“I do.”
A hint of amusement entered the dark eyes, but with a sweep of his hand he led Hawksley toward the nearby trees.
“What is it?”
“There is nothing more to be gained here.” Hawksley shoved his fingers through the long strands of his hair. He had not slept in nearly two days and he abruptly realized he was weary to the very bone. “I need to return to London.”
Santos considered his words a moment. “What of the woman?”
Well, that was the question, was it not, he ruefully conceded.
When he had first planned his brilliant kidnapping scheme, it had been with the certainty that the woman in the carriage was either a conspirator to murder or at the very least a hardened tart who made a living in blackmailing others.
Why else would she be involved with a gentleman such as Lord Doulton?
Now he discovered himself at a distinct loss.
“I am not yet entirely certain.” He sucked in a deep breath. “After the past few hours, she is no doubt anxious to be returned to the comfort of her home.”
“That notion does not appeal to you?”
Appeal to him? Hawksley swallowed a self-derisive laugh. If he were perfectly honest, he would admit that it was a notion he refused to even contemplate.
Why? Well, he was intelligent enough to come up with a dozen different reasons without examining any of them too closely.
“Not when I still do not know why Lord Doulton wishes her dead.” He furrowed his brow. “It may be he would be content to simply keep her out of London. On the other hand, there is nothing to keep him from sending Jimmy or another ruffian to her village to do away with her.”
“There is that,” Santos murmured.
“Beside which, she must have something that threatens Lord Doulton even if she does not know what it is. I mean to find what that something is.”
The dark eyes slowly narrowed. “You intend to take her to London?”
Hawksley shrugged. “I do not think I have a choice.”
The smuggler regarded him with an enigmatic expression for a long moment. “You could place her in my hands. I have many places to keep her hidden while you conduct your investigation.”
“No.” The refusal came swift and fierce.
Not surprisingly, Santos lifted his brows at the vehement refusal. “Why?”
“I desire to keep her with me.”
“You do not trust me?” Santos demanded with a hint of amusement.
“With a beautiful woman?” Hawksley gave a humorless laugh. “Only a fool would trust you. But it is more than that.” Shifting, Hawksley glanced toward the woman still dabbing at her skirts. In the moonlight she appeared even more ethereal. So tiny and fragile it was difficult to believe she was more than a creature of moon and mist. Thankfully, he was well aware her appearance was deceiving. Beyond her staunch courage, she possessed a near-brilliant ability to view the world about her with perfect logic. A talent that he could not deny was precisely what he was in need of at the moment. “As much as I hate to admit it, I am at a standstill in searching for Fredrick’s killer, and Miss Dawson possesses a most remarkable intelligence. I sense she might be of more assistance than I first hoped.”
Santos laughed softly at his words. “And you desire to bed her?”
Hawksley stiffened in annoyance before a rueful smile curved his lips. Only an utter idiot would mistake the manner with which he watched Miss Dawson. And Santos could never be taken for an idiot.
“Of course I desire to bed her. She is extraordinarily beautiful.” He offered a grimace. “Unfortunately, she is also a proper lady. I do not trifle with virgins.”
Their gazes met, each man judging the other, before Santos gave a slow nod of his head.
“She will be in danger in London.”
“I will protect her. Indeed, she will be safer with me than she would be if I simply cast her to her own devices. I am not quite certain how she has managed to survive for so long.”
“Your mind is set?”
“Yes.”
Santos gave a slow nod. “What do you desire from me?”
Hawksley considered for a moment. He knew without doubt he had only to say the word for this man to rid the cottage of every ruffian within. Santos was even more a ruthless bastard than Hawksley himself.
But common sense warned that the sudden death of the highwaymen, along with the disappearance of Miss Dawson, would alert Lord Doulton that his devious plot had been uncovered. He would become more vigilant than ever, and any hope of luring him into revealing his sins would be lost.
Far better for him to presume that Miss Dawson had innocently slipped through the ambush and leave it at that.
“If it is possible I would like to you to distract Jimmy,” he at last requested.
“Lay a false trail?”
“Precisely.”
Santos slowly smiled. “Actually, I can do better than that.”
Hawksley fully approved of that devious smile. It meant that his friend was considering something wickedly brilliant.
“What do you intend to do?”
Santos turned back toward the cottage. “I think I can convince the fools that Miss Dawson has met an untimely accident. Hired carriages are forever overturning; in truth, they are little better than a death trap. It will keep Lord Doulton from continuing his search for her and perhaps lull him into a false sense of comfort. In my experience, gentlemen who are overconfident tend to make mistakes.”
Hawksley gave a short laugh as he reached out to clap his companion on the back. “I am in your debt, my friend.”
Santos gave a lift of his brows as he swiveled to deliberately study the lovely angel now regarding them with a hint of impatience.
“Hmm. I shall think of some means of payment,” he murmured.
Hawksley shifted until he was nose to nose with his companion. “Not for all the gold in England.”
Santos gave a quick laugh before stepping back and offering a fluid bow. “Take care.”
He moved toward his waiting mount, but Hawksley had already turned to study the thick shadows about him. He had heard his servants approach several moments ago. They would be silently awaiting him to signal his intent.
“Dillon, bring Brutus,” he commanded as his gaze caught the square form standing beside a large bush.
“Aye.”
With a renewed burst of energy, Hawksley crossed back to join Miss Dawson. Allowing his gaze to sweep over her countenance, he noticed her expression was set in determinedly calm lines, but not even this formidable female was capable of disguising the weariness that darkened her eyes or the brittle tension that shimmered about her slender form.
Hawksley was forced to stifle a pang of regret. She should be nicely tucked in her cottage, far away from ruthless men such as Lord Doulton.
And himself.
The Miss Dawsons of the world were meant to be protected from evil, not hoisted into a cesspit of murder and treachery.
Unfortunately, he could think of no means to return her to her innocent country existence. Not until he managed to rid London of Lord Doulton.
With her determined insistence to appear unshakable, she briskly tucked her handkerchief back into the sleeve of her gown.
“What are we to do now?” she demanded.
Hawksley carefully hid his smile. If nothing else, he had discovered her temper could be remarkably prickly when she felt she was being patronized.
“We are off to London.”
“Oh.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “We are not taking a carriage, are we?”