Dearest William,

Ah, bandits. They do make things quite difficult for us on the road, yes?

But surely they do have their own people to feed, own homes to protect. Mayhap like us, they too are struggling in a community.

Mourn not on what you lost for they are replaceable. Your life was spared and that is the important thing.

Your friend,

Lady Weis

*****

Wakefield could not believe what was happening. He gaped at Ysabella. "Friends? But they're—"

"Bandits?" Alex asked, voice threatening. "Speak carefully, guv, for ye might hurt our feelings." She looked over at her cousins. "We dinna like gettin' our feelings hurt, right Barto? Ned?"

"Aye!" the cousins answered. "We bandits have honour, see?" Barto said. "An pride," added Ned.

Barto and Ned freed Wakefield from his bounds and walked up to Alex.

"Happy now, cousin?" Ned asked.

Alex nodded and went up to Wakefield. "D'ye feel alright, guv?"

Wakefield's nostrils flared. Embarrassed was not enough a word to explain how he felt. He was tied by bandits and dragged like a common cattle!

"He is, Alex, do not fret," said Ysabella, pulling Wakefield to stand close to her. "Now, you said there's a feast, aye?"

His head snapped down at her. She was trying hard to talk like these people. And she was having fun. He saw it in the glimmer of her eyes.

"'Course, Ysa. Come," Alex said, motioning with her head. She walked toward a large cottage. "My 'Pa's away, see? He would love to see ye again, Ysa."

Ysabella chuckled beside Wakefield as they followed Alex toward the cottage. From another cottage, a young girl was poking her head out of the window, curiously looking at them.

He grabbed Ysabella by the hand to stop her. "Ysabella, I do not think this is—"

She moved her hand so she was clasping his, giving it a squeeze. "It is going to be all right, my lord. They are good people. They are friends." She looked over her shoulder. "But do promise me that you will not speak of this to anyone."

Wakefield hesitated but did not say anything as Barto and Ned walked past them.

"I merely wanted to visit Alex and her family. It has been a long time since, see?" Her eyes flickered with desperation and when he heard her next words, he understood why. "I do not have many friends in Wickhurst, ones like Alex and her cousins. They are different and the kind of different that I like."

With a sigh, Wakefield nodded and her face brightened. She tugged at his hand and let her lead him inside the cottage.

*****

It was indeed a feast.

Alex and her cousins prepared a sumptuous meal for them. Wakefield wondered then where the young lady bandit's mother was but refrained from asking for he was afraid the chit would not take it lightly.

A few other bandits came as they ate and to his surprise, none of them dared to even bother him as he sat in one corner, brooding as Ysabella talked with her friends.

Barto and Ned disappeared for a while and when they returned they were carrying a box of wine. They offered Wakefield a bottle—a bottle!—and laughed when he simply stared at it with wonder.

"This is an expensive wine," he noted, amazed.

"Aye!" said Ned. "An 'twas not easy to get it, right Barto?"

Barto nodded. "We left one rich lord unhappy on the road!" Everyone laughed and took their own bottles to drink for themselves. Apparently, wine glasses were not common in Meriwether.

He watched as Ysabella easily mingled with everyone, talking as though they had known each other all their lives, as though she was not new to this and she belonged here.

Alex left Ysabella talking with a few other female bandits and walked up to him. "Yer not drinkin'?" she inquired.

Wakefield blinked. He did not know why he was feeling scared. The woman was not even doing anything to him. She was smiling, in fact. But the smile bothered him. It spoke of mischief and many other undesirable things.

Stories he heard of bandit attacks came back to him and none of them were good. They ought to forgive him if he could not help but think that despite her ruggedly beautiful face, Alex was naught but a dangerous, wicked bandit in his mind.

For the sake of all that was holy, he had been a victim by one of them. Those bandits from a long time ago might not be from Meriwether, but they were bandits nonetheless.

Alex reached for the bottle of wine in his hand and opened it. She drank straight from its mouth and wiped it with her shirt before handing it back to him. "Now ye know 'tis not poisoned, guv."

With hesitation, and knowing the woman would not leave him alone if he did not drink, he lifted the bottle to his mouth and took a gulp, eyes warily looking at Alex.

Bloody hell it was good!

Alex laughed and to his disappointment, she sat down beside him. The chaise was tattered and obviously too old for both of them, so it was a surprise that it did not give in when she added her weight.

Alex did not say anything. Wakefield drank from the bottle again, eyes on Ysabella.

This was another side of her that he never saw. And he was seeing this Ysabella Everard for who she was because Wickhurst with its fancy gowns and balls was not the place for her. She was alive in places like this, places where she could be free from the eyes of society, places where people cared naught but for her nature.

And as he swallowed more wine, he realized he was amongst those who judged her character and took it as childish when in fact she was more than that.

Ysabella Everard was no child. She was merely as innocent and as free as one.

"Ye must be lucky, guv, to have her affection. She's a rare gem, that she is," Alex spoke beside him. "She and Em are the only gentries that gained me respect," she added. "And Tori, sure."

"Tori?" he asked, surprised. "Levi's wife?"

Alex laughed. "The two of 'em were not married yet when they visited us, no they were not. But glad the bloke took the courage to do so, eh? How is he?"

"You mean Levi?"

"'Course!"

"Quite happily married with a child."

"And the other chit?"

"What other chit?"

"The older sister," she said.

"Margaret?"

"Ah, yes, that sister."

"How do you know of her?"

"Almost made her a victim few years 'go," Alex said with a shrug. Wakefield would never get used to this nonchalant conversation about victimizing people on the road.

"She is also happily married, I gather."

"Ah, good for 'er then." She turned to him. "And ye?"

He blinked. "Me?"

"Ye happy?"

Wakefield swallowed more wine. His eyes wandered back to Ysabella. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before he turned to look at Alex again. "I intend to be."

The bandit's face transformed into a beautiful one when she allowed a wide grin to cross her face. The roughness was gone, replaced by a feminine beauty fitting of a woman. "Do be sure you do, guv!" she said, jumping to her feet. She turned to look down at him. "But ye better be careful, aye? We love Ysa and Emma, see. Not every day we get to meet rich folks like 'em and not rob 'em!"

He frowned.

"Ye do not hurt either of 'em," she explained, voice filled with warning. She motioned her head to where Ysabella was. "As I said, guv, she's a rare gem, that one. Here, she's no gentry. She's no Everard. She's simply Ysa." Wakefield could not help but agree so he nodded. "Glad to talk business wid'ya," Alex said, holding out her hand.

Business?

But he wished not to question the woman's choice of words so he took her hand and she surprised him even further when she shook it with a very firm grip. Bloody tarnation, she was strong!

Without another word spoken, Alex turned and left him alone with his bottle of wine and returned to join Ysabella and the others.

For the rest of the night, Wakefield finished the wine.

*****

He was not foxed, but he was quite certain Ysabella was. Not entirely, but her steps wobbled as they were led by Alex and her cousins back out of the forest of tree rock formations.

"She does not drink spirit and you made her," he snapped at Ned, catching Ysabella when she stumbled out into the cobbled street.

"She is—" Ned started to say, but Ysabella stopped him.

"Fine! I am fine!" Ysabella cried out, whirling away from Wakefield to face Alex. "I do not wish to go home just yet, Alex. I do not want to go back to Wickhurst."

Alex simply laughed, shaking her head. "Ye do, Ysa. Emma is waitin'. And do be sure to give her my love, aye?"

Ysabella nodded, grinning like a fool as she stumbled toward Alex to embrace the woman. Wakefield stood close, ready should she sway and fall.

"See ya, guv!" Barto said, patting his back.

He glared at the bandit, but he was not really angry. He merely did not wish to entertain that thought of having to meet them on the road again.

"Take 'er, guv," said Alex when Ysabella would not let her go. "We'll meet again, me friend," she soothed, pushing Ysabella toward Wakefield.

Ysabella groaned and winced. "My head is bloody aching."

"Because you ought not to have drunk," Wakefield said, glaring at Ned once again.

"She took my bloody wine. I dinna give 'er any!"

"Now, now, do behave like adults," Alex said, stepping between Wakefield and Ned. She looked at him and said, "Do take care of her, guv. See ya 'round, eh?"

He moaned. "Could we not?"

"We promise no rope this time, guv!" Barto said with a smirk. "No ropes."

Wakefield highly doubted that.

Alex gave Ysabella's forehead a kiss and Wakefield saw the glimmer of longing in the bandit's eyes before she turned to run back into the forest. Her cousins gave Wakefield their most wicked grin before they followed their cousin, leaving Wakefield and Ysabella alone.

"I am quite all right," Ysabella sniffed. Wakefield peered down at her. Was she crying?

He sighed. "Let us go back to the tavern," he said, taking her hand.

"Do you know if they keep pies in the kitchen?" she asked.

Wakefield's shoulders began to shake with laughter. "I shall try to find out, little one," he whispered beside her.

They walked, hand in hand, back to the tavern as Ysabella talked more about pies.

*****

Wakefield escorted Ysabella back to her room and found a basin of water to soak a clean towel which he then took to her. She would not take her bed and had insisted the chaise was better.

He began to wipe her face but she turned away. "It is cold!" Her voice was clearer. Perhaps the walk had helped.

"It will make you feel better," he insisted, wiping her face once again.

"Where's my pie?" she asked.

"Later," he whispered, gathering her hair behind her nape to give way for the cold towel. She moaned at the cool feeling and his body reacted in a way that he felt his trouser tighten.

Bloody hell.

"Are you quite feeling all right now?" he asked, clearing his throat.

He soaked the towel once again, squeezed out the water and took her hand in his and he started cleaning it as well. He did not have to, but he could not bloody well go back and wipe her face and neck, could he? Not if he was intending to compromise her anyway.

"I am all right. I already said so. I did not drink that much." Her voice was barely a whisper and Wakefield gulped, afraid to look up and meet her eyes. They were in a bloody bedroom with the bed merely a few paces away.

And she sounded and felt wonderful.

At that moment he wished he could see her once more as his friend's sister. It would make this task a tad easier.

Then leave. She is all right, the voice whispered to him.

But he couldn't. Not now, anyway.

To fill the silence, he focused on her hand and uttered, "You did not elaborate on your talk with my brother earlier.

"Thomas?"

"I do not remember having another brother."

She let out a throaty chuckle and his muscles tightened once more. Bloody tarnation indeed.

"You wish to know why I refused his offer of marriage."

He did not reply. From her answer, he knew she was no longer foxed.

"I did refuse it, see, but something inside me cannot help but wonder if mayhap Thomas was the possibility I never dared take."

His entire body tensed.

His jaw clenched and he paused at the task of cleaning her hand.

She sounded utterly serious that he could not help but interpret her words with a feeling of dread.

He then dared look into her eyes. She was staring at a distance, her eyes quite not in the present. "What do you intend to do about it then?"

"Nothing," she murmured, her lips barely moving.

"Nothing?"

"Yes," she said, snapping away from her thoughts. She met his eyes. "I do not wish to be married to him. But I must admit that Thomas gave me a lesson. I learned that there are other possibilities. Mayhap it is time for me to find them." When he stiffened with horror, she laughed. "Dare not think I was threatening you, my lord. I was simply telling the truth. I ought to be ready when I have to give up on you, see?"

Wakefield found that he did not like the sound of it. Did that mean she would soon drop her foolish advances and focus them on someone else?

He wanted her to clarify her statement, to assure him that he still had time to figure out a way to do this. This was all new to him. Everything was, really.

He did not know where or how, but he knew he was just starting to figure it out. She could not be thinking of this now.

She frowned at him, her lips curved into a small smile. "You are looking at me quite oddly, my lord. What is it?"

For a rake who had bedded women without too much of a challenge, planning on kissing Ysabella Everard seemed like an impossible feat. And God, how he wanted to kiss her. When had this idea even started?

"Would you let me kiss you?" he whispered. At the back of his mind he heard mocking voices and laughter. He was definitely doing this in a manner he ought not to if he were a proper gentleman.

Ysabella snorted. "Kiss me? Surely you must be jesting. You, thinking of kissing me, Ysabella—"

He did not let her finish. It was as though an invisible force had pushed him to lean forward and plant his lips against hers—to prove that he indeed yearned to kiss her.

And the effect was incredibly shocking. It was not the same kiss they shared in the parlour. It was far beyond that. He leaned back an inch to look into her shocked eyes, wondering why the kiss reminded him of something, but his thoughts fled when he saw the same flicker of passion and desire in her eyes.

He dropped the towel, placed his hand behind her nape and pulled her toward him, gently planting his lips against her once again, careful not to surprise her, careful to be careful, really, for his body was starting to take over and it wanted more.

Her lips tasted like wine and a faint taste of something sweet. Something familiar he could not quite name.

When a moan escaped her lips as she opened them, Wakefield was momentarily frozen with wonder.

This was different from anything he had ever experienced. He felt as though he was transported back to the Cinderella ball, but he knew she was not Lady Weis.

The kiss in the Cinderella ball made him imagine things, made him desperate to carve the experience into memory. But this... this kiss was making him remember things...

Ysabella walking up to him in the middle of a ball with a wicked smile on her face; her voice asking for a dance; the sparkle in her eyes while eating a piece of turkey; her promising, devil of a smile when she was pulling him into his carriage to tease him with a kiss; her... everything was a memory of her.

He remembered every detail, yet no longer as a rake running away from a child, but as a man yearning for more of those moments. Moments that were real they were almost tangible.

His mother's words came back to him.

While you waste your time loving an illusion in your head, you are passing up the chance to actually feel something in the flesh...

He understood it now.

Lady Weis was a mirage, a distant picture created by his mind, one without a face and voice, one made up of words and letters. Ysabella Everard was here and he knew it was her. She was the real he wanted—the kind that was almost unbelievable he was afraid to grasp for it might disappear.

He did not know the woman behind the mask.

But he knew Ysabella Everard and he was kissing her and he loved it.

Her mouth welcomed his, tasting his in the same fiery passion. Her hands crept over his shoulder and she pressed closer, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He was kissing Ysabella Everard.

Her, Ysabella Everard.

Wakefield never imagined, not even in the littlest part of his mind, that a kiss with her would be explosive.

It was odd, really, that his mind gave him Ysabella's face as the woman he kissed in the Cinderella ball. Mayhap it was telling him that it was time to accept that Lady Weis was but an illusion of a faceless woman who showed him kindness and friendship, but now he had found someone else that was more than that—someone Lady Weis could never be.

He was not looking for the masked woman in this kiss for now he was proven to be wrong. Lady Weis might have been his first real kiss, but Ysabella Everard was giving him the reasons why she, Ysabella, ought to be the last.

This was what he wanted after all. And he had been bloody foolish to have been running away from it for years.

Suddenly he felt not just losing his breath but his very own soul and he pulled her closer as if she could feed it back to him. His hands came to rest on her waist, yet it was not enough. They bunched her shirt and tugged it free from underneath her breeches, itching for skin, for the feel of her—for more of her.

Her mouth opened against his in a gasp, one that nearly set his control to fly out the window.

Wakefield was at the edge, chest constricting with overwhelming desire and wonder to this new discover as his hands found their way underneath her shirt and touched skin. She was flawless, smooth and all woman.

With a strength he did not know he still possessed, he lifted her up to straddle him, his head tilting back to rest against the back of the chaise as she bent down to keep their lips locked, her hands cupping his cheeks.

His hips buckled underneath hers, wanting bare skin, wanting more. His hungry mouth caught the whimper that escaped her as his hands found her breasts underneath, sending his blood to furiously rush to places—his chest, his groin, everywhere but his mind for he was losing it.

He was losing control and he knew it would not do his chances any good if he'd treat her like one of his past lovers.

For she deserved better.

Tearing his mouth from her, Wakefield bent down to bury his face in her neck, kissing her pounding pulse, knowing full well it mirrored his own, nipping at her skin, wanting to leave a mark, trying to regain control.

His hands kneaded her full breasts, wanting to pull the fabric up and taste her there, trail his tongue lower and lower...

But he stopped. He willed his hands to come down, caress her waist and hips and finally, with enough strength, guided her to raise to her knees, breaking contact form the obvious evidence of his arousal.

With a final groan of unfed desire, Wakefield lifted his head.

Her fingers were clasped around his hair, her eyes closed still. Was she afraid of what she'd see if she opened them?

He silently cursed himself. He had led her to be afraid of him, led her to be cautious around him. She had had enough experience of his reactions toward her to feel apprehensive. She may not show it, but the signs were there.

He pulled her head down for one last kiss before he lifted her off him, coming to his feet, panting heavily for control as he held her firmly for she seemed to have lost her strength as well.

For a moment he wondered if she had always known it would feel this way between them. If she did, then he was the foolish, naïve one.

Stepping closer, he saw that her eyes had opened and they were staring at him with confusion.

He knew of the uncertainties she might feel, of the confusion she must have to this sudden change in him. Yet he could barely speak to explain himself. Where would he start? How?

Wakefield pulled her closer until their lips were brushing, sharing one breath. "Rest well, Ysa," he whispered against her lips. "We shall talk on the morrow."

"But—"

"Later," he assured her, stepping back. He pulled her toward her bed. "We shall have a long talk later. For now, rest."

Ysabella dutifully went to bed and he watched as she made herself comfortable. He could climb in bed with her. He would not touch her, simply sleep.

But he could no longer trust himself around her so he walked out of her room and went back to his.

Later, he thought. They'd talk later.