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

Quiet Companion.”
    The wounded highwayman snorted while the second affixed a rope to the guard and coachman’s wrists, binding them together. Grace thrust out her hands, but the dark-haired highwayman shook his head.
    Elizabeth rushed on. “I’m a sister of the quill, an authoress. Perhaps I could even compose a tale about you, forever immortalizing you in print, like Tom Jones. Wouldn’t that mean more than mere money?”
    â€œI wouldn’t mind being immortalized,” the dark-haired highwayman said. “It seems a fair trade, cousin.”
    â€œWhat in God’s name has come over ye, ye bloody flat? Ye think to return a bloody fortune so that this toad’s harlot can fill some bloody reader with fancy lies about ye? I say we keep every damned shillin’!”
    â€œI have brilliant powers of observation,” said Elizabeth, losing her temper. “I shall report everything I’ve seen to the local justice of the peace. He’ll track you down and you’ll hang from the nearest gallows.”
    The injured highwayman leveled his pistol at her heart. “Then maybe I should save meself a lot o’ trouble by poppin’ ye right now.”
    Still cowering near the guards, Grace wailed. “They’ll slit our throats and open our stomachs and fill them with stones, then throw our bodies into the stream. Oh, we’ll die, Mistress, and ’tis all yer fault.”
    â€œEnough,” said the second highwayman. “If you must take the money, take it, but there’s no sense in threatening anyone.” As he returned to his horse, Elizabeth saw that he walked with a slight limp.
    â€œDamn my soul,” she whispered, dropping the statue.
    Why hadn’t she figured it out immediately? His broad shoulders, stalwart chest, lean hips and muscular thighs. His hair, the shape of his eyes. John Randolph was a highwayman!
    She turned her attention to the wounded highwayman, now wobbling toward his mount. She knew exactly who this pair was: the Gentleman Giant and his Quiet Companion. Most likely they had planned to rob the Beresfords, then something had gone amiss. Whereupon John, remembering what she had said about the Dales’ bumbling justice of the peace, had retreated north.
    The Gentleman Giant leaned across his horse until his balance steadied. Easing himself up into the saddle, he groaned. “If I’m not dead now,” he mumbled, “I should live forever.”
    John had also remounted. Elizabeth figured he knew who she was and thought to spare her. Which seemed commendable enough, except they still planned to leave with her two hundred pounds.
    â€œSir,” she said, taking a step toward John.
    â€œYes, m’lady?”
    Placing her hand on his thigh, above his glossy brown boots, she gazed up into his eyes. “I have long imagined someone like you in my novels.”
    He stared down at her for a long moment. Then, moving his mask away from his mouth, he cradled her chin between his palms, lowered his head, and kissed her hard upon the lips.
    The Giant’s raucous cheers and Grace’s renewed wails overlapped his words.
    â€œI’ll return your money, Bess,” he said softly, “and that’s a promise.”
    â€œWhen?” she asked, ignoring the sensations that coursed through her body. She felt as if she had just swallowed a bolt of hot lightning.
    â€œIn my own time.”

Six
    Why should I believe him? Why should I trust him?
    John trusted her, thought Elizabeth. She knew his name and had seen him all too clearly during Beresford’s drum. He could have shot her to protect his identity.
    But she had a feeling John wouldn’t kill a woman, no matter what the circumstances, so that justification didn’t hold water.
    How about this? If she gave Lord Stafford a physical description and the inept lawman somehow managed to capture the Gentleman Giant and his Quiet Companion, she’d