through clenched teeth, sending one of his men scurrying back over the bridge.
He reappeared a few minutes later, dragging the wiry old coachman behind him. Feeling Pamela’s nearly imperceptible flinch, Connor covered the hand still nestled in the crook of his arm with his own and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
Munroe snatched the coachman out of the soldier’s grip and shoved him forward. “Are these the two women who hired your conveyance?”
The coachman slanted the women a nervous look, as if fearing one of them might whip a pistol out of her garter and shoot him between the eyes. “Aye, sir, they are.”
The colonel nodded toward Connor. “And is this the man who accosted them last night?”
The coachman scratched his head, eyeing Connor’s freshly shaven jaw, neatly groomed hair, and the plush wool of his kilt and plaid. “Now that I canna say for sure. It was full dark and the scoundrel was wearin’ a mask.”
A tinkling peal of laughter escaped Pamela. “Of course this wasn’t the man who accosted us. As soon as my fiancé arrived, that rascal ran off like the spineless coward he was.”
Munroe’s start was visible. “Your fiancé?” He flicked Connor a disgusted look. “Do you mean to tell me that you’re engaged to this rogue?”
Pamela’s smile vanished, her eyes going as chilly as the North Sea on a frosty December morn. “I’ll have you know that this rogue isn’t only my fiancé. He also happens to be the Marquess of Eddywhistle and the future Duke of Warrick. We had arranged to meet here to tour the castle ruins this morning. It was our extreme good fortune that he was on his way to his lodgings last night just as our carriage was being robbed on that deserted road.” She swept her reproving gaze over Munroe and his soldiers. “A road you and your men should have been patrolling so that decent Englishwomen like me and my dear sister here could travel without fear of losing our purses.” She lowered her eyes before adding softly, “Or something of even more value.”
Several of the soldiers ducked their heads or averted their eyes, shamed by her delicate blush. Connor slipped an arm around her shoulders, gently urging her face into the shelter of his shirt. “There, there, dear,” he murmured, giving Munroea reproachful look. “I promised you we’d never speak of that grim night again.”
The colonel was all but spitting with frustration. “I’m sorry, miss, but I find this entire tale to be utterly preposterous!”
Connor edged forward, lowering his voice to a dangerous pitch. “Surely you wouldn’t be calling the lady a liar, would you? Because as a gentleman and her fiancé, I would have to demand satisfaction.”
Munroe gritted his teeth for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and persuasive and his words were directed toward Pamela alone. “I mean no disrespect, miss, but I have every reason to believe that this is the man we’ve been hunting for months.” He waved the broadsheet at her. “A man wanted by the law and condemned by the Crown to hang by the neck until dead for the heinous crimes he’s committed.”
“Heinous?” Pamela repeated softly, the slight quaver in her voice warning Connor that she was no longer acting. “Just how heinous?” She laughed nervously. “Has he spat upon the Holy Bible? Drowned a litter of kittens in a bucket?”
“Oh, he’s committed atrocities far worse than that,” Munroe replied gravely. “Atrocities not fit for the ears of a lady.”
“Indeed?”
As Pamela melted from his grasp so she could take the broadsheet from Munroe’s hand, Connor battled an overpowering urge to seize her and hold her fast. To wrap his arms around her and whiskher away to a place where no man—including this lying redcoat bastard—could ever take her away from him.
As she studied the likeness sketched on the broadsheet, he could almost hear her weighing Munroe’s words, hear the scales tipping in the colonel’s
He reappeared a few minutes later, dragging the wiry old coachman behind him. Feeling Pamela’s nearly imperceptible flinch, Connor covered the hand still nestled in the crook of his arm with his own and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
Munroe snatched the coachman out of the soldier’s grip and shoved him forward. “Are these the two women who hired your conveyance?”
The coachman slanted the women a nervous look, as if fearing one of them might whip a pistol out of her garter and shoot him between the eyes. “Aye, sir, they are.”
The colonel nodded toward Connor. “And is this the man who accosted them last night?”
The coachman scratched his head, eyeing Connor’s freshly shaven jaw, neatly groomed hair, and the plush wool of his kilt and plaid. “Now that I canna say for sure. It was full dark and the scoundrel was wearin’ a mask.”
A tinkling peal of laughter escaped Pamela. “Of course this wasn’t the man who accosted us. As soon as my fiancé arrived, that rascal ran off like the spineless coward he was.”
Munroe’s start was visible. “Your fiancé?” He flicked Connor a disgusted look. “Do you mean to tell me that you’re engaged to this rogue?”
Pamela’s smile vanished, her eyes going as chilly as the North Sea on a frosty December morn. “I’ll have you know that this rogue isn’t only my fiancé. He also happens to be the Marquess of Eddywhistle and the future Duke of Warrick. We had arranged to meet here to tour the castle ruins this morning. It was our extreme good fortune that he was on his way to his lodgings last night just as our carriage was being robbed on that deserted road.” She swept her reproving gaze over Munroe and his soldiers. “A road you and your men should have been patrolling so that decent Englishwomen like me and my dear sister here could travel without fear of losing our purses.” She lowered her eyes before adding softly, “Or something of even more value.”
Several of the soldiers ducked their heads or averted their eyes, shamed by her delicate blush. Connor slipped an arm around her shoulders, gently urging her face into the shelter of his shirt. “There, there, dear,” he murmured, giving Munroea reproachful look. “I promised you we’d never speak of that grim night again.”
The colonel was all but spitting with frustration. “I’m sorry, miss, but I find this entire tale to be utterly preposterous!”
Connor edged forward, lowering his voice to a dangerous pitch. “Surely you wouldn’t be calling the lady a liar, would you? Because as a gentleman and her fiancé, I would have to demand satisfaction.”
Munroe gritted his teeth for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and persuasive and his words were directed toward Pamela alone. “I mean no disrespect, miss, but I have every reason to believe that this is the man we’ve been hunting for months.” He waved the broadsheet at her. “A man wanted by the law and condemned by the Crown to hang by the neck until dead for the heinous crimes he’s committed.”
“Heinous?” Pamela repeated softly, the slight quaver in her voice warning Connor that she was no longer acting. “Just how heinous?” She laughed nervously. “Has he spat upon the Holy Bible? Drowned a litter of kittens in a bucket?”
“Oh, he’s committed atrocities far worse than that,” Munroe replied gravely. “Atrocities not fit for the ears of a lady.”
“Indeed?”
As Pamela melted from his grasp so she could take the broadsheet from Munroe’s hand, Connor battled an overpowering urge to seize her and hold her fast. To wrap his arms around her and whiskher away to a place where no man—including this lying redcoat bastard—could ever take her away from him.
As she studied the likeness sketched on the broadsheet, he could almost hear her weighing Munroe’s words, hear the scales tipping in the colonel’s
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