A Highwayman Came Riding by Joan Smith Page A

was encroaching on my territory. I decided to teach him a lesson. I knew he would come here.”
    She drew back and gazed up at him. “Why? Why would he come here?”
    “It is that sort of place.”
    “A highwaymen’s den?” she asked in disbelief. “But I saw many fine ladies.”
    “You saw highwaymen’s doxies, dressed up in stolen finery.”
    “Why did you bring us to a place like this?”
    Macheath was annoyed at the change in mood from adoring girl to scolding lady. “You seem to forget—you and the duchess were soaking wet, your carriage was mired in mud, and darkness was coming on. I hadn’t much choice.”
    “You might have warned us at least!”
    “How was I to know you’d be roaming about alone in the middle of the night in your nightdress?”
    “It’s a nightgown,” she said, and with an air of dignity, she pulled her mantle tightly about her. Then she ruined the effect by wiping at her tears with the back of her hand.
    Macheath didn’t want to argue. He wanted to see again that softly adoring look he had glimpsed a moment ago. He wanted to kiss those rosebud lips, to feel again her soft femininity trembling in his arms. He handed her his handkerchief and she dried her eyes.
    “Come, I’ll take you upstairs,” he said, reaching for her hand. She looked at the handkerchief and put it in her pocket.
    They took a step toward the staircase, then Marianne stopped. “The milk,” she said. “I came down for milk. I’d best take it up or she’ll be awake all night.”
    Macheath was glad for the excuse to be alone with her. He watched as she moved gracefully about the kitchen, finding another pan, filling it with milk, taking glasses from the shelf.
    “None for me?” he asked when she placed two cups on the tray.
    She tilted her head and gave him a wry smile as she added a third glass. “I didn’t take you for a milk drinker. Brandy or Blue Ruin seem more like it.”
    “I also enjoy the simple things of life, Marianne.”
    “What are you going to do with McGinty?”
    “Do you want me to darken his daylights, put a bullet through him? I would be happy to oblige.”
    “Is that the simple sort of thing you enjoy? Shooting people? I meant about the money he stole.”
    “Finders, keepers.”
    “I don’t believe that refers to money found in other peoples’ pockets, Captain.”
    “Depends on how it got there.”
    “Did you assume that whoever you robbed tonight before you came here had also stolen the money in his pockets?”
    “I haven’t—met any carriages this evening.”
    “Then why are you dressed like that? You were wearing your mask.”
    He gave a quizzing grin. “Masquerade party?”
    “Since McGinty recognized you, what was the point of wearing it? You—” She was going to say he had promised to quit, but he hadn’t actually said anything of the sort. She poured the milk. “I wish you wouldn’t, Captain,” she said in a small, sad voice. “You’ll end up with a bullet in your heart one night.”
    “Would that matter to you, Marianne?”
    She handed him the glass of milk. “It’s always sad to see a young person die. One wonders what he might have made of his life, had he lived. You could be anything. You’re smart, you’re brave, strong.”
    He made a deprecating gesture. “Are you sure this is me you’re talking about?”
    “You didn’t recognize the picture because I left out one feature. Stubborn.”
    She picked up the tray. Macheath put his glass on it and took it from her. “If you think I am going to allow you to go upstairs alone, you are very much mistaken, Miss Harkness. You attract highwaymen like honey attracts flies. And this place is full of them.”
    The clerk glanced at them as they passed. He didn’t seem surprised that she had found an escort in the kitchen. It was that kind of place.
     

Chapter Twelve
     
    “Since Her Grace is awake, I’ll have a word with her now,” Macheath said as they drew to a stop outside the duchess’s