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caught unawares. She slid to the floor, as it came to an abrupt halt. Outside she heard a voice commanding her coachman to see to the cattle.
    Do I recognize that voice? She struggled to move from her inelegant position on the floor. The carriage door flung open.

Chapter Three
    Sophia could not believe her eyes; surely it was a jape? For a fleeting second she wondered if Hermione or her men had discovered her solo journey, and set out to frighten her? But no, it seemed not.
    The masked man confronting her had not the physique of Berry or Ran, but she felt sure he was no rough and ready highwayman. One swift glance at his hands told her that. They were smooth and unlined—a gentleman’s hands.
    He gestured with his pistol, indicating she should exit the carriage. The pistol was an elegant piece by Manton, akin to the one now concealed in her cloak.
    “My lady.” The voice was low, surely disguised? “Please allow me to help you alight from the carriage.”
    Sophia looked at him, eyes hooded behind the mask, clothing covered by an all-enveloping cloak. “No,” she said. “I think not.”
    His shoulders shook, as she contemplated him. What was so amusing?
    “Do you wish me to drag you, my lady? For of a surety I will do so if you do not comply with my wishes.” His pistol pointed at her.
    “No,” she repeated. “And no.” How long would they continue? She was sure he had no intention of shooting her, for if he wanted a hostage she would be of no use to him dead.
    “My lady.” Now the tone was menacing. “You will step out of this carriage now.”
    Oh, for heaven’s sake, does he not understand my refusal?
    “Dear sir,” she said and tried to sneer although sadly she thought she was not very successful. It seemed the ability to sneer was not in her make up. “I said I would not, and I always mean what I say.”
    “As do I. Now step out before I manhandle you, tie you, and blindfold you.” He leaned toward her. Sophia leaned back slightly. As interesting as tied and blindfolded sounded, she thought it was neither the time nor the place to explore those possibilities. She lowered her eyes, as, with one hand holding the pistol, he used his other to take hold of the hem of her dress and tug.
    “Oh, this is ridiculous. Let go, let me go, and grow up. For there is no way you are a highwayman. Your whole demeanor shouts gentleman.” She was fast losing her patience. “Do cease this silliness, and let me go on my way.”
    His answer was to step inside the coach and reach for her. Sophia moved to the far side of the coach, and fumbled in her pocket.
    “Sir, either leave me, or be shot.” Does my voice sound as commanding as I hoped?
    He laughed. “With what, my lady, your reticule?”
    The gall of the man. She released her hand from her coat and fired.
    At the same instant a hand snaked through the window she had moved against and grabbed her arm, pulling it sideways, spoiling her shot. Instead of a making a hole in the side of the carriage as she intended, she had made a hole in her assailant. Her intention had been to startle, not maim with that shot. Her second pistol would have been used if necessary with murderous intent.
    The highwayman cursed, swayed, and fell forwards, pinioning her firmly by her skirt. His gun fell onto the floor, not within her reach. To her horror, Sophia discovered she couldn’t stretch to where her spare pistol was hidden. The hand on her arm tightened cruelly, and then she was free as the door opened and she fell neatly backward into someone’s arms. There was the sound of material tearing, and she saw the skirt of her dress part company from the bodice. Chagrin filled her as she remembered she had deigned not to wear a chemise, but to enjoy the freedom of wearing nothing under her dress. How she now rued that decision.
    Her captor laughed. “A shapely pair of legs my dear. And a cunt to bury myself in. ‘Twill be a joy to feel those legs wrapped around my torso as my cock