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  His jaw tightened. He wouldn't like having to kill any man who dared to make a disparaging comment about her. But he would.

  "It is obvious that, for the most part, our meetings will have to be in the afternoon. There would be too much speculation if you suddenly began to go out at night alone. And then there is the problem of a proper place to rendezvous. We cannot use any public tavern or inn—and you obviously," he said slowly, thinking aloud, "cannot come here very often for an afternoon of trysting. Nor can I march into Highview whenever I like and go upstairs to your bedroom."

  Arabella shut her eyes and muttered, "Merciful heavens, no!"

  "So we will have to find a place that is easily accessible to both of us, but, er, discreet."

  Tony rapidly considered and discarded several locales. "Ah, I have it," he said suddenly, an odd expression in his blue eyes. "The hunting lodge at Greenleigh. I'm sure you remember it."

  "You really are a cruel beast, aren't you?" Arabella said quietly, her eyes dark with pain she could not hide. It had been at Greenleigh's hunting lodge that they had met and he had seduced her. And it had been at that same hunting lodge where she had found him in bed with another woman, and all her dreams had ended.

  He shrugged, his features unreadable. "It is the best place—private, secluded, and very comfortable as I recall. And since you own it, no one will think it strange that you visit the place."

  Not willing to give him the satisfaction of learning that even five years after the fact the lodge still held unbearably painful memories for her, she said stiffly, "Very well. The Greenleigh hunting lodge. And how do you intend to let me know when you..." Her face burned fiery red, and she cleared her throat before she managed to add, "When you decide you, um, need me." She could hardly believe what she had just said. Could hardly believe the entire situation. It seemed incredible, a bad dream, that she was calmly sitting here cold-bloodedly discussing the place and manner in which she would toss away the precepts of a lifetime and become Tony's mistress. Not his wife, she reminded herself painfully, but his mistress.

  Tony reached across the short distance that separated them. Taking her hand in his, he lifted it to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss into the palm. Slipping to his knee in front of her, he said huskily, "It will not be so very bad, Elf. I will treat you gently, and I swear to you that I will allow no shame to come to you."

  "You swore once to love me—how can I believe you now?" Arabella asked unhappily.

  His mouth tightened. "I seem to recall that you did some swearing of your own—you swore that you loved me and also that you would marry me."

  Arabella snatched her hand away from him and sprang to her feet, nearly knocking him over in her agitation. Glaring at him, she snapped, "I think, considering the circumstances at that time, that it was only wise and prudent of me to change my mind. There is hardly anyone who would disagree that finding my fiancé in the arms of his former mistress wasn't reason enough to cry off."

  Tony rose to his feet, his face hard and set. "I was drunk! I don't even know how she came to be there—I had broken off with her months previously."

  Arabella gave an angry titter, her heart squeezing as the vivid memory of Tony lying in bed with that, that creature flashed across her brain. "And that is your excuse for making love to Molly Dobson, and I might add, in the very same bed where I had given you my virginity—that you were drunk?"

  Wearily, Tony replied, "It is the truth."

  Aware that there was nothing to be gained by raking over the bitter coals of the past, Arabella said, "It doesn't matter. It is over and done with, and we should both be grateful that we came to our senses before it was too late."

  Tony's mouth twisted and he turned away. "Yes, of course," he said dryly. "We are to be congratulated on our narrow escape."

  She should have been happy that he was following her lead, but his words left her dissatisfied. She picked up the portfolio where it had fallen on the floor when Tony had kissed her, and muttered, "I must be leaving. It will be dark soon."

  Tony glanced over his shoulder at her. "I suppose my offer of escort would be thrown back in my face?"

  "How clever of you to guess," Arabella returned sweetly, making a halfhearted attempt to straighten her straw hat.

  Walking over to her, Tony undid the green-satin ribbon from beneath her chin and, arranging the wide-brimmed hat on her head to his satisfaction, deftly retied the ribbon into a saucy bow. "There," he said with a lopsided smile, "you look presentable again."

  They were standing only inches apart, their eyes locked on each other. Unhappily, Arabella searched his features, wishing that he did not still hold a great deal of fascination for her. She should loathe him, yet she knew she would be lying to herself if she said that she did.

  Prompted, perhaps, by the memory of that magical time when she had believed that he loved her, that all the gossip and stories about him were a gross exaggeration, she asked in a little voice, "Are you really going to force me to become your mistress?"

  Tony gently tipped up her chin. "I would rather not have to use force, but since you leave me no other way, yes, I am," he said softly. "I would prefer that you come to me willingly, but since that occurrence is highly unlikely... There is only one way, sweetheart, that you can have Jeremy's vowels—and you know what it is. The choice is yours."

  Jerking her chin out of his hand, she said bitterly, "There is no choice, and you know it."

  "Well, you could call my hand," he said without thinking.

  Arabella's eyes narrowed. "You mean refuse your infamous offer and wait and see if you carry through on your threat to leave my family homeless?"

  Despite the yawning hole that had suddenly appeared in front of him, Tony nodded. "Do you want to risk it?" he asked carefully, his gaze cool and indifferent. "We can certainly do it that way if you like."

  Arabella shook her head. There was a time she would never have believed him capable of such a cruel act, but that had been before the debacle with Molly Dobson.

  "No. I will become your mistress." She hesitated and glanced at him uneasily. "But before our, um, liaison is begun, I would have you give me some sort of written assurance that at some point in time"—her mouth curved downward—"after, naturally, I have served my sentence as your paramour, that Jeremy's vowels will be given to me."

  It was all Tony could do not to smash a fist into the table. She believed him that base! To force her to become his mistress and then renege on returning the vowels. Stiffly, he said, "Of course. I shall write a letter stating something to the effect that the vowels are yours... after a period of time." He cast her a bitter look. "Since it is well-known that my affairs do not last long, shall we say, six months from today? And of course, there should be a provision, dangerous for me should you decide that six months is too long to suffer my attentions, that if I should die, the vowels are yours. I will give the document to you when we next meet."

  "I would not murder you," Arabella shot back, furious and hurt that he believed her capable of such a dastardly act. "Although it is a wonder that someone hasn't murdered you long before now."

  He bowed, a twisted smile upon his hard mouth. "So. We are agreed. Now we have only to decide when we are to meet at the lodge. Are there any days that are impossible for you?"

  Arabella swallowed. This was really happening. She was going to be Tony's mistress. And they were discussing it with the same cool demeanor as persons merely agreeing to meet for tea! "S-S-Sunday would be difficult," she managed to say. "The family always spends the day together."

  "Very well, we shall not meet on Sundays." He glanced back at her. "Friday. We shall meet this Friday at two o'clock. It will probably be easier if we have no set time and day. On Friday we can decide on the next time. Will that suffice?"

  Her throat tight, Arabella nodded, clutching the portfolio for dear life. Merciful heavens! What was she doing? Was saving the family worth what she had agreed to do? To become Tony's mistress? Had she gone mad? />
  Those questions were still whirling around in her mind when Tony tossed her up into the cart a few minutes later and bid her farewell. Dazedly, she picked up the reins and urged her little mare into a gentle trot. She had agreed to become Tony Daggett's mistress!

  * * *

  Tony watched her drive away and once she had left the circular drive and started down the long, winding trail that led to the main roadway, he turned and bounded quickly up the steps. Inside the house, he snapped to Billingsley, who was hovering nearby,

  "I shall be gone for a while. Expect me back when you see me."

  Not ten minutes later, he was astride a powerful, blaze-faced chestnut stallion jestingly dubbed Sugar. Tony directed his mount into the woods that lay to the east of the stables. There was just one more little task at hand and then...

  * * *

  Nervously Arabella noticed that dusk was encroaching, and she clucked to the mare, gently tapping her with the whip she held in her hand. Obediently, the little black horse, Sable, lengthened her stride.

  Arabella was not more than forty minutes from home, but darkness was falling rapidly. She bit her lip, wishing for the first time that she had brought a servant along with her. She should have done so for propriety's sake alone, never mind that she would be less apprehensive at the prospect of driving in the dark if someone had been with her.

  In the fading light, she glanced at the lamp that hung at one side of the black-leather dash and decided that it would be prudent to light it while she could still see. Pulling her mare to a halt, she wasted precious seconds getting the carriage lamp lit.

  The flickering yellow glow from the candle in the lamp made her feel better, even if its small dancing beam of light did not travel farther than the vicinity of the cart and the horse. Telling herself that she had nothing to fear she once again set the mare into motion.

  Yet tales of Samuel Mason and his gang of cutthroats, or the terrible Harpe brothers and the unspeakable things they did to those unfortunate enough to cross their path, flitted through her mind. Even reminding herself that she was miles from the Natchez Trace where they preyed did not lessen her growing unease.

  Almost immediately there was a loud, terrifying crashing in the underbrush to her right and a horse and rider suddenly plunged onto the road right in front of the cart. Sable shied and reared.

  Frightened, but busy with controlling her startled mare, it was a few seconds before Arabella could consider her own peril. Having gained control of her horse, heart slamming painfully in her chest, she squinted into the darkness.

  The fitful light from the carriage lamp dimly revealed the newcomer; he seemed huge, a scarlet scarf covering the lower half of his face and a black hat pulled across his forehead. He was seated astride a large, dark horse; his mount was positioned sideways across in the road in front of her, blocking her path.

  "Your valuables," barked the man upon the horse. "Give them to me."

  Hardly able to believe that she was being robbed, Arabella stared dumbfoundedly at the man before her. There was just enough light from the carriage lamp for her to see that a long black pistol was leveled at her. He waved the weapon and snapped, "Give me your valuables. Now!"

  Not about to argue with a man holding a pistol aimed at her, Arabella transferred the reins and whip to one hand and with the other reached for her reticule and the portfolio, which was lying on the floor of the cart near her feet. Her fingers had actually touched the portfolio when she remembered, with a spurt of panic, the precious deeds it contained.

  If her heart had already been banging frantically away inside her chest, it now felt as if it had fallen to her toes. She could not give up the deeds! She could not!

  She straightened back up and facing the robber, she said breathlessly, "I have nothing. I am wearing no jewels, and I have no money with me."

  The man swore and snarled, "If you do not wish to have me put a bullet through you, Madame, you will give me your belongings and let me satisfy myself as to their contents."

  "No," Arabella replied stubbornly, her fingers unconsciously tightening on the reins, causing the mare to dance and jib. "Go away and let me be," she said with more confidence than she felt.

  "By God, you're a stubborn baggage! Hand me your belongings. Now!"

  Unexpectedly Sable struck out at the horse in front of her. The bigger horse squealed and wheeled away, startling the robber. His pistol went off. The boom and distinctive smell of black powder exploded through the air.

  Arabella paid the shot no heed—she was too busy fighting to keep Sable from tangling in the traces.

  The other horse was rearing and wheeling in fright, the rider swearing and sawing at the reins. Just as it dawned on Arabella that this was a perfect opportunity to attempt an escape, the rider got his horse under control. Swinging around, he positioned the big horse at the side of Arabella's cart. Staring down at her, he said with an ugly note in his voice. "The next bullet will not be wasted. Give me your belongings, or I shall kill you and take them off your dead body. The choice is yours."

  It was sheer temper rather than reason that prompted her next actions. She'd already been forced to make one earthshaking choice that day, and she was damned if this vile robber was going to force her to make another. Besides, everything she owned in the world was represented by the contents of the portfolio.

  She struck out blindly with the small whip, its lash catching the robber full on the side of the face. He blinked and swore at its vicious bite, and Arabella struck again putting all the force of her own small body behind it; this time her objective was the hand that held the pistol. A yelp came from the robber, and the pistol went spinning.

  "Why you little—you're going to pay for that!" he growled, reaching out for her.

  "Touch the lady," drawled a new voice from behind them, "and I am afraid that it will be the last thing you ever do."

  The robber froze, and Arabella's head whipped around to stare behind her. Peering into the darkness, she could barely make out the white blaze of a horse and the tall form upon it. But she would have known that voice anywhere, and she stammered, "T-T-Tony?"

  Chapter 5

  His heart began to beat again as he realized that Arabella was safe, that he wasn't too late. After one brief, all-encompassing glance over her, Tony bent a cold eye on the would-be robber as he said dryly, "Yes, it is I. I trust you were not expecting anyone else?"

  Despite the gravity of the situation, Arabella squelched a mad urge to giggle. "N-N-No," she choked out, torn between fear and nervous amusement.

  Arabella's features were agitated, her golden brown eyes huge in her white, strained face, but it was obvious to Tony that she had not been harmed. Having satisfied himself that she was safe, Tony turned his full attention on the robber and, bringing his horse alongside the other man's, he reached across, intending to snatch away the face-concealing scarlet scarf. But the robber had other ideas, jerking his head violently away and flinging up his arm as he gave a frightful shout.

  Already spooked, Sable lunged forward and Arabella clutched at the reins, which had been resting in her lap. Tony's stallion, Sugar, snorted and tossed his handsome head, taking a half dozen swift, choppy steps backward. It all happened in a split second, enough time for the robber to dig his heels into the flank of his horse and put several yards between himself and the others.

  Swearing under his breath, Tony fired, but the shot went wild, Sugar's antics spoiling his aim. As the shot echoed through the night, Sugar and the little mare danced uneasily, and Tony and Arabella were as much concerned controlling their animals as about the escaping robber. But the incident was over almost before it began. By the time they had their animals safely in hand, the robber and his horse had disappeared into the forest, leaving Tony and Arabella alone on the road.

  There was silence for a moment, Tony glaring into the darkness where the robber had last been seen. "The Devil! I should have been prepared for some sort of trick."

  "It doesn'
t matter," Arabella said. "We are neither one of us hurt, and he rode away empty-handed."

  Tony nodded and brought Sugar alongside her cart. He asked gruffly, "He did not harm you? You are not hurt in any way?"

  She smiled mistily up at him and shook her head. "No. I was frightened, but that was the worst of it"

  "Then I suggest, before who knows what else befalls us, that we get you safely to Highview. Your friend may have companions."

  More shaken than she cared to admit, Arabella agreed, and a moment later, with Tony riding beside the cart, they began to move down the road at a quick pace. There was a frown between Tony's eyes as he kept a prancing Sugar beside the cart, and after a moment he said, "I know I have been away for several years, but I do not remember that this particular road held much allure for bandits and the like. Does this sort of thing happen often?"

  Arabella shook her head. "No. There are robberies and murders regularly along the Trace, and there is a large, lawless population in the area. Robberies do occur frequently, but most of the roads near Natchez itself are safe. This road is not heavily traveled—mainly those of us who live on it use it. I would not think that it would be a profitable area in which to wait for suitable victims." She frowned. "It was extremely odd."

  Damned odd, he decided as he glanced at her, taking in the cart, the mare, and Arabella's apparel. There was nothing obvious that he could see which would have tempted a robber. Unless the thief had been after something not so obvious? "It certainly was not a very bright thing for him to have done," he said slowly. "Even a dunce would have been able to see that you were unlikely to be carrying anything of value."