Three highwaymen in total gathered around the mail coach. Two of them remained on horseback, while the third, the one with the gray eyes, faced the passengers. Though his greatcoat covered most of his tall and lean body, as he moved, Jessica’s notice was snared by the flash of leather boots climbing up over his knees to end just below his thighs.
They were rather fine thighs, taut and muscled, encased in buckskin. He had a scarf tied around one thigh, made of azure silk. A prize, no doubt, taken from one of his victims. But it gave Brody a dashing air, a hint of flash that pointed to a sense of humor as well as a feeling of pride. He clearly enjoyed his work, enjoyed the infamy it gave him.
They talked of him in excited tones back in Colchester, and even in London. The Brody Gang were well-known on the Essex road for how efficiently they seized and stole from mail coaches and private carriages traveling to London. He was famed for his gallantry, Ezra Brody, and his boldness. Many broadsheet ballads about Ezra Brody had been sold on this basis.
Judging by their brief encounter now, Jessica was inclined to agree that the highwayman was indeed a fascinating subject.
“Eyes on my pretty face, my lady.”
Jessica’s attention snapped up. Creases formed around the thief’s eyes, as though he was smiling.
“With your face covered,” she answered, “I have only your word that you are, in fact, pretty.”
“Quiet, jade!” yelped a man with the look of a merchant. He had fallen asleep almost immediately on the ride and filled the carriage with his snores. Now that he was awake, and frightened, he glared at her. “You oughtn’t provoke them to anger!”
“I’ve no cause to grow angry,” Brody said, “unless you dally in handing over your valuables. Jewels, coin. Whatever you have of worth.” He held up a rough canvas sack and shook it in expectation.
The dowager shrieked again, clearly upset at the thought of losing her jewels. Beside her, the vicar continued to slap at her hand.
“And if we object?” This came from one of the younger male passengers, dressed like a moderately prosperous farmer. His fingers hovered over a pouch that jingled at his waist. “I have the proceeds for my harvest here—if I fail to deposit them in London, disaster befalls me.”
The highwayman tucked his pistol into the leather baldric slung across his chest. He strode to the farmer and pulled the pouch off his belt. The other man flinched.
Brody tipped the leather bag into his ungloved hand, and several coins tumbled out. He plucked out three sovereigns, which he deposited into the canvas sack, before pouring the rest of the coins back into their pouch and handing them to the farmer.
“Not a horrific loss,” the thief drawled, “but enough profit to make our venture worthwhile.”
The farmer stared at Brody, and, indeed, so did Jessica.
“I say,” the merchant exclaimed, “I can’t lose my valuables, either!”
Taking the pistol from his baldric, the highwayman waved the weapon in front of the merchant’s face. “The difference between an honest farmer and avaricious merchant is a vast one. Put everything in the sack, sirrah. Including that fine watch in your waistcoat.” As the merchant fumbled with his gold timepiece and well-stuffed billfold, Brody turned to the other passengers. “That goes for you lot. Make haste, for I have a nose that the law isn’t far from here.”
Everyone scrambled to obey. As the passengers divested themselves of their jewelry, money, and other small personal items of value, Brody paced in front of them, collecting each prize as they were offered.
Jessica waited until he was standing across from her before lifting her skirts and petticoats. She slowly revealed her stocking-clad leg. She’d paid a good deal of money for these stockings—an indulgence, really—but they were of fine silk, with clocking at the ankles, and—this was the added indulgence—rose pink.
The highwayman went very still.
Looking up through her lashes, Jessica watched Brody watching her pull a small cloth pouch from her blue ribbon garter. She lowered her skirts without hurry.
When the thief made no move to collect the pouch from her, she shook it in front of his face. “I believe this is what you’re after.”
Wordlessly, he took the small bag. His calloused fingertips brushed hers, for she wasn’t wearing gloves, and a shock of heat bolted through her. The fabric covering his mouth moved inward as he drew a hard breath.
“There isn’t much in there, I’m afraid,” Jessica said softly. “A strand of coral beads, a guinea, a tarnished silver ring with the smallest of pearls.”
“Then,” the highwayman rasped, “I’ll take something of greater value from you, my lady.”
“That is all I have in the world, alas. You call me my lady, but I must disappoint you. I’m dead common.”
“Not common at all.”
“Then what will you have from me?”
He stepped nearer, narrowing the gap between them until there was barely a hand’s span from his chest to hers. His face dipped close to hers. At this distance, his deep brown eyelashes were a thick frame around his eyes, and there was a darker, storm-gray ring around the irises.
“A kiss is a fine prize.” He tugged his kerchief down.
