Free The Landlord's Black-Eyed Daughter by Mary Ellen Dennis

woman. I’ll wager you would not be above a bit of trickery to ha’ your way. I canna’ see your face, so I canna’ read your expression. Please step before the lights so that I may ha’ a better look at you.”
    After a moment’s hesitation, Elizabeth obeyed. While he scrutinized her face, she felt increasingly uncomfortable. Despite her words to Grace, highwaymen were not always patricians down on their luck. Furthermore, they had been known to force their unwanted attentions on their victims.
    â€œYour gown is expensive,” he finally said, lowering his pistol, “but your jewelry is of the most indifferent quality.”
    The highwayman seemed to be weakening, thought Elizabeth. However, the brute with the head wound was now stirring, and she feared his volatile reaction. If she wanted to escape with her money, she must act decisively. Perhaps the dark-haired highwayman might be susceptible to a little feminine charm.
    â€œI swear I’m just an impoverished spinster,” she said, shifting her cloak to expose more of her bosom. “The most expensive thing I own is this bronze, a gift.” She displayed it, slightly raised. “I have nothing else.”
    Pocketing his pistol, he laughed. “Since ’tis impossible for me to believe that someone as lovely as you could utter a falsehood, I must accept your word. I see no point in further distressing you, so we shall just agree that a mistake has been made and you can be on your way.”
    The wounded highwayman jerked his bloody head up, then struggled to his knees. “Are ye mad? That strumpetin’ whore tried t’ kill me. She’s hidin’ somethin’, a bit full o’ jewelry, or lord knows what. And if I’ve ever seen anyone actin’ peery, ’tis that one.” He nodded toward Grace, who was bouncing from leg to leg and twisting her handkerchief in her hands. “You! Tell me! What’s your mistress hidin’?”
    â€œNothing,” Elizabeth cried.
    â€œNothing,” Grace parroted, her voice weak. Like a human pendulum, her face moved back and forth between the coach and the highwayman.
    â€œGo get it,” the wounded brute barked. “I’ll not shoot ye in the back. Move, lass!”
    â€œNo!” As Elizabeth stepped forward, Grace screeched and scrambled inside the coach.
    â€œStay where ye’re at, ye double-poxed, long-arsed bitch!” The injured highwayman groped for his pistol. “Don’t come anywhere within strikin’ distance.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œDon’t argue,” he growled, waving his weapon none too steadily in her direction.
    â€œCousin, take care,” said the dark-haired highwayman. “Your pistol might go off by mistake.” Dismounting, he stepped in front of Elizabeth.
    Grace descended from the coach. Eyes feral, she stumbled—and dropped Elizabeth’s book. Apparently deciding the wounded giant’s pistol was less frightening than her mistress’s wrathful expression, she scurried over to the coachman and guard, whose hands were still raised.
    Despairingly, Elizabeth watched the giant retrieve the sheaf of bills from her book.
    â€œLord a’mighty,” he said. “Grunting cheat! Not bad for a bloody poor spinster.”
    â€œIf you steal that, you’ll be robbing me of my independence and all my hopes for the future.” Elizabeth’s eyes brimmed over with tears, which were only partially forced.
    â€œWhy not allow her to keep it?” the dark-haired highwayman said.
    His partner shook his head, as if to clear it. “Has that crack on me head affected me ears, or have ye gone daft? Me sawbones’s bills alone will run me hundreds o’ pounds.”
    â€œYour reputation would be assured by such a chivalrous act,” Elizabeth pleaded, turning toward her ally. “You would both become immediate legends, like the Gentleman Giant and his