts. “He’ll need a doctor, I will go at once – ”

Aunt Georgia reached for her niece, pulling her towards the drawing room, eyes streaming with tears. “Major Roberts has already gone to fetch him and I need you here. I don’t know what to do.”

“Pardon?” She was sure she had misheard. “You said Major Roberts?”

“He is the one who found Giddeon, who brought him here,” babbled Aunt Georgia, leading Harriet along a blood-spotted hall to where her brother lay, slumped on a settee, his shoulder soaked in red. “Were it not for him, I do not want to think on what could have happened.”

***

A numb, helpless panic had gripped the townhouse. Harriet did not once leave her brother’s side, ensuring he kept still, soothing him and doing all she could to stem the blood flow. The doctor’s arrival was speedy and yet, in Harriet’s mind, she had already visited the worst endings countless times, as though she’d had years to feed her fears and not merely an hour.

Legs unsteady from being folded beneath her for so long, hands shaking and muscles cramping, it was a comfort to be pulled from the room. She didn’t want to see anything else. She didn’t want to see her brother struggle, hear him scream. Strong hands grasped her, guiding her away from the mess, the doctor, his apprentice and the muffled yells that had begun with a bullet’s extraction. She had done all she could for now; it was someone else’s turn.

It felt like a dream while she walked, like wading through pond water and weeds that dragged on her joints. Limbs weighted, her head was filled with wool and it pressed her eyelids closed. Still, that firm yet gentle hold kept her upright and it was only when the smell of him – rainfall and that unmistakable, deeper scent a man holds – woke her up to who she stood beside.

“Major Roberts,” she said softly, finding him through bleary eyes, the hallway quiet but for them. “Why is it always you?”

“Miss Groves,” he answered, an anchor to the present, a man who felt like safety when he represented all that was wrong for her.

Harriet moved automatically, letting her barriers drop now she need not be strong for her brother or her aunt. She pressed her palms against the wallpaper, head bowed, and felt Major Roberts step back, offering her space.

Her bloodshot eyes sought him out.

“I don’t…” She faltered.

It was as though her bones had turned hollow and could not support her. Edward was there instantly, pulling her up, hands on her waist. He was impossibly warm and the shirt she wore was thin and loose, barely a barrier between them. His eyes wandered and Harriet invited it, the tips of her fingers skimming along his arms until she let them rest there, on his stained shirt sleeves, feeling the taut strength in the muscles beneath. She should move back, re-find her footing, act as a lady should. Yet, when he spoke in his soothing, low voice, all common sense dissipated.

“There was a duel over a lost bet and once I heard who was involved, I had to intervene,” said Edward, his breath hot and heavy. His look was torn and beaten, clothes ripped and ruined. There must have been a terrible fight, for the fine threads were wrecked beyond repair. His knuckles too were split. “You are shaking, Miss Groves.”

Harriet leant forwards, forehead pressed against his shoulder, breathing him in. “You are a good man, far better than I deserve you to be.”

“Your brother will be fine,” he soothed her. “It’s a shoulder wound, nothing serious. There was more than one man after him, and the main cur he fought with fired and ran before he could be stopped. I will be making inquiries. I have my suspicions.”

“Yes, thank you, for all you have done.” Harriet’s voice was muffled and small from tiredness. “He was not your responsibility and yet you brought him here anyway.”

Due their proximity, Edward’s voice was a deep rumble in his throat and it hummed through her. “I have known men like him. He has his own troubles to shake off before he sees sense.”

“I only pray he does.”

“He will, if given time.” He held her – not tightly, only as a friend would – though for her it was enough. “It wasn’t so long ago that I was as foolish and reckless as your brother is now.”

“I cannot quite believe that.”

“Good, I shouldn’t like you to.” He smiled, though it faded quickly and silence consumed them both once more. “And, Miss Groves, what in God’s name have you got on?”

She blinked, lashes wet, confused.

Oh.

“I – I was going to go out, to try and find Giddeon.” She swallowed thickly, lies thorny in her throat. “I thought I would attract less attention dressed this way, only – only – he’s here now, you see, though – yes, of course you do, for it is you who brought him.”

“What were you thinking?” Edward’s tone was stern at first, until it evened out, as if realising how fragile Harriet still was. “You could have put yourself in danger, mixing with such people. Dear God, don’t ever consider it again.”

“It was stupid, I know,” Harriet replied, numb, detaching herself from him and winding her arms around herself. “But I was worried. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You send word for me; you don’t risk your own safety.”

“I wouldn’t want to be an imposition – ”

“Miss Groves,” said Edward. “You would never be that.”

A grandfather clock marked the early morning hour. An ornate rug was bunched up at their feet, marred with red-brown stains and city filth. Harriet chose to look upon it rather than Edward, who finally cleared his throat.

“It’s time I was on my way. I will visit again soon, to see how he is, if you would have me?”

Exhausted, mute, Harriet only nodded. If he expected a reply, he did not get it. A gusting wind slipped through the entrance and seemed to pull him from her, until the front door was slammed shut behind him and the hallway seemed all the darker without him in it.

Chapter Five

The days dragged by and Harriet did not leave her brother’s side. Sunday arrived and while Aunt Georgia and her well-wishing neighbours attended a service, Harriet remained with Giddeon. She read aloud, they spoke about when they were children and she could not recall the last time they had spent so many hours together and not argued. Or the last time he had been sober. Giddeon was quiet, almost penitent, and he recovered well, though at first had been ill-tempered and demanded alcohol often, regardless of the hour. He was given no more than the doctor had allowed and gradually his mood improved. However, he answered no questions about the incidents that had taken place. He would name no names and discuss no details with anyone.

Harriet wrote to her father and younger sister, relaying all that had happened and dampening any concerns they might express. News always travelled fast and she would not have liked the story of her brother’s assault to reach her father’s ears in another fashion, by tongues far less kind and prone to prying. Mary had taken the letter on her return to Atworth House, for she would be further able to allay any worry as to the young man’s state.

When Giddeon was well enough, after almost week had come and gone, he and Harriet took in the nearby gardens and the air seemed to refresh them both. It had been Aunt Georgia’s suggestion, or rather an order, and both were wise enough to obey it.

“It’s almost as if you have been restored to your old self,” said Harriet eventually, enjoying the organised beauty and blooms that the fine August weather had conjured. It was no match for the lovely, more rustic grounds at the Atworth Estate, but it was as close to them as she could get for now. The season was waning, September would find them soon and she longed to see the garden at home again before it lost its summer charm.

“And it only took getting shot,” replied Giddeon drily. “You’ve been far too good to me, Harry.”

“I know.”

It was only after a second loop along the paths, with idle chatter and youthful humour, that Harriet realised they were being followed. The stranger was a scruffy individual with a beard and small eyes, who clutched an envelope in his large fist.

Harriet leaned in closer to her brother’s ear. “Do you know that man?”

Giddeon’s easy walk halted, his form tense as he caught sight of the shape that dogged their steps.

Voice quiet, he said, “I need you to wait here.” Before Harriet could protest, he added quickly, “It is nothing to be concerned about, but I need you to wait here.”

Harriet would not let him go. Her small hands coiled around his arm, regardless of his injury. “Not if you are going to get yourself shot again.”

“There’s no danger of that.” He shook his head, his face now lacking the colour their walk had imbued it with. “Please, wait here.”

“Only if you tell me everything – and I mean all of it – from the very beginning.”

Giddeon was silent for several long moments, drawn out and weary, before he reluctantly agreed.

With unwilling fingers, Harriet released her brother. It was infuriating at times, when she was torn between being the lady she had to be and the rogue who haunted the trading routes. The latter would have been useful now, brave and bold. All the lady could do was wait and watch and worry.

Giddeon left her, his steps hard on the garden path, his back straight though the action pulled on his shoulder. Whatever words spoken between him and the other man were too quiet for Harriet to catch. It appeared the grubby stranger was merely a messenger, for the letter did all the talking. Judging by Giddeon’s hard expression, the words written upon the page were not a welcome communication. Harriet waited no longer. Lifting her skirts, she stepped lightly towards her brother and would have snatched the letter from his grasp, had Giddeon not been wise to such actions.

“I grew up with you pinching all my favourite books, Harriet.” He winced in pain at the sudden motion, though he had succeeded in keeping the paper. “You will have to be far faster than that.”

“This isn’t a game now, Giddeon.”

A grim smile captured his features. “I know.”

A cloying, heavy silence fell – interrupted only by snatches of chatter from other walkers and tittering birdsong – as he tried to conjure the right words.

“Whatever it might be, you can tell me anything,” said Harriet, her hands curled into fists, knuckles white under her gloves.

Giddeon nodded, heaving a sigh and handing her the letter. “Let’s take Aunt Georgia’s carriage back home, for we will not be overheard in there and we will not be interrupted.”

***

The carriage rocked and dipped as it trundled over the sun-bleached roads. Aunt Georgia had not wanted them to leave and had mithered over Giddeon’s health, but she eventually relented and announced she would be following a day or two after. Only when Bath was far behind them and golden fields, offering the British summer’s sweetest scents, passed by the windows, did Harriet’s brother finally reveal the true depths of his predicament. While at Oxford he had gambled often, stumbled into drink, fell in with ill company and borrowed vast amounts of money from one Thomas Barrow in order to place bets. Barrow had told Giddeon he could pay it all back when ready, when his luck changed, and so the young man borrowed more and more in dizzying sums. Until one day, quite recently, Barrow demanded what was owed and Giddeon did not have it. His lodgings were ransacked, nameless thugs who would not identify themselves attacked him, and he fled the university. Threats followed wherever he went. He sought refuge in Bath’s familiar taverns, became lost further in drink and depravity, and dropped into Aunt Georgia’s townhouse during dinner.

“How much do you owe, Giddeon?”

“Nothing I can easily pay back.”

“You mean to duel him again, this Barrow, don’t you?”

“I do not know.”

“He almost killed you last time.”

“Sister, the last time was no duel,” muttered Giddeon, tense, as if waiting for her to send him away, refuse him. “His hired thugs attacked me, tried to shake me up, that was all.”

“But you owe him money.”

“He’s a crook. It does not matter how the cards had been played; he always would have won.”

“He’s been cheating?”

“He has, and I’ll find my proof.”

Harriet heaved a long, humming sigh and kept her neutral gaze on the passing scenery. Far better to scowl at the meadowsweet and foxgloves than at her brother. Though she was only a year older than him, there seemed a greater distance between them, for where he had shunned responsibility and the real world’s harshness, she had shouldered it and done her best to carry on. Women, she had observed in her meagre twenty-two years, often carried far more burdens than the men they loved could ever hope to fathom.

“I know you miss our mother,” said Harriet finally. “Because I do too, more than anything. And I know it has been hard for you, but this cannot go on.”

“I know.”

“You need to talk to Father.”

“I do,” agreed Giddeon, a hand on his shoulder, still sore and stiff. “I am truly sorry, Harry. I have been a fool, I’ve burnt nearly all my bridges and yet here you are.”

“What’s done is done,” replied Harriet, unable to keep the disappointment from her tone. “All there is to do now is move forwards. Don’t punish yourself for the past, when there are others who’ll gladly do that for you. This Barrow, he means to kill you, doesn’t he?”

“Undoubtedly,” said Giddeon. “I cannot pay him and if I cannot prove him a liar, he’ll finish what he started.”

“Then we’ll find the money.”

“How? There’s nothing left. We’ve no backers; there’s no help for us.”

“There’s a ship, The Sapphire – it’s a solid investment.”

“But you can’t invest if you’ve not gathered the funds.”

“I have,” explained Harriet, watching her sibling’s eyes widen, in greed or gratitude, she couldn’t be sure. She’d said too much not to say the rest. “Or, at least, I will soon. There’s still time, though it isn’t long before the vessel’s maiden voyage. I have been assured by varying sources that the risk will pay off within six months, if we can hold on. Only do not tell Father, for if it falls through, his health won’t take it.”

Giddeon slumped in his seat, relieved, head falling back and eyes on the carriage’s ceiling. “How did you end up the sensible one? At least we have you to uphold the family name, Harry.”

Harriet’s expression grew clouded and though she wished to find a dark humour in his words, she could not. “Indeed we do.”

“Although,” observed Giddeon, “if we both flounder, there will always be Ellen.”

Harriet smiled a fond smile. “I have a feeling that she will be the best of all three of us.”

For at this rate, it would not be difficult.

***

The moment that the carriage cleared the trees and rambled up the drive to Atworth House was the split second when Ellen – along with her hound – abandoned her studies and ran full pelt to greet her sister. And when she saw her brother, her green eyes grew ever wider.

“You’re back!” Ellen flung her arms around the young man with no thought to his injuries. And even though she hurt him, he was pleased to see her, for no one could stay unhappy around the girl. “I have so much to tell you! Are you staying long? Please, say you are!”

She chattered on, like a miniature Aunt Georgia, asking question after question while the dog yapped around their ankles and demanded to be picked up (even if it was getting fatter, for Harriet had not been there to prevent it being entirely spoilt).

Their father, under the guise of investigating the noise, came to greet them and though he offered no harsh words, Harriet was all too aware of Giddeon’s guilt and his shame. She left them to talk, knowing that their father was too soft and too kind to ever truly be angry with his son.

As for Harriet, she needed peace – time to think, time to plan. A shadow rested upon her skin – the remnants of a man, his touch, those grey eyes that held intensity, warmth and a remedy to all the doubt she had ever felt about herself. And he was far from her reach, due to her own criminal actions. Did she want him because she could not have him? No, she was not so simple a creature as to fall for such silly fancies. She only knew that whatever she felt had to be forgotten, for her own sake and her family’s.

Though the afternoon was wearing thin and evening was only a few hours away, Harriet took her younger sister to the river with a basket packed with bread and cheese and supplies, to play and breathe the outdoor air they both so loved. Even Harriet kicked off her shoes and hitched up her skirts to paddle in the shallows – bitingly cold, but refreshing after being cooped up for so long. The water was low and the banks steep, for the unusually hot weather had chased the moisture away. Summer’s fair turn would not last, it never did, but Harriet was determined to enjoy it while she could.

There would be risks to take in the days to come, a choice to make that could undo them all.

There was no stopping Ellen from her delight. She threw sticks for Millie, barely pausing to eat, and ran around the fields with a wagging tail following her. It was freedom. When Ellen grew cold, Harriet wrapped her in the blanket she had been lying upon and promised her they would go to the river again soon. Even the dog seemed exhausted as they walked back across the fields, trailed by twilight, to warm up their chilled skin inside.

“I almost forgot,” said Harriet, after they were sat by the drawing room’s fire, with Ellen half asleep as she listened to her sister read. “I bought you a present. I shall give it to you tomorrow morning.”

Though filled with slumber, the words roused the youngest of the pair. “Present?”

“Two matching ribbons for you and Millie: one for her collar and the other for your hair.”

Ellen smiled into her sister’s skirts, mumbling thanks and looking far too young to deal with all that the future would throw at her.

***

Sunday dawned, a dry morning that swept up the dew and promised another warm day with a cloudless blue dome above. Up past the river and over a cart bridge sat the nearby village and its parish church. A service would begin soon and the bells had already tolled, summoning those who lived nearby. The Groves family disturbed jumpy rabbits, looping swifts and darting swallows on their journey there – a short walk that got the blood flowing and put colour into their cheeks. Giddeon walked ahead, his recovery going well as he strode hand in hand with Ellen, fists swinging as they chattered and laughed.

Harriet walked with her father, her arm hooked into his, both with a solemn air. Mr Groves cleared his throat lightly and Harriet steeled herself for the conversation. She knew all he would say, for they were of the same ilk, the same sensibility, the same practicality. As if feeling her muscles tense, her father released a weary sigh.

“I know you loathe this subject, but your marriage to a good, wealthy family would see off our troubles,” he began, voice soft and tired with age. “I am not long for this world and – ”

“That is nonsense, Father,” said Harriet quickly, plucking yellowed grass from her sleeve, as though she could cast aside his words so easily. She had lost one parent not so long ago; she hated the prospect of losing another.

“No,” he replied firmly, grasping her hand that was still nestled in his arm. “You must listen to your Aunt Georgia and I, for what I say is not to hurt you, only to ensure that you are safe and happy.”

A few mutinous curls crept from Harriet’s hair, falling down from the cover of her bonnet as she shook her head. “What you suggest cannot lead to happiness.”

“It would lead to security and that, in turn, can bring some contentment,” argued her father. “You know what Aunt Georgia says about you? That you are far too independent. She blames me for it and perhaps she is right.”

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