Highwayman Lover

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Those bloody rot bastards!” Lewis exclaimed. “I figure they have us dead to rights on the robbery charges, but framing us for murder? Now that I find offensive!”

  Charlotte, Lewis, and Will stood together in the parlor at Theydon Hall. She had arrived less than ten minutes earlier, breathless and nearly frantic, and the two cousins had listened in stunned surprise to her revelations.

  “We have to leave,” Will said, looking at Lewis grimly. “It is already twenty past nine. If we bypass the highways and ride straight through the forest, we can at least reach Reilly before Lord Epping passes north at ten.”

  Lewis nodded. The two of them had been preparing even as they spoke; as soon as Charlotte had relayed to them all that had come to pass, they had set about shrugging on their great coats and shoving their feet into their boots. Now they were each loading a pair of pistols.

  “I am going with you,” Charlotte said.

  Will turned to her, his eyes widening. “No, you are not,” he said.

  Charlotte frowned at him, lifting her chin. “I most certainly am,” she replied. “If James and Cheadle have conspired with Camden and Julian, that makes four of them to contend with, and all of them likely armed. You need me. I know how to handle a pistol.”

  “She did damn near shoot my head off during the robbery,” Lewis said pointedly, making Will frown.

  “Absolutely not,” he said. “James Houghton is a coward. He has hired Cheadle to tend to the messy details. He is probably tucked safely away at Roding Castle, keeping company with his mother and sister and securing an alibi for himself should suspicions ever swing his way. That means there will only be three of them— Cheadle, Stockley, and Iden—and three of us to stop them.”

  Charlotte frowned, closing her hands into fists. “I am going with you, Will,” she said again, and the corner of Will’s mouth lifted wryly. He stepped toward her, pressing his palm against her cheek. Before she could shrug him off or duck away, he leaned toward her, kissing her deeply, muffling any further protest against his mouth.

  “No,” he whispered as he drew away. “You are not.”

  “You cannot keep me from it,” she said, stepping back from his hand. “I am as much a part of this as any of you. I am the one who bloody figured it out. I will be damned if I am just going to stand quietly and idly aside because I am a woman, and you think I have no—”

  “I have no problem with you being a woman,” he said. “I rather fancy that about you, in fact.”

  “Then do not dare presume to dictate to me what I can and cannot do on the arbitrary basis that you consider it in my best interests,” she snapped. “I am fully aware of my best interests. I—”

  “Please, Charlotte,” he whispered, and she fell silent. He looked at her, his dark eyes filled with implore. “Please.”

  “Are we agreed, then?” Lewis asked, clapping them both on the shoulders.

  Charlotte held Will’s gaze, her brows furrowing as her heart yielded; she could not stand against his eyes, the gentle pleading she saw there. She was helpless against him. “Damn it,” she muttered.

  “Splendid!” Lewis declared. “Let us ride, Will.

  Reilly is likely to get himself shot if we wait much longer.”