Pale Moon Rider Read Online Free Page B

against the seat and closed her eyes.
    After four failed attempts to lure the elusive Captain Starlight into the open, she had begun to think he truly was a phantom, a figment of someone’s obsessed imagination. On each occasion, Finn had visited the surrounding inns and taverns ahead of time and left discreet hints that someone rich and important would be travelling the Chester turnpike that night. Each time they had set out, Renée’s nerves had been stretched taut with fear and apprehension, not knowing what to expect. After all, there were no guarantees that the brigand who stopped them would be the right brigand. Or even if he was, that she would be able to go through with her plan.
    It had only been Finn’s staunch presence by her side that had kept her from fainting dead away when she had seen the first rogue. He had sounded like a thief should sound, with an accent as impossibly coarse as English wool. Renée’s mother had been English by birth and had insisted her daughter become proficient in the language of her homeland, but the tutors in Paris had enunciated every word clearly and meticulously, using only proper, upper-crust inflections Renée could expect to hear in the finest parlors and ballrooms of English society.
    She imagined that the only time such a vulgar brigand could have spent in any parlor or ballroom was if he had robbed the inhabitants. She had all but resigned herself to yet another failure when the figure of the second highwayman had emerged from the darkness and mist. Her heart had vaulted clear up into her throat, and the sight of him—all black shadows, black clothing, black beast—had very nearly caused her knees to buckle with fright. She had known who he was without having to ask for confirmation of his identity as the phantom Captain Starlight.
    Yet it was no phantom who had led her to a canny vantage point above the mist, and no phantom who had listened with amused curiosity to her proposal. He had been careful to keep his back against the moonlight so that what little of his face was exposed was kept constantly in shadow. Only once had she caught the faintest impression of a bold, straight nose and dark eyebrows, an impression that could fit a thousand men without betraying a clue to their identities.
    He had kept his voice deliberately low as well, revealing nothing beyond its deep and mellow resonance. His words bore no distinctive accent—though she would hardly be the one to admit to any expertise in that regard—nor had he identified himself in any other way. He seemed taller than the average man, but that could have been credited to the combined effect of the standing collar and tricorn. Even the greatcoat he wore had disguised his frame insofar as she could not say if he was broad or lean, muscled or soft.
    Muscled, she decided. And lean, like the body of a jungle cat she had seen once in the zoo at Versailles . Everything about him, in fact, reminded her of some sleek, dangerous beast who kept to the shadows and struck without warning. Finn had related some of the stories he had overheard the servants telling, and it was said le capitaine could shoot the button off a coat at a hundred paces. Once, when he had been challenged by a master swordsman, he had left the hapless duelist gasping on his knees for mercy. He was cautious, deliberate, vigilant, and perceptive. He appeared and disappeared without so much as a swirl of mist to mark his presence, and sometimes—if the stories were to be believed—on nights when the moon was very high and bright, he could be seen galloping along the crest of a distant hill, laughing at the ineptitude of the soldiers he had left far behind.
    A shiver sent her nestling deeper into the corner of the coach, and she realized she had not paid heed to any passing landmarks. Careful not to lose hold of the lap robe, she reached up and tapped on the roof, and almost at once, a panel in the rear of the driver’s box slid