The Highwayman And The Judge's Wife
Kit robs the wrong coach. The Hanging Judge is in town, and his beautiful wife Catherine needs a bold man to save her from her past – is Kit just a pawn in her game, or can she admit the truth to herself, and to Kit, in time to save their affair? This 16,000 word romance novella contains some adult-only graphic sex. More
Kit robs the wrong coach. The Hanging Judge is in town, and his beautiful wife Catherine needs a bold man to save her from her past – is Kit just a pawn in her game, or can she admit the truth to herself, and to Kit, in time to save their affair? This 16,000 word romance novella contains some adult-only graphic sex.
She turned back to the room of people, taking a step as she did so without looking where she was going, and cannoned straight into the broad chest of a man who was walking towards her.
"I do apologise – forgive me!" Catherine leapt back, so that her back was against the wall, and she looked up anxiously at the masked man. He was in cream breeches, long black leather boots, and a brilliant blue velvet jacket with long sweeping tails. His mask was black. It wasn't usual ballroom attire, but of course, this was no usual ball.
"Forgive you? There is only one way I could possibly forgive you," he said in a low voice. "A dance, madam, if you would."
Catherine's heart tumbled. He sounded so exactly like the highwayman from the previous day. It was unlikely. Perhaps he had a brother, or a cousin who was very like him? Nevertheless, she accepted, putting up her hands for him to guide her out onto the dance floor.
As soon as they began to dance, she knew without doubt that it was Kit Fletcher. She smiled and let him wrap his arm around her waist and lead her through the moves. She remembered his body from before; it was almost indecent how familiar he had already become to her. Back and forth they swept, his coat tails billowing like her skirts in a spiral of dark and light blue. She wasn't aware of anyone else in the room. The orchestra had melted away and become pure music, and the floor was a cloud upon which they danced like angels. This man turned her veins into liquid gold.
He put his mouth close to her ear, and said, "What was in the box?"
She kept her rhythm but his question made her heart hammer. It was Kit! But why no greeting, no platitudes, no pleasant small talk? Was he really just after money, like all criminals?
In which case, why did he forgo it yesterday?
Her mind whirled. She could play it dumb, and pretend he had the wrong person. But she knew he wouldn't believe her.
He pressed her for an answer, putting his mouth so close that his lips brushed her earlobe. "What was in the box, pretty lady?"
Catherine made a decision. "Letters of authority," she said. "And things… personal to me. No, useful to me. About the Judge. That could be useful to you, too."
She felt Kit's fingers clench briefly in the small of her back. He wasn't dancing as smoothly now. He was tense.
"And why would I believe you?"
There was a suppressed anger in his voice. She looked puzzled, but then remembered he couldn't see her face or her expression. "Why would you not believe me?" she countered.
"Because you sent the militia after me."