His resolve nearly buckled as the accusation stirred the demons in his soul. He inhaled a calming breath and raised his chin farther. “I will not be lectured by a failed scullery maid. You should return at once to the gutter from which you escaped, before your father misses you in his bed.”
When the rapier’s point pressed again into the hollow of his throat, Henry admitted that he had likely overplayed his hand with his tactical bluster. His strategy to unnerve her with bravado was failing badly. Her trembling hand grew coldly still.
“Despite my utter disdain for you, sir,” she said, “I offer you a choice between life and death.”
“You would not kill me.”
She clenched her jaw and pressed the blade more firmly into his neck. “How can you be so certain?”
“Because, though you ride with thieves, your eyes give you away. There is no violence in them.”
“And you are the expert on violent eyes?”
He grimaced. “Yes. Unfortunately.”
The pressure on his throat lifted as she seemed to waver. He cleared his loosened vocal cords. “You wished to make an offer?”
She pursed her lips in apparent consideration before nodding. “I do. I propose to spare your life. In return, you ride with me to London with the stolen coins and help us avoid any who might pursue, criminal and Redbreast alike.”
“A reasonable offer. I believe…”
“But you must agree to my terms.”
He narrowed his eyes. “And those are?”
“That upon our safe arrival in London, we part ways and pretend we never met.”
The proposal raised bile in Henry’s throat. An agreement with a thief was just the sort of action he had long feared—the first stumble down a slippery slope into the depths of criminality. However, he did not wish to die just yet. “A devil’s deal, for certain. My life in exchange for abdication of my duty and the soiling of my honor.”
She smiled grimly. “I doubt your honor is above soiling, Lord Virtue. Few of the gentry are as pure as that.”
“And you know this from experience?”
“Yes. Unfortunately.”
Henry watched her a moment longer. “What’s your name?”
“You don’t require my name.”
“That is my condition. Or you can just kill me.”
Those dark eyes grew darker still as a storm raged behind them. Her generous lips parted for the space of several breaths before she answered. “Lucy.”
He nodded. “Right, then, Lucy of Shooter’s Hill. I accept your desperate offer—terms and all.”
“Swear by your mother’s name that you will honor all points of our agreement.”
“You do not trust my word?”
“I would sooner trust a pickpocket.”
“Very well,” he said with a lofty sigh. “I swear by my mother’s name.”
She continued to eye him. “Do you even love your mother, Lord Dandy?”
“I never knew my mother.” Deep pain stirred, but he swept it aside. “However, I would walk through Hell’s fire to have known her for even a single day.”
Lucy seemed to consider his frank reply. Her hardened features softened to reveal a comely face that might even prove capable of a warm smile. She sighed and removed the rapier from his throat. In a single abrupt movement, he collected his saber, bounded to his feet, and leveled it at her chest. The immediate hurt in Lucy’s eyes unnerved him.
“But…you promised,” she said woefully.
She was right, of course. And breaking a vow was just another step on the downward path of the fallen. After the space of a few heartbeats, he lowered his saber and sheathed it. “I did promise. Now, let’s get on with this before I regret that fact more than I already do. Shall I help you mount your horse, or does Her Highness wish a gold carriage?”
“I require no such help, thank you. Inform me if you require assistance mounting yours.”
She seized the leader of the packhorse and swung into her saddle with a fluid motion that startled Henry. “Let us go, then, Robin Redbreast.”
She nudged her horse ahead into the trees without glancing back, pulling the packhorse behind. Henry rode in silence for some time, trailing her through dense woods.
“Do you know where you are going?” he finally asked.
“Yes. A southwesterly course will lead us back to the Dover highway and away from where the others planned to meet.”
“You fear your gang will not understand your actions, then?”
She tucked her chin. “Very much so.”
Her fear was all too familiar. His every action as a child had been second-guessed by his judgmental brother. “And are you certain our trajectory is southwesterly?”
“Of course, Sir Skeptic. Why? Are you lost?”
“Physically, yes,” he replied. “But morally, no.”
She cast a glare at him over one shoulder, clearly peeved. Over the ensuing minutes, Henry’s eyes returned frequently to the packhorse laden with bags containing ten thousand gold coins, and his low regard for her sank further. Finally, he could bite his tongue no longer.
“It seems the proverb is untrue.”
She glanced back at him. “Which proverb is that?”
“The one that says there is honor among thieves. But here you are stealing from your fellows.”
“I am no thief,” she shot back. “But then perhaps you view anyone not of the haute ton as a thief.”
He chuckled dryly. “I did not call you a thief. However, I did imply that you were worse than one, stealing for yourself what was obtained by all.”
She halted her horse and glared at him again, her dark eyes firing arrows into his soul. “You know nothing of me. Nothing whatsoever. The coins are not for me.”
“For whom, then? Your friends? Your family? Will you shower the poor with riches as a modern-day Robin Hood?”
She continued to attack him with those lively eyes, apparently incredulous at his words. “The coins are for you to return to Bow Street with no mention of me.”
Her simple reply struck him like a fist. His regret flared until she offered another caveat. “I request only one consideration.”
“There it is. Let us hear it.”
“I ask that you share a portion of any reward with me so I may find a living in London.”
Henry shook his head as his appetite for chiding her suddenly diminished. “Your plan suffers from a fatal flaw, Miss…”