The Smithfield Bargain Read Online Free Page A

her pelisse when the carriage lurched forward as Scribner plied the whip to the horses. She wondered if they could possibly escape. The team hooked to the carriage were tired and pulling a heavy load. The highwaymen’s mounts might be fresh and eager for a run, even in the snow.
    The carriage came to a halt so suddenly that Romayne rocked forward. She winced as pain raced up her arms when she stopped herself with her hands against the front of the carriage. She cried, “Bradley, tell him to drive on! Drive on before—”
    A scream died in her throat as the barrel of a gun pushed aside the curtain in the window beside her. A battered face peered into the coach. She could see little beneath the floppy hat the high pad had pulled low to conceal himself. The cackle of triumphant laughter pinned her against the cushions, but her fingers inched toward Bradley’s. When she could not find his hand, she pulled her gaze from the highwayman’s to discover Bradley was raising his hands over his head in a pose of capitulation.
    â€œA right charmin’ lady,” cooed the bridle-cull, leaning through her window. Using the end of his gun to tip back her bonnet’s brim, he laughed again as she cringed away. “A right charmin’ lady. Yer wife, sir?”
    â€œNot yet,” Bradley said through clenched teeth. Romayne could see the strain along his jaw as he struggled not to throw curses into the highwayman’s teeth. She wanted to caution him to hold his temper. One misspoken word and they could be dead.
    â€œThen she must be yer convenient,” continued the man in his broad, Lowlands accent. “Ye both be right convenient fer us tonight. M’boys thought nobody would be out on such a night, but I told them some fat-pated Englishman would dare to come along Duffie’s road. Ye proved me right again.”
    â€œWhat do you want?” Bradley asked.
    â€œCooperation, milord.” He pushed his hat back to reveal a nose that had been broken many times. A scar ran along his left cheek, pulling his lips up into a perpetual smirk. “From ye and yer lady.”
    â€œLeave Lady Romayne alone.”
    â€œLady Romayne, is it? A fancy name for yer dasher, milord.”
    She flinched at the man’s insult. She was no Cyprian, and she had no wish to hear her name on his vulgar lips. How she would delight in telling him so, but she must guard her words as closely as Bradley must guard his temper.
    â€œTake what you wish and begone,” Bradley ordered.
    â€œAye, that we will.”
    Romayne steeled herself for his demands. When the gun was withdrawn and the curtain fell back into place, she breathed a ragged sigh of relief. She strained to hear anything to tell her that they were not alone on the country road. If someone else was riding this way, the highwaymen might play least in sight before the law was called down upon their scraggly heads.
    Her hopes vanished when the door was jerked open. A filthy hand grabbed her arm. Horrified, she cried, “Bradley!”
    â€œCooperate,” he snarled back.
    She stared at him in disbelief. Had Bradley gone queer in his attic? Slapping at the hand, she heard despicable laughter. The black-hearted collector grasped her arm and pulled her off the seat.
    Her cry for help went unanswered as he lifted her from the carriage and placed her at the edge of the light from the lanterns his men held. There were at least a half-dozen highwaymen, each holding a weapon. Several were trained on Scribner, who was raising his hands in surrender as Bradley had.
    Mud oozed over her low shoes, and icy snow scratched her face. She shivered as the wind taunted her with the odor from the highwaymen. They stank of too much horseflesh and too few baths. With her eyes focused on the pistol in her captor’s hand, she whispered Bradley’s name. How she longed for his arms around her to keep her safe from these thieves!
    â€œStep to the