They slowed as the plodding team approached a curve, then oddly she felt them being pulled to an abrupt halt.
Clara frowned. There was no toll gate along this road that she was aware of. And certainly there was no traffic to impede their progress.
Had something gone wrong with the carriage? They had hit enough bumps to rattle any number of vital things loose.
Not one to sit about and await problems to be smoothed away, Clara reached up to push open the hatch in the top of the carriage.
“Driver, why have we stopped?” she demanded.
There was a muffled curse from above. “Hold, miss.”
Clara’s frown deepened. “What is happening?”
“Trouble.”
Not at all satisfied with the vague response, Clara reached out to push open the door. If the driver had halted to have another drink from his flask, she would have his hide. Her hand, however, found nothing but empty air as the door was wrenched open without warning.
Nearly tumbling off her seat, Clara was forced to steady herself before she could glance up to regard the large form standing in the opening.
When she did her heart momentarily halted.
Even with his tall form cloaked in a caped driving coat and a hat covering his hair, there was no doubting the stranger was very large, and very, very male.
Precisely the sort of ruffian a woman did not desire to encounter on a lonely stretch of road.
Her mouth went dry and her blood rushed, but she refused to give in to panic. That would surely accomplish nothing. Instead she sternly forced herself to view the man with the logic she had learned from her father.
Breathing deeply, she first studied the coat that was frayed but clearly of good quality. Good enough quality to boast gold buttons and an exquisite tailoring that fit the muscular form to perfection. Not the sort of thing one would expect a highwayman to possess.
Her gaze lifted higher, taking note of the dashing diamond earring and then the hard-edged features of his countenance. He was handsome, she easily decided. By far the most handsome man she had ever encountered. But there was a grimness in his expression that halted him just short of beautiful.
At last she forced herself to meet his glittering gaze.
Her heart once again halted, only on this occasion she could not blame it on fear.
Sweet heavens, she had never seen such astonishing eyes. The blue was as rich as the finest velvet and rimmed in black, while the startling long lashes framed them with artistic perfection.
They were the sort of eyes that women would kill for, but there was nothing effeminate about them. Instead they shimmered with a cold intelligence that sent a small chill down her spine.
Clara gave a vague shake of her head at her ridiculous reaction.
If her inspection had told her nothing else, she did know for a certainty that this man was no mere highwayman.
From the top of his beaver hat to the tips of his polished Hessians, he spoke of noble breeding.
No doubt a bored aristocrat out on a lark, she told herself with a disgusted sigh. She had heard that many gentlemen who considered themselves Tulips enjoyed daring one another to the most outrageous antics. Including holding up carriages and demanding some sort of token for proof of their foolish courage.
Waiting for him to finish his survey of her slender form, Clara folded her hands neatly in her lap.
“Sir, may I inquire what this is about?”
“Get out of the carriage.”
Clara blinked. Not so much at the soft purr of his voice, although it was deliciously compelling, but more at his astonishing demand.
It was one thing to pinch a fan or even a kiss. It was quite another to haul her off to prove his daring.
“Get out of the carriage? Why should I?”
A raven brow flicked upward. “For the simple reason that I told you to do so.”
Clara decided his voice was not so nice after all. “I did hear you. Despite my advanced years, I am not deaf.”
He paused, as if caught off guard by her response. Not surprising. Clara had learned long ago that she tended to catch others off guard.
Not in a good way.
But in an aggravating, longing to gag her sort of way.
“If you heard me, then why are you still sitting there?” he growled.
“I am not about to be ordered about by a perfect stranger.”
His eyes narrowed and he slowly reached into the pocket of his coat to withdraw a pistol. With an ease that was not at all reassuring, he pointed it at her heart.
“Perhaps this will convince you?”
No doubt it should have, but Clara was busy noticing that the pistol was much like the rest of him. Sleek, lethal, and very expensive.
Just the sort of thing a dandy on a childish lark would carry.
“That is a very fine dueling pistol.” She leaned forward to inspect the detailed workmanship. “I notice it even possesses ivory inlay. No doubt you had it crafted at Manton’s?”
The faux highwayman gave a muffled cough. “Bloody hell, have you been drinking?”
“Of course not . . . Oh, that is not entirely true.” She gave an unconscious grimace. “I did have a small sherry at the posting inn. I possess a very sturdy constitution, but I have discovered that it does not care for long journeys. My stomach becomes very queasy.”
“I . . . see.” The eyes held a growing hint of bemusement. As if the man was not quite certain what to make of her. “You are not about to sick up, are you?”
Clara gave the matter serious contemplation before offering a shake of her head.
“No, I do not believe so. Not at the moment, in any event.”
“I cannot express the depth of my relief.” He took a step back. “Now, I am in something of a hurry, so I must insist that you step out of the carriage.”
“You still have not explained who you are or why you wish me to leave this carriage.”
“And I have no intention of doing so.” An edge had entered that honey voice as he gave a wave of the gun. “Get out or I will be forced to use this.”
Clara leaned farther back in her seat. She was not opposed to this man having a bit of fun, but she was tired of this dismal journey and not at all in the mood to play. Especially not if he wished to display her to his cronies like some sort of trophy.
“I do not believe you will pull the trigger.”
The slender fingers tightened on the pistol.
“What?”
“Well, if you truly wanted me dead you would have shot the moment you opened the door. I cannot imagine a cold-blooded murderer seeking to indulge in conversation. Which leads me to presume that you desire to keep me alive.”
“A desire that is waning with every passing moment,” he muttered.
A wry smile touched Clara’s lips. “Not surprising. I tend to have that effect on most people.”
Again there was that startled pause. “You are a most . . . unusual young woman.”
She flicked a pointed glance over his elegant attire. “And you are a most unusual highwayman.”
“One who does not possess time to wrangle with you. Forgive me, but you leave me no choice.”
“What do—” Clara’s words ended in a startled shriek as the stranger reached into the carriage and wrapped an arm about her waist. With surprising ease she discovered herself being hauled from the carriage and slung over the man’s shoulder. “Sir.”
He paid no heed to her protest, not even when she beat her fists upon the broad width of his back. Instead he calmly moved to a massive black stallion and smoothly vaulted into the saddle.
Real panic flared through Clara. Not so much at being kidnapped, since she still did not believe this man intended to harm her, but at the thought of riding over the man’s shoulder. Sweet heavens, she was guaranteed to be violently ill.