Kate Moore Read Online Free Page A

“you must swear not to make any attempts to escape before we reach Highcliffe.”
    Margaret said nothing. She had determined on no safe means of escape, yet he seemed to anticipate her every thought.
    “Swear it,” he insisted. “I mean to give Phantom his head, and it would likely cost you your pretty neck to slip from him along the road.”
    “I swear,” she said with grudging acquiescence.
    “Not good enough, my girl.”
    Margaret remained stubbornly silent. The horse shifted restlessly beneath them, and the movement rocked Margaret’s body against the thief’s from knee to shoulder. The words she had heard earlier in the wood came back to puzzle her. He hasn’t touched a woman in two years . He certainly had touched her.
    “I swear to make no attempt to escape before Highcliffe.”
    “Good,” he said. He released his hold on her ribs, and she felt him stretch and twist behind her. In a moment he had draped his jacket about her shoulders, the blue superfine warm and softer than she thought a man’s garment would be, the papers in the inner pocket heavy against her arm.
    “It is not me you are taking. It is these papers. Could you not leave me behind?”
    “You underestimate yourself, Meg. It gives me no pleasure at all to carry off the earl’s papers.”
    Margaret made no reply. It was plain he meant to offer her flattery, not reason.
    “Slip your arms into the sleeves,” he commanded. When she complied, he tightened his hold on her waist once more. With less impatience he continued, “In Highcliffe there is a kind soul who will keep you for the night and restore you to your family in the morning.” He pressed his knees lightly against the horse’s sides, and, thus encouraged, Phantom broke into an easy canter.
    Margaret knew at once that her promise not to escape was superfluous. She could not escape now. The rider at her back urged and checked, encouraged and steadied the animal so that they seemed to fly along, man and stallion apparently relishing the risks they were taking. In the movement of the man’s thigh against her own, in the steady arms about her, and in the voice at her ear, Margaret felt every message of rider to horse, and always Phantom responded. They passed through startling alterations of light and shadow along the road, crossed glittering creeks, and flew by oddly contorted black shapes which, Margaret believed, must be gorse bushes by day.
    Though she was insensible of anything so ordinary and rational as thought, Margaret felt she knew the stranger’s mind as she had when she first looked into his eyes. From his very proximity she seemed to catch his thoughts, his urgency and intensity, his reckless courage. Every feeling of the sort was absurd, for how could she have the least idea of his mind when they had not exchanged a word for miles? Yet her body could not help but move with his in the impatient, drumming rhythm of the canter.
    When at last they left the road for the merest lane, she was embarrassed to discover how tightly she was pressed against him and would have pulled forward at once, but his arm held her. He halted Phantom and dismounted.
    “Miss Somerley,” he said, holding up his arms to her. She hesitated only long, enough to think herself foolish, for she had already allowed greater intimacies between them. Again she felt the strength in his arms and shoulders. He took her by the hand and began walking at once. It was this unwavering advance of his, rather than their actual speed, that gave Margaret a sense of his haste.
    The lane was nearly overgrown with trees and tangled vines so that the moonlight scarcely penetrated, but a turn or two brought a light in view and a fenced garden before a snug cottage. A path to their right led to a modest stable toward which Phantom moved eagerly, showing all the impatience of a horse who has done well and knows he deserves the rewards and comforts of the stall. The thief lifted the latch, allowing the heavy door to swing