The Highwayman's Daughter by Henriette Gyland

but slowly she began to respond to Lord Halliford’s calming influence. As the onlookers helped Cora to her feet, picking up the things which had spilled out of her shopping basket – mercifully only the vegetables and not her stolen goods – his lordship whispered soothing words to the horse as if they were the only souls in the world. The mare snorted and pushed against his hand in a last show of defiance, but finally accepted his mastery. Only then did he let go of the bridle.
    Lord Halliford had saved her from being run over. He could have let the horses trample her to death and saved himself the trouble of bringing her to justice, yet he hadn’t. Why?
    ‘You crazy mare!’ grumbled the coachman. ‘You wanna kill us all?’ But he was glaring at Cora as he said so and she wasn’t sure whether he was referring to her or the horse.
    He saved me.
    The thought went over and over in her head. He didn’t have to, but he did. She’d sensed his attraction to her, and couldn’t deny her own attraction to him, but that still didn’t change the fact that she’d robbed him, tricked him, and run from him. Gratitude mixed with shame spread in her chest that he’d still thought her life worth saving.
    ‘You all right, dear?’ The woman with the little boy, who was now bouncing on her hip with a dirty thumb in his mouth, looked at Cora with concern. ‘’Twas a close one, and all. Best be more careful next time you’re thinking of crossing the road.’
    ‘Y-yes, I’m all right. Thank you.’ She wasn’t though. Her recklessness had nearly got her killed, and then Ned would have been alone. The thought made her shake uncontrollably.
    ‘Well, if you’re sure, luvvie.’ It seemed Cora’s trembling hadn’t escaped the woman, and she sounded uncertain.
    Cora nodded. ‘I’m sure.’
    ‘Well, mind how you go, eh.’ With a final glance at Cora, the woman left. The little boy stared at Cora with large frightened eyes, and it struck her just how dreadful it would have been for the child if he had witnessed a person being trampled to death by horses. Not to mention seeing a woman being dragged kicking and screaming to the magistrate’s house and later hanged. It was a sobering thought.
    Without turning, Cora sensed Lord Halliford’s presence right behind her. Her entire body tingled with awareness of him, from the base of her scalp to the small of her back where his hand had rested when he had pulled her close. Her breath came in short bursts, both from the effect he had on her and the certain knowledge that he would likely want her severely punished for her crimes.
    Slowly, she turned to face him. There was no way out now; she was too exhausted to run.
    She almost laughed at the sight of him. His shorn hair stood out in all directions, like the prickles on a hedgehog; black coal dust from the smithy graced the front of his elegant blue coat, and his white silk stockings were frayed and besmirched. He looked like a scarecrow.
    The finest scarecrow Cora had ever laid eyes on.
    ‘M’lord, I …’
    ‘Madam.’
    Suddenly his hazel eyes were full of humour, and he surprised her by bowing deeply. With practised flourish, he swung, not a hat, for she saw now that he must have lost it earlier, but something round and green.
    ‘Your cabbage, I believe.’
    Cora stared at the head of cabbage in his hand, and then back at him. This was a different person to the one who had chased her with such fervour, and suspiciously she snatched it out of his hand and returned it to her basket. It must have rolled out when she’d fallen, but a quick feel in her basket, while she kept a close eye on her nemesis, told her that nothing else was missing, not even the waistcoat, which still lay tucked securely underneath the rough cloth.
    He kept his eyes on her face and, mesmerised, she found herself returning the gaze despite the hotness which flared in her cheeks. The amusement was still there in his eyes, but something deeper too, a part