Jessica’s heart surged, too. In all of her life, she’d never done anything quite so rash, so reckless.
Brody urged his horse faster. They were off into the green depths of the forest, leaving the carriage and its passengers behind them.
2
Trees and undergrowth flew past in a blur of green and brown as Jessica, Brody, and the other highwaymen galloped through the forest, around fallen logs and wide trees. They jumped over a dry creek bed in one controlled surge. Jessica’s heart leapt along with her body, and then thudded in response as they landed.
Away from the city. Away from everything. Alive only in this moment.
Beside them, the two fellow highwaymen rode with equal experience. No one’s mount faltered, and as the men bent over the necks of their horses, they held themselves with skillful ease, both in command as well as at effortlessness in the forest and in the saddle.
There was a kind of animal strength to all of them, a fluidity of movement. Brody, yes, but his companions as well. The three men exchanged glances, and from the crinkles forming around their eyes, they all seemed to be smiling.
They were enjoying themselves. And the mad thing was that Jessica was, too.
A small, tumbledown wooden house appeared ahead of them. It had most of its roof, and a chimney. In lieu of a door, a long piece of cloth covered the entrance, and there was no glass in the windows.
Brody slowed his horse to a canter, then a trot, and finally a gentle walk. He and the two other highwaymen brought their horses to a structure that stood a hundred yards from the house. The shed had enough space for several horses, and seemed dry and clean.
In silence, they dismounted, though Jessica remained in the saddle. Brody’s companions began tending to their horses, removing tack and rubbing the animals down to cool them after their run through the forest. No one spoke, but they moved with practice and economy. One of the highwaymen stroked the soft spot between his mount’s nostrils. The animal nibbled affectionately on his fingers.
As Jessica started to slide down from atop Brody’s horse, a pair of large, warm hands encircled her waist. She looked down at Brody. He’d lowered his kerchief to hang loosely around his neck, and it was with the full intensity of his rugged handsomeness that he stared up at her for a charged moment. She felt his gaze from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes, and all the soft and receptive places between.
“I can see to myself,” she said quietly.
“It’s my privilege to attend to you as my guest. What’s your name?”
“Jessica.”
He lifted a brow when she opted not to include her surname, but fortunately, he didn’t press her for more.
“Welcome, Jessica.” His voice was husky, and his jaw tightened when he helped her down from the saddle. His hands lingered on her waist for several seconds, heat seeping into her. His gaze flicked to her mouth.
He seemed to think better of kissing her right there in the stable, and he released her. She took a step away from him. Her legs were slightly unsteady beneath her, likely a result of the speedy ride through the woods. Or perhaps the breathless shakiness careening through her had more to do with the man standing in front of her, looking at her as though he intended to wolf her down on the spot.
His fellow highwaymen shot her wary glances as they continued to see to their horses. They carried their saddles easily, as though they were meant for a child’s pony and not the heavy combination of wood and leather needed by a full-grown man. Yet they also continued to wear their kerchiefs that covered their faces.
“There’s nothing to fear from me, gentlemen,” she said.
“Who’s to say you won’t describe our faces to the nearest magistrate?” the black-haired one answered. His accent reminded her of the one she’d heard when visiting Charlie in Portsmouth. “We’d see our likenesses grinning back at us on handbills posted at every local law’s headquarters.”
“I voluntarily accompanied all three of you from the scene of a crime. It would be easy enough for the sheriff to say I was accessory to larceny.”
As Brody took care of his horse, he smiled, bright white against the darkness of his stubble. “She’s a fair point of it, lads.”
Slowly, the one with the genteel accent lowered his kerchief. He looked at Jessica with defiance in his deep-set black eyes.
“Well?” he demanded.
“I am beginning to wonder if the requirements for joining this gang include handsomeness.”
The man scowled, but not before a flush stained his rich warm brown cheeks. He had a thick, neatly trimmed black beard, and he pulled the strip of green silk binding his hair, sending long black strands spilling over his shoulders. His features were defined and sharply hewn.
“You are from the Subcontinent?” Jessica asked.
He flung back his greatcoat to reveal a russet-colored coat and tan waistcoat, with black breeches tucked into knee-high boots. He had a broad torso and burly, long legs, and nearly vibrated with strength and potential.
“My father is Gujarati,” he said tersely. “My mother is from England.”
