Page 4 of The Last Crimes of Peregrine Hind
A man bent on revenge was not a man easily persuaded.
But Sandy had cheated at cards long enough to read infinitesimal cues, and so he didn’t miss the quick flick of Peregrine’s eyes over to his band of fellow robbers, who had tied the footmen and coachman to a tree and were now standing by the road as they watched Sandy’s desperate ploy unfold.
Peregrine cared about them. Or at least cared what they thought.
Sandy shifted his strategy a little, pitching his voice so the others could hear him better.
“The duke wouldn’t think twice about paying five thousand pounds,” he said loudly. “Maybe more. I’m his heir, you know, and he’d pay anything to get me back.”
Sandy was fairly certain that Reggie would have his limit when it came to paying for a brother he despised . . . but the thieves didn’t need to know that part. Not when they were casting each other round-eyed looks and mouthing the words five thousand pounds.
Peregrine seemed aware of this, aware of every murmur and glance that passed between his friends, though it all happened behind his back. “That’s a princely sum, indeed,” Peregrine said after a minute.
“I’m a princely man,” Sandy replied, but Peregrine didn’t smile, didn’t respond at all, except to look over his shoulder at his fellow thieves.
“It is a lot of money,” one of them, a short and stocky man, said. “Even split between us all, it could last the rest of our lives.”
The others chimed in with agreements. Peregrine looked to the woman, who stood between him and the other thieves, her pistol still ready in her hand.
“What do you say?”
“That much money would set the duke well on the road to ruin,” she said thoughtfully. “And you could still kill Sandy after you got it, if you needed to.”
Sandy again. This woman must know him, but how? He mentally flipped through wine-soaked memories of London and Oxford while outwardly he tried to look sweet and pliant and like he’d be a very docile captive.
After a long, breathless moment, Peregrine gave his lieutenant a crisp nod. He shoved the pistol in his belt. “As you say.”
“Thank you,” Sandy breathed. His relief was entirely genuine, no playacting there whatsoever. “I’ll be the very best captive, I promise. I even like being tied up!”
That part was also entirely true. He did like being tied up. And he had to say, as disagreeable as it was to be a captive of a man who planned to kill him, the thought of this stern-mouthed legend lashing his wrists together sped Sandy’s pulse in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
Or maybe something to do with fear, but the fun kind.
“I’ll take him to the priory,” Peregrine was telling the woman. “Free the horses. Leave the footmen here, and then have Ned ride the coachman to the next bridge. That should put the coachman close enough to Far Hope that the duke can hear of our ransom demand by tomorrow. And tell him that the duke needs to send his response to The Stag’s Head in Chagford.”
The woman dipped her head to indicate she understood, and then turned away. But not before giving Sandy a small sniff of disapproval.
A sniff he felt a little wounded by, honestly.
“Stand,” Peregrine told Sandy, so Sandy stood, taking a moment to mourn his breeches, which now had dirt on the knees, and probably on the arse too. It was bad enough to be almost murdered and now kidnapped, but he was really, really fond of these breeches! They were sensible yet stylish, and he very much doubted the band of roving highwaymen had access to a good laundress.
There was a small sound, and Sandy looked up at the highwayman, who now had an eyebrow lifted the tiniest amount.
“Did you just sigh at me?” Sandy asked.
“We don’t have time for you to inventory the state of your clothes,” Peregrine said, wrapping a hand around Sandy’s upper arm and dragging him up the hill. It was a very big hand, with long fingers and a wide palm. The kind of hand that would splay easily across Sandy’s chest or between his shoulder blades while Sandy was being bent over a bed. “We can’t risk staying here.”
Sandy didn’t bother to point out that he could risk staying here and encountering another rider or coach who might help him, because he didn’t think Peregrine would appreciate the observation. In any event, they were already to Peregrine’s horse, where the highwayman was pulling a coil of rope free.
He didn’t object as his wrists were bound and the other end of the rope tied to the saddle, or when Peregrine slid his hands inside Sandy’s jacket and up his thighs to make sure Sandy was completely unarmed. In fact, Sandy even shivered a little as Peregrine’s fingers ran an efficient search along the rims of his shoes, probing the tops of his stocking-clad feet and the knobs of his ankles.
“You missed a spot,” Sandy said.
“I don’t think so,” said the highwayman.
“But you didn’t even check the most interesting places,” pouted Sandy. “If you untie me, I can show you what they are.”
Peregrine Hind’s mouth didn’t change from its humorless line, but Sandy saw the drop of his eyes, the way his gaze burned from Sandy’s mouth to his chest and down to his hips. Peregrine’s hand flexed at his side, and for a moment, Sandy thought his captor was about to touch him again.
