She writes precisely what he says

Until Charlotte knew with certainty that Black Brand could not read, she dare not risk angering him. An unwanted image of her draped across the rogue's lap with her knickers pulled down to her calves and his hard hand reddening the pale flesh of her raised buttocks flashed into her mind's eye. After the liberties he had already taken, she didn't doubt for an instant that he was capable of spanking her like a naughty school-girl. What made this shocking image particularly disturbing was the warmth that flooded her inner core, there was something about the tanning of a young woman's derriere by a man that she had always found secretly erotic.

As a naïve student in an elite finishing school for young ladies, even before she had started her licentious collection of explicit literature, Charlotte dreaded being sent to the Headmaster's office to answer for some transgression or another. Not because of the pain or embarrassment of having the near-sighted pot-bellied man spank her, but for fear that her body betray her with this exact warmth and the leaking of scented juices from her privates. Twice, with her roommates she had played the Headmaster's Office game using a slipper to simulate the stern disciplinarian's leather flogger, and both times when it had been her turn to play the offending school-girl she had leaked so profusely that her playmates thought she had peed herself. After the second embarrassing time when she thought she might even cum from the pleasure/pain of the sharp blows to her backside she refused to take part in that particular secret late-night pastime. At that young age she had understood no better than her friends why her privates had become so heated and moist, but she was sure that it had nothing to do with bladder control, of course now she understo-

"I said are you ready Lady Marlton?" For a miniscule moment Charlotte was that timid school-girl being chided by her teacher, and then she remembered that her situation was actually far more precarious than that.

"Yes Sir." She answered obediently in a small voice, regretting the honorific as soon as she used it. Black Brand was no knight of the realm or even someone like the silver-haired schoolmaster who deserved that kind of respect; Charlotte almost smiled at the idea of this common outlaw as a bespectacled scholar until she imagined herself sent to this man's private office for his discipline and then sobered immediately.

"Yes, I'm ready." She crisply turned her attention to the matter at hand, refusing to follow that dangerous train of thought. "What do you want me to write?"

It was a short note, informing Lord Marlton that his daughter had been taken but no harm had come to her (or would come) if he agreed to meet with Black Brand to settle a matter of honour. (Left unsaid was what might befall Lady Charlotte's honour if the demand for satisfaction was not met.) The note was surprisingly cordial, it might have been written by a London gentleman and Charlotte had to revise her opinion of the Highwayman, he was no country lout even if he was a boorish villain. He apologized for not having a second of his own but informed Marlton that should he find it more proper he could send a representative to finalize the arrangements. The arranged time and place to meet was early afternoon at Saint Teresa's, an old Papist sanctuary West of the Marlton estate.

Once she had signed her name, and sanded and blotted the paper she handed it to her captor for his approval. His blue eyes scanned the letter carefully and he was either a fine actor or really could read because after looking the letter over he nodded curtly and folded the paper carefully before slipping it into his waistband.

"I will have to leave you now." The odd highwayman told her as she put the pen and papers back into the lap desk. "It shouldn't take long, no more than a few hours."