“And,” he added, his manner growing almost flirtatious, “I can tell you are that most maddening sort of female.” He sighed with dramatic flair. “Capable. Oh, admit it.” He gave the dowager a subversive little smile. “You are an expert rider, a crack shot, and you can recite the complete works of Shakespeare backwards.”

If anything, the dowager grew even more pale at his words.

“Ah, to be twenty years older,” he said with a sigh. “I should not have let you slip away.”

“Please,” the dowager begged. “There is something I must give to you.”

“Now that’s a welcome change of pace,” he remarked. “People so seldom wish to hand things over. It does make one feel unloved.”

Grace reached for the dowager. “Please let me help you,” she insisted. The dowager was not well. She could not be well. She was never humble, and did not beg, and-

“Take her!” the dowager suddenly cried out, grabbing Grace’s arm and thrusting her at the highwayman. “You may hold her hostage, with a gun to the head if you desire. I promise you, I shall return, and I shall do it unarmed.”

Grace swayed and stumbled, the shock of the moment rendering her almost insensible. She fell against the highwayman, and one of his arms came instantly around her. The embrace was strange, almost protective, and she knew that he was as stunned as she.

They both watched as the dowager, without waiting for his acquiescence, climbed quickly into the carriage.

Grace fought to breathe. Her back was pressed up against him, and his large hand rested against her abdomen, the tips of his fingers curling gently around her right hip. He was warm, and she felt hot, and dear heaven above, she had never-never-stood so close to a man.

She could smell him, feel his breath, warm and soft against her neck. And then he did the most amazing thing. His lips came to her ear, and he whispered, “She should not have done that.”