could feel his cloak flapping behind him. He rode faster, closer. He could smell fear in the air, see it in the man's rigid form. He laughed wildly again and pulled out his sword.
Only one flicker of astonishment passed through his mind before a ruthless joy consumed it. There was nothing, nothing better than this—the wildness and the pounding hooves beneath him, his heart pounding hard within his chest. He smiled savagely.
"Oh God, oh God!" moaned the highwayman, his voice hoarse with terror. He pointed the gun at Parsifal, and a loud shot rang out. It missed, missed by miles.
The wind whistled before him, and Parsifal's sword struck the gun from the man's hand. The man cried out and desperately tried to ride off, but Parsifal grasped his reins. A swift punch to the jaw, and the highwayman fell, senseless, to the ground.
"By God!"
Parsifal turned to see an elderly man almost tumble out of the coach. By the moonlight he could see it was Lord Bowerland. The man walked toward the unconscious highwayman and peered at him. Parsifal could still hear faint shrieks from inside the coach.
"Heh! I was hoping he was dead, but having him knocked out cold is almost as good." The old man squinted at Parsifal. "Do I know you, sir?"
The hot frenzy that had come over Parsifal faded, and a cold panic seized his throat. He could say nothing, but only stared at Lord Bowerland.
The old lord took a step back. "You ain't a ghost, are you?"
"No," Parsifal managed to say.
"Well, whoever you are, I am in your debt. And if you'll stop glowering at me and come down from your horse, I'll be glad to shake your hand."
His face heating with mortification at forgetting his manners, Parsifal dismounted from his horse. He hadn't meant to glower; he hoped that Lord Bowerland wouldn't hold it against him. He was known to be a testy man.
His lordship grasped Parsifal's hand and shook it briskly. "Damned glad you came around when you did. I nearly thought—"
"My savior!" shrieked a feminine voice, and a plump form threw itself in front of Parsifal's feet. "You saved us from a savage monster! You saved our lives!"
"Now, now, Edna!" Lord Bowerland said testily. "There's no need to go into alt—"
To Parsifal's horror, the woman cast her arms around his knees and sobbed.
"I thought we were at the point of death! And my jewels! He would have taken my jewels!"
A small, less appalled part of Parsifal's mind reflected that a few jewels taken from the bounteous mass of chains and pendants upon Lady Bowerland's bosom would have made little difference in decorative effect. But her renewed weeping and clutching at his knees wiped the thought from his mind and moved him to struggle valiantly from her grasp.
"Deuce take it, Edna! You're embarrassing the man!" Lord Bowerland said. Parsifal's face flamed hot at the mention of it, and he pulled harder away from her.
With a last tug he was finally free, and he quickly mounted his horse before Lady Bowerland could clutch his knees again. She knelt and put her clasped hands over her heart.
"Thank you! Thank you, oh noble sir!" she cried.
Parsifal thrust his heels against Dancer's side and galloped off as if fleeing the hounds of hell. The full force of what he'd done hit him, and he groaned. Had the highwayman's aim or gun been better, he could have died. What was worse, he would have deserved it, for he'd not thought at all that his actions might have put Lord and Lady Bowerland at risk—the highwayman could have shot them in his fear.
His face grew hot under his mask. God, how damnably stupid he was! He remembered how Lady Bowerland had clutched his legs in theatrical gratitude, and he groaned again in embarrassment. He wished to heaven he'd never stepped out of his house this night.
And then he remembered he'd agreed to come to the Bowerlands' card party the next day. Parsifal let out a despairing moan. Lady Bowerland was a terrible gossip. She'd speak of this incident, surely, and he'd have to
Only one flicker of astonishment passed through his mind before a ruthless joy consumed it. There was nothing, nothing better than this—the wildness and the pounding hooves beneath him, his heart pounding hard within his chest. He smiled savagely.
"Oh God, oh God!" moaned the highwayman, his voice hoarse with terror. He pointed the gun at Parsifal, and a loud shot rang out. It missed, missed by miles.
The wind whistled before him, and Parsifal's sword struck the gun from the man's hand. The man cried out and desperately tried to ride off, but Parsifal grasped his reins. A swift punch to the jaw, and the highwayman fell, senseless, to the ground.
"By God!"
Parsifal turned to see an elderly man almost tumble out of the coach. By the moonlight he could see it was Lord Bowerland. The man walked toward the unconscious highwayman and peered at him. Parsifal could still hear faint shrieks from inside the coach.
"Heh! I was hoping he was dead, but having him knocked out cold is almost as good." The old man squinted at Parsifal. "Do I know you, sir?"
The hot frenzy that had come over Parsifal faded, and a cold panic seized his throat. He could say nothing, but only stared at Lord Bowerland.
The old lord took a step back. "You ain't a ghost, are you?"
"No," Parsifal managed to say.
"Well, whoever you are, I am in your debt. And if you'll stop glowering at me and come down from your horse, I'll be glad to shake your hand."
His face heating with mortification at forgetting his manners, Parsifal dismounted from his horse. He hadn't meant to glower; he hoped that Lord Bowerland wouldn't hold it against him. He was known to be a testy man.
His lordship grasped Parsifal's hand and shook it briskly. "Damned glad you came around when you did. I nearly thought—"
"My savior!" shrieked a feminine voice, and a plump form threw itself in front of Parsifal's feet. "You saved us from a savage monster! You saved our lives!"
"Now, now, Edna!" Lord Bowerland said testily. "There's no need to go into alt—"
To Parsifal's horror, the woman cast her arms around his knees and sobbed.
"I thought we were at the point of death! And my jewels! He would have taken my jewels!"
A small, less appalled part of Parsifal's mind reflected that a few jewels taken from the bounteous mass of chains and pendants upon Lady Bowerland's bosom would have made little difference in decorative effect. But her renewed weeping and clutching at his knees wiped the thought from his mind and moved him to struggle valiantly from her grasp.
"Deuce take it, Edna! You're embarrassing the man!" Lord Bowerland said. Parsifal's face flamed hot at the mention of it, and he pulled harder away from her.
With a last tug he was finally free, and he quickly mounted his horse before Lady Bowerland could clutch his knees again. She knelt and put her clasped hands over her heart.
"Thank you! Thank you, oh noble sir!" she cried.
Parsifal thrust his heels against Dancer's side and galloped off as if fleeing the hounds of hell. The full force of what he'd done hit him, and he groaned. Had the highwayman's aim or gun been better, he could have died. What was worse, he would have deserved it, for he'd not thought at all that his actions might have put Lord and Lady Bowerland at risk—the highwayman could have shot them in his fear.
His face grew hot under his mask. God, how damnably stupid he was! He remembered how Lady Bowerland had clutched his legs in theatrical gratitude, and he groaned again in embarrassment. He wished to heaven he'd never stepped out of his house this night.
And then he remembered he'd agreed to come to the Bowerlands' card party the next day. Parsifal let out a despairing moan. Lady Bowerland was a terrible gossip. She'd speak of this incident, surely, and he'd have to
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