Not a soul

To Randy's relief the members of the hunt were no longer watching the surrounding trees, most were leading their mounts back up the steep slope to the road above, soon only two of the men remained, the man who had first called for Charlotte and his dark haired friend wearing a shockingly bright vest of red and gold. With the sudden removal of eight horses, seven riders and over a dozen dogs the glade once again returned to its quiet beauty.

"CHARLOTTE!" Once again the slender gentleman called out listening carefully for any response. This time Randy was ready for any hint of movement beneath him, but he could feel no attempt to struggle this time, just the firmness of her backside pressing into his hips.

"Is that your beloved?" Randy asked again strangely angry at her for having a someone who cared for her dearly. She shook her head slightly, was she denying that he was her beau? A sudden thought struck Randy and he asked earnestly:

"His name isn't 'Jack' is it?" Again the slightest of head shakes. Randy felt much better about himself and the rich gentleman across the sparkling water. "What about his friend? Is he called Jack?" Once again a tiny shake of her head. She must think I'm crazy, Randy berated himself but before he could do anything else the two men started talking.

"Where do you think she could be?" Asked the one wearing the red and gold vest.

"How should I know? Stupid bitch." Randy felt Charlotte stiffen beneath him as she too heard the contemptuous slur. "Her father has given her far too much slack. That will change as soon as she's my wife." This time Charlotte shook, but Randy couldn't tell if her response was in anger to her fiancé's words or fear that he had caught her in a lie.

"Hold on there, Jace." laughed Red Vest, "She's not yours yet."

"Just a matter of time Wilson, just a matter of time." He picked up a rock and tossed it casually into the brook splashing water close to their hiding spot. "Her father and I have an understanding, now all I have to do is persuade her."

"She's not even your type Jace, as tall as she is." Objected Wilson again, "Aren't you the one that says a wife should always look up to her spouse?" Randy smiled as he saw Jace's angry look. Both of the men in the clearing were about the same height as the long limbed brunette beneath him, and if anything Jace was an inch shorter than Wilson even with the raised heels of his riding boots.

"Oh she'll look up to me when she's laid out on her wedding bed." Randy was pretty sure that he did not care much for Jace, and he understood now why Charlotte had insisted that he was not her beloved. "And I'll keep her on her back until I've ridden the willfulness completely out of her."

"I don't know Jace. That's one head-strong filly, are you sure she's worth it?"

"She's not, you stupid shit, but this estate and the peerage that comes with it along with her 20,000 lbs certainly are." He picked up the reigns and swung up into the saddle over the torn body of a fox that hung to one side.

"She is striking, Jace." Wilson tried to defend his hostess "Not like the dainty ladies of London, but in her own way. Don't you think?"

"Sorry old chap, can't see it." Laughed Jace "But I just don't care. All cats are grey in the dark, and the same goes for wives I guess." He slapped Wilson on his shoulder amused by his own jest. "Besides, once her belly is swelling with my son, I plan on leaving my Amazon wife here in this backwater estate that she so loves and I'll be heading back to London's beauties."

"Christ Jace! Isn't one woman enough for you?" Wilson too mounted his hunter looking around one last time for Charlotte.

"Not when Bonaparte's filling the city with lonely officer's wives and heartbroken widows in need of consolation!" With a hard jerk on the reigns and a kick of the spurs Jace's black hunter leapt for the embankment; Wilson's gelding followed more carefully on its heels.

Suddenly aware of how heavy his body must be on Charlotte's slender frame Randy lifted himself awkwardly until he once again knelt by her side. He gazed down at her in confusion, how could anyone fail to see her stunning beauty.

Charlotte hurt. Her shoulder ached from the fall, one of her ribs had been pressed uncomfortably against an alder tree root that was sure to leave a black and blue bruise the size of her fist and her heart ached from the overheard conversation. Nothing said had surprised her, she had been pretty sure about Jason Worthington and his intentions, but all the same to hear the words spoken so plainly left her feeling empty and broken.

Charlotte became dimly aware that Black Brand was no longer pressing her to the ground, even that felt like an abandonment. According to her aunts, the highwaymen who still plagued England were all savage rapists, forcing themselves on captured women without mercy. He had her pressed helplessly beneath him, but instead of forcing her thighs apart and tearing away her dress, he pulled away, once again sitting calmly by her side. Was there not one man in all of England who found her at all desirable?