No Other Love

“I? How could anyone carry a grudge against such a pleasant man as the Earl of Exmoor? So kind to his workers, so understanding with his tenants.”

“I realize that he is an easy target. It is difficult to feel sympathy for the usurer when he is robbed, too. Still, it is theft, pure and simple. And when you are caught, you will hang just as readily as if you had stolen from a saint. Nor, I think, will you be quite such a hero to the local inhabitants when some of their own men are hanged with you.”

“Ah, but that makes the assumption that we shall be caught. I do not intend for that to happen.”

“I am sure few criminals do,” Nicola retorted. “But they are nabbed, anyway. You will be, too.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“How can you be so full of yourself as to think anything else? You delight in tweaking Richard’s nose. You think he will not come after you? He is a very powerful and wealthy man.”

“Let him come after me,” her companion said, his voice rich with satisfaction. “I would delight in meeting him.”

“You think he will come after you personally? Don’t be absurd. Men like Richard hire other men to do their dirty work. It is they who will hunt you and your men down like dogs. But he has hired them. He doesn’t mind the cost. You have insulted him, practically dared him to stop you. It is infuriating enough to him that you have been stealing his money. Last night, when you stopped his own carriage, it was like rubbing his nose in it. He won’t rest until you are swinging from a gibbet. He has already hired a Bow Street Runner.”

“Has he indeed?” His voice was thoughtful.

“Yes. I met him this morning. His name is Stone, and he looks to be a man to live up to his name.”

“Well. That makes the game more interesting. Still, I think I can hold my own against a Bow Street Runner.”

“Don’t you understand? Richard will not stop. Maybe you can handle this Runner—elude him, kill him, whatever you plan to do. But it will not end with Stone. If he fails, Richard will hire more. He will put out rewards for your capture. Someone, sometime, will betray you for the money, no matter how highly the people around here regard you. He will put guards on his wagons.”

“He already has.” The highwayman’s teeth flashed whitely in the dark. “Yet still I have come away with the strongboxes.”

“Then he will hire more—and ones who are not terribly concerned about killing a man over a strongbox. Why won’t you see? Richard Montford is not a man to cross! He is willing to do anything to protect his possessions.”

“I am sure he is. No doubt you are one of his prize possessions.”

“I?” Nicola swiveled sharply to glare at him. “How dare you! I am no man’s possession.”

“No? I dare swear your husband would look at it differently.”

“He would not,” Nicola retorted sharply. “If he did, he would not be my husband, I can assure you.”

“I would not have thought the sort of man you would marry would be so…advanced in his views.”

“The sort of man I would marry? How would you know anything about the sort of man I would marry? You don’t know me at all.”

“I know you are the sister of the Countess of Exmoor,” he replied. “The cousin of Lord Buckminster. A woman firmly entrenched in the aristocracy. A woman of name and beauty…therefore one who doubtless made an excellent marriage. I had thought you were the Countess of Exmoor.”

“I? Married to Richard? Hardly. That is my sister.”

“So my men told me. But I would assume that you made an equally advantageous marriage—even better. Perhaps a duke? Have I erred in calling you ‘my lady’? Should it have been ‘your grace’?”

“Neither.” Nicola bit off the word. I am Miss Falcourt.”

The highwayman glanced at her sharply. “You are not married?”

“No, I am not. It is hardly so astonishing. There are women who do not marry.”

“Rare for a woman of your beauty and background. That is the purpose of a lady’s life, is it not? To marry for alliance? To gain the best position she can, given her natural assets?”

“You make marriage sound like a business proposition.”

“Is it not?” he answered, his voice cold and sharp as a knife. “A noblewoman is the same as any prostitute, selling her wares to the highest bidder. The only difference is that the buyer pays with a wedding ring instead of coins of the realm.”

Nicola’s hands clenched her reins tightly, and she felt again the compelling urge to slap this man, but she struggled to control herself. “You, sir, are a fool. It is your prerogative, of course, but I do not have to stay and listen to you. Good day.”

She started to dig her heels into her horse, but the man lashed out with one hand and grabbed her upper arm tightly, holding her in place. “I’m no fool, Miss Falcourt. I was once, but no longer. I found out what motivates a woman to choose a husband, and it is not love or even desire. I know whereof I speak.”

“You know nothing. You only think you know. Obviously some woman disappointed you, but only a fool would paint all women with the same brush.”

“Not all women. Noblewomen. I know many a common woman whose heart is large and warm. But a lady’s heart is a cold, hard stone.”

“Then a lady’s heart must be something like your mind,” Nicola shot back.

Much to her surprise, the man laughed. “A fair shot, my—I mean, Miss Falcourt.” He released her arm, and their mounts started forward again.

“You are utterly infuriating.”

“Indeed, I have been told that.”

“I must say, I wonder why you should choose to ride along with me, despising noblewomen as you do.”

“Once a man understands what they are about, he can partake of—” his eyes slid appreciatively down her body, leaving little doubt as to the underlying meaning of his words “—the pleasure of her company without being so foolhardy as to lose his heart. Or his head.”

“That is typical of a man—noble or low. ‘Tis not the same for a woman.”

He let out a bark of laughter again, but this time it had little amusement in it. “Women would have us think so.”

“Oh, and I suppose that you know better than I how a woman feels or thinks?”

“I am more honest about it.”

“Your arrogance is astonishing.”

“It isn’t arrogance to speak the truth. Women like to pretend that they feel no desire unless their heart is engaged, that they marry for love, not wealth or position. The truth is that they marry for well-calculated reasons, and their passion can burn quite hot without the spark of love.”

“Then I must be an odd woman indeed, for it is not that way with me.”

“You lie through your pearly white teeth,” her companion responded without heat.

“How dare you imply that—”

“I imply nothing. I say it outright. You are not speaking the truth, and you know it. Do you feel love for me?”

Nicola quirked an eyebrow at him. “Hardly.”