In The Dark

                                                                   In The Dark

Prologue

The thought of a warm bed and his young daughter waiting at home was enough to drive the biting cold from Brandon Lawrence's chilled skin and its fingers from inside the folds of his black greatcoat. His daughter, not more than three years old, was his pride and joy and the one thing, besides his growing success, that lifted his spirits each day and drove him to live on. After his father obliterated the family fortune in unwise investments when Brandon was young, it turned to him after his parents died in a fire to regain the money and live up to the family's tradition of being a prosperous family, one of London's richest and the family that passed down the title Duke of Carrington. He was in the process of doing just that now and had, only hours before, signed a contract that signed away half of what was left of the family's money. If this investment paid off and the five cargo ships that he had put the money into came back filled with as much foreign cargo and goods as he expected them to, he would become the richest man in London, increasing the money more than ten-fold. Little Maria would be able to live life like a normal little girl, with all the dolls, toys, and dresses that little girls deserved.

The little angel would only be deprived of a mother. Elizabeth had died in the same fire as Brandon's parents. Though Brandon never admitted she was a horrible mother, she still looked after Maria and warmed Brandon's bed and kept up appearances as his wife when they went out into society, hiding her hidden affairs until they reached home, where arguments would break out between them. Elizabeth was never candid about her affairs around Brandon, no matter how repulsive he found them. He believed that when someone marries, they're entitles to loyalty, if they give it. In truth, Elizabeth disgusted him and he vowed that he would let Maria choose who she wished to marry, not to arrange a marriage as his parents had done.

A hackney sped past him and he jumped out of the way to prevent being hit by it. His thoughts turned to Charles Wilson, Earl of Danforth, his cousin, business partner, and dearest confidante. Charles had signed over a much smaller sum of money on the same deal as Brandon and swore to his friend that, should the deal fall through, Charles would help Brandon get back on his feet.

The sound of a bell ringing in the distance brought Brandon out of his thoughts and he lifted the collar of his coat to hide his neck from the chill. The bells grew louder as he neared his street until finally he had to fight his way through the crowds of people and block the loud bells of the fire wagons from his ears. He rounded the corner, stopping dead where he stood. The cries of alarm around him, fainting women and hollering men, couldn't do anything to drown out the dread that now filled Brandon's heart.

His town house was engulfed in flames from doorstep to roof and there was no chance he'd be able to run in and find Maria. The instant his heart accepted the fact that she was gone his own bellow of rage and anguish burst forth from his lungs, overpowering those of the people that surrounded them until they silenced their cries and turned to see who had issued the horrendous sound. They only saw a man running towards the burning building, his coat flying out behind him and the tricorn that had sat atop his head drifting down to the ground as he ran past. Men who had decided the fire was not to be stopped a while ago stepped out in front of him and struggled to bring the tormented man back to his senses, crying out to him that it was useless and whomever he had wanted to find in the building was already dead.

It was then that an ear splitting scream, that of a young girl, was heard ringing through the night, silencing even Brandon's cries. It seemed to last an eternity when in fact it ended in mere seconds, as soon as the roof of the house caved in causing the third and second floors to collapse in a heap. Burning cinders and bits of flaming coals flew out at the crowd, sending them running. Even the men, who had been holding Brandon back, now dropped him and fled from the downpour. Brandon's mind was running wild as the burning rain landed on the flesh of his hands and in his hair, which served as the only protection for his face. It had come out of the queue as he ran and now made him look like a street beggar, dirtied with ashes and sweat and strewn about like he hadn't run a comb through it in days.

His heart was no longer beating, his blood no longer running through his veins. In its place was a deep hatred for all living people. He couldn't explain it, not to himself, not when -- though he was usually clear-headed and logical -- his mind was a jumble of messages, prayers, pleas for his loss. He hated life, the god that resided over everyone, the people who had refused to try to save the small life and those of her maids and servants who had been in the house.

"Brandon!" The cry tore through the night like the one pleasant thing, the only pleasant thing that he would ever hear again. Charles ran up to him, his tall, lean body as agile as it was fifteen years before when they played as young boys, but he could see the slump in Brandon's shoulders, the stoop in his crouched form. His own heart sank at the look of his now thoroughly defeated friend. For two years, since his parents' deaths, Brandon had struggled to regain the money that his father had squandered and Charles had stood next to him throughout the whole ordeal. Now he stood behind him, watching as Brandon's body struggled to come to terms with the tragedy and as his heart refused to recognize the loss. "Brandon," he said again yet more softly. "Come with me. Amanda is home," he said, speaking of his young wife, "And she'll welcome you." Knowing his words were doing absolutely nothing to comfort the grieving man, he ventured, "There's nothing you can do. Come with me." He put a hand on Brandon's shoulder only to have it flung off as the man stood and whirled around. Only then did Charles see the inner turmoil that flashed through Brandon's face in rapid succession. The light from the burning building reflected off the house on the opposite side of the street, causing a flickering, eerie glow to fill and leave, only to fill again, the shadows on Brandon's angular face. His eyes seemed darker than their usual brown, now a burning black filled with malice and rage. The black beard and tanned skin made him look like the devil himself and Charles instinctively took a step back in fear. Though he was equal to Brandon in height, the latter's shoulders were wider than his own, making him look all the more bigger.

Standing in front of the fire, Charles knew Brandon looked only as the devil should and he looked around to make sure no one saw his friend this way. Had they done so they would surely have been as frightened as if he had suddenly grown a tail and horns. "Come with me, Brandon," he said again, reaching out his hand.

Brandon could hear the words clearly but they would go into his ear and disappear as the roar of flames behind him called to him. He wanted to do nothing more than walk into the wall of flames and join his beloved daughter in the eternal hell of cinders. His heart had indeed stopped working, as did his lungs, and his hand crept up to clutch at his throat in a struggle to coax air back into the organs. His efforts were futile and he watched as Charles' face turned from agony at his friend's sadness to horror at his physical state. His name was formed on the earl's lips but he could do more to respond than move his own as darkness engulfed him and brought the ground rushing up towards him.

In The Dark

"Come on, Brandon. It's time. We're going to be late. Have you got your costume on? I don't know why you insisted on being a highwayman. You know I could have made a better costume than that hideous one you have on. It's all black. Surely I could have come up with something more imaginative than that." Amanda looked back at her husband as he leaned against the door, dressed as a pirate and waiting for the duke to come down from the guest room. "Brandon!" she called again. "We're going to miss the celebration!" She sighed and, shaking her head, walked over to her husband and wrapped her arms around his waist, laying her head against his chest. "Have I ever told you how much I love you for being so punctual?" she asked sweetly, causing him to burst out laughing.

"Oh, I do love you so, Amanda," he whispered into her hair. "I'm sorry about Brandon. Ever since those ships came back and he reacquired the money, he's been a changed man. He no longer cares what anyone else thinks."

"Darling, he stopped caring after the fire," she whispered back. She thought a moment then leaned back and asked, "Do you think he's alright? After all, the first time he's returning to the public he's going to a masquerade. That's not usual, Charlie." Smiling at the nickname, he kissed her nose and chuckled.

"Not usual, Mandy, but completely fitting for his moods. Granted, he has a right to be melodramatic because he lost not only his parents and Elizabeth, but Maria, but the fire was a year ago. He is almost thirty and should soon look for a new wife." As she shook her head in annoyance he sighed and asked, "What did I say wrong?"

"Men!" she almost cried, holding back a smile. "You don't understand, do you? It was a year ago, yes, but his heart was young. He was 28, Charlie, not an old man ready to admit he lost the one thing that was dear to his heart." She stepped back and examined his features closely, noting the blonde hair peaking out from under his black tricorn. "You, my fair-haired husband, would know what I speak of should I ever perish in a fire." At the look of remorse on Charlie's face she immediately regretted her words and stepped back into his arms. "Just remember, Charlie, he has to come to terms with everything on his own time. No one could or should try to force it upon him. That could cause serious damage, damage neither of us could ever undo."

"Damage that has already been irrevocably done," sounded Brandon's deep voice from the staircase.

"Brandon!" Amanda whirled out of Charlie's arms and gasped at the sight Brandon made. Clad in a long black greatcoat, black breeches and shirt, and a black cravat, he looked like a sinister, albeit well-dressed, highwayman. Even his stockings and shoes were black. In his hand he held a black tricorn.

"Must you two continue to worry about me? You voice your opinions of me behind my back and act as though nothing is wrong while with me." His voice, though showing anger at their conversation, was higher in spirits than usual so Amanda smiled shyly and nodded.

"I apologize, Brandon, but you do worry me at times." Ignoring Charlie's tightening grip on her arm, she pulled away and walked to stand in front of the darker man. "I fear your mood will rub off onto me and I'll forever be a melodramatic old hag." Brandon laughed, a pleasant and rare sound, and shook his head.

"Madam, do my ears deceive me? Did you just accuse me of being a melodramatic old hag?" Amanda's peal of laughter echoed off the high walls as she realized that she had indeed, and Charlie stepped forward to apologize for her.

"She is in high spirits, Brandon, and I do apologize for her tongue. It will be running away all evening at this rate," he said, smiling down at the woman dressed in a peasant's dress. "Am I allowed to ask you to hold your tongue while we are around the people of the ton, or do I have to bind and gag you as if you were my slave?" Brandon stepped away as he accurately guessed the pending reply, but not soon enough.

"'T'would certainly prove a most interesting game, my love." Charlie groaned but was pulled away from the door by his spirited wife as she complained more that they were going to be late. Brandon chuckled at Charlie's growing misery and followed them out, letting the butler lock the door behind them. "Oh, Brandon." Amanda caught his attention as soon as they were in the hackney by tapping his knee. He turned to give her his attention, noting the way Charlie's arm lay draped around the small woman's shoulders, his fingers idly playing with a lock of light brown hair. "I am to meet a few friends at the ball so Charlie and I might not be available the whole evening. If you wish to leave early you can take our hackney home and just send it back."

"Friends?" Brandon inquired quietly. He knew Amanda well enough to know that she never referred to her friends as just that - friends. They were always called their first names because, as he thought, she didn't see the need to conceal their identities. So why the cautious gesture now? He couldn't help but put himself on guard.

"Three friends of mine that I met a while ago, at last year's New Year's ball, the one thrown by the Horton's."

"The same Horton's who are throwing this masquerade?"

"Indeed," she replied, suppressing a smile. "They are known for their extravagance, Brandon. Everyone who is anyone goes to their celebrations and balls."

"So you�re saying I'm no one?" She tossed up her hands in exasperation at his sly comment.

"Must you turn everything I say into an insult towards yourself?" Brandon chuckled, enjoying seeing Amanda frustrated. The woman was so full of energy that it was worth the wait to see her at her wits end sometimes. She was forever giddy and he forever aloof, for he saw no reason to be otherwise. His life was naught to be giddy about, he knew, so he insisted on being moody and 'melodramatic', as Amanda seemed wont to call him.

"I'm sorry, sweet, but I see no other way to interpret your words. Mayhap you might stop your chatter so as not to make that mistake?" With a grin he aimed his words and saw that they struck when her brows narrowed and she leaned forward to retort.

"Is that a threat, your grace? After all, you are now the richest man in England, the most sought-after bachelor, and a very, very powerful man with enough influence to have your threats carried out." Both Brandon and Charlie tossed their heads back and laughed.

"No, no," assure Brandon, trying to keep his mirth in check. "It is not a threat, but I would ask you to cease the chatter. You are constantly insulting me, though you might not be aware of doing so."

"You're telling me to keep quiet?" Another round of laughter sounded from the moving hackney and Charlie pulled his wife back into the crook of his arm.

"Darling," he said softly, pressing a tender kiss to her temple, "I believe that is exactly what the duke is saying." In response to his chiding she slapped his knee and glared at Brandon, who only laughed. She wasn't actually mad, but holding a facade to cover the happiness she felt at the sight of Brandon laughing again. It had been so long since he laughed as he was doing tonight, she never wanted to see him broody again. Though she loved her husband dearly, Brandon held a special place in her heart, for it was he who introduced her to Charles Wilson.

Her own face fell from anger to sadness as they pulled up in front of the large stone building that housed that massive Horton household. Brandon grimaced at the sight of other arrivals as they gaily mounted the stairs and entered the structure. "Time for the masks," he said glumly. He reached inside his coat and pulled out the cloth mask that he tied around his eyes, the holes large enough to see out of but not so large that they looked absurd. In the darkness his eyes were hidden in the shadows of the mask, as was his forehead and temples. The only remaining features were his nose and mouth, which was shadowed by the well-trimmed beard. Though not the ideal highwayman, for the obvious grooming that had been done to his neat hair and beard, he was a frightening sight, Amanda noticed, as they climbed out of the hackney. She had tied a full-face mask behind her head and looked like the perfect servant, with the tattered dress and stained mask. Her husband had adorned a mask similar to Brandon's but had added an eye patch to go along with the black breeches and patched shirt.

"Will you try to be pleasant?" inquired Charlie as he adjusted the eye patch, which was really a couple layers of a black transparent fabric, made by Amanda so he'd still be able to see. "No doubt you will be scaring the wits out of every woman and intimidating every man in that room." He clapped Brandon on the back as the latter nodded. He and Amanda walked forward as Brandon hung back, waiting for the announcement of the couple's arrival. When he heard the loud voice of the butler announce, "Lord and Lady Danforth," he walked up the stairs.

The butler tried to take his coat as he entered the doors but Brandon declined, explaining in a few words that it was part of the costume. The butler, old and hard of hearing, shook his head at the young man's stubbornness and announced, "The Duke of Carrington!" a little louder than he had announced Charlie and Amanda. Heads turned, as Brandon had known they would, and sought out the most intriguing man in all of London. He also knew what they were thinking. Why had he suddenly decided to come to a social affair after he had stayed out of society for a year? And why hadn't he taken another wife yet? After all, his other wife had been having affairs with men of the ton since before the two were married, and he had only lost his daughter, not a prized son. Why would he not care about finding another wife to provide him with sons?

Ignoring their stares, he walked down the steps and onto the large ballroom floor, where people parted as if he were Moses, allowing him to pass without even saying hello to him. Of course, young women suddenly appeared at the edge of those walls of people, thrusting up their bosoms until they near spilled over the tops of their dresses and batting their eyelashes as if it were a matter of life and death, vying to see who could blink faster. It all disgusted Brandon and he would just as soon get the night over with.

As the evening wore on a few people came up to him and said hello and asked him how he was doing, maybe asking for advice as to how to increase their fortunes as he had done. He only said he had an eye for figures, not believing in luck. Had he any luck that night when he heard the dying scream of his lovely daughter? Or when his parents and wife perished in that fire? No, he thought scowling, luck was not a comprehensible subject to him. Indeed, it was foreign.

After a couple of hours and only a few sightings of Amanda and Charlie -- without, he noticed, those mysterious friends -- he quickly bid them goodnight and left. He had no need for the mindless chatter of the adoring females that swooned over him.

He had chosen to forgo the hackney and was instead walking down the quiet street when a thought hit him concerning his life. The night around him was black except for the occasional lamp lighting a doorway and the ones that had not yet been blown out that were intended to light the streets. It seemed that of late his thoughts weren't as dark as they had been following the fire that had taken Maria away from him, but he was still lost in the depths of his self-imposed despair. The money he had gotten some months before, the money that had replenished the family fortune and made him the richest man in London, had indeed given him some respite from him turmoil, but he was still plagued with thoughts. If he had gotten home but minutes before, would he have been able to save Maria? Maria, the love of his life and the one thing that had brought him out of his despair after his parents and wife died, leaving him in debt and the spurn of society.

He had often wondered at the cause of the fire. Knowing Maria, who had been as rambunctious and energetic as Amanda, she could have tossed something into the fire when her maid had her back turned and been caught up in the chaos of putting out the fire. But if he had reached them before that happened, they would all still be alive today -- his servants, his friendly butler, Maria.

His eyes turned black as he picked up the pace. He would go home and go to bed and forget what happened tonight. Society was a useless term, he thought dismally. It should be the wolves. As he rounded a corner he suddenly collided with a peasant. "Watch your step," he growled at the form sprawled on the ground.

"Excuse me--" they tried to protest at his terse order but he grasped the cloth about their shoulders and hauled them up against the wall. The torchlight caught their face and Brandon saw it was a woman and was surprised when she batted his hands away.

"You will respect those above you, madam," he chided without smiling.

"Remove your hands, sir, before I scream." Educated. This wasn't a normal peasant.

"Authorities would think naught of it, madam, for they would believe I was in search of an evening's entertainment and was being a bit rough with you." He chuckled at her gasp and shook his head, thinking she was putting on a good act. "Do you doubt my words, madam?"

"Aye, I do!" she scoffed, stepping away from the wall and around him.

"Please be so kind as to explain yourself." Annoyed at the game the woman was playing, he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, not even bothering to do his best to intimidate her. He felt as though this situation wasn't worth the effort.

"You don't pause to see that I am a true lady of society, nor do you explain yourself, sir. No doubt you are naught but a highwayman or thief, so if you will please remove yourself from my path I will be going." She made to move around his form but he stepped away from the wall and blocked the narrow passage with his shoulders, leaving her only inches to pass around him. She didn't dare try for fear was silently building in her chest.

"A lady of society?" he mocked, chuckling without mirth. "I have no doubt, madam. What with your magnificent gown and clean skin, there was indeed never a doubt in my mind that you were a lady." His sarcasm angered her but she still felt fear.

"Then, pray tell good sir, just how do you explain this?" She spread her lips in a wide smile and in the torchlight he could see the gleaming white teeth. It surprised him but he showed no sign of it outwardly. He showed more of being disarmed by her radiant smile -- he blinked.

"White teeth? Anyone who has the will would be able to clean their teeth."

"Sir," she said, clearly exasperated, "Have you ever seen a peasant with teeth like mine?" She smiled again and he blinked, but stood unmoving. Her smile faded as she asked him, "Now, would you please identify yourself?"

"Not until you state your own identity," he said stiffly, still angered at the fact that a peasant would question him.

"Fine. I am..." She paused, then thought better than to try to convince him of her title. He wouldn't believe her anyway. "I am a peasant, sir, now if you will remove yourself, I will be on my way."

"Oh? What's this, you're not going to reveal your name to me?"

"Sir, please move and let me pass." Brandon looked down into her eyes and saw for the first time how incredibly green they were. Had it not been for the dirt staining her clothing and the way her fiery red hair had been let down to hang low, a style not acceptable to social groups of society, he would have been anxious to lend her a hand, knowing she was a woman of importance. But he appearance lent no credit to that possibility so he pushed it from his mind.

"Nay, I will not let you pass," he said, smiling.

"Then please tell me your identity, sir." She was thoroughly annoyed but the fear still clawed at her throat. She couldn't see his face because the light behind him caused his features to be cast in ebony shadows, but she could see his greatcoat and tricorn were black, as was the hair that hung about his shoulders. Though well combed, his hair only added to the dangerous visage he presented.

"I will tell you my name, but only if you tell me yours."

"Sarah, sir."

"Just Sarah? That is quite an ordinary name for a woman with importance, wouldn't you think?" She could faintly see the smile that spread across his face as he looked down at her with more mockery in his eyes.

"I told you, I am but a peasant."

"Ah, yes, and so you did." He nodded but found his conscience niggling in the back of his mind. She had given up that information too easily for it not to have a catch. "Well then, my name is Brandon."

"And your title?" Well, did she have a title or not? He would almost guess she wasn't a peasant, but he kept the information to himself.

"I am the...I am the most feared highwayman in all of England," he said with an air of authority that defied his threatening tone. Sarah couldn't help herself. The man looked so eager for her to believe him that she smiled, all fear of him now leaving her mind.

"I'm sure you are," she said, holding back a chuckle.

"Is something funny, madam?" Brandon asked, sensing they were playing the same game.

"Oh yes, sir. It would seem as though we are both keeping secrets." Brandon smiled and knew that tonight he didn't want to be himself. Tonight what he really wanted was companionship from someone who wouldn't bother him with questions, pester him about the past and things that would most likely anger him. He thought that maybe this woman could provide someone just like that. Be her peasant or lady, he didn't care a bit. If she proved intelligent enough to carry a conversation, which she seemed completely capable of doing, he could value her companionship and pass the night in good spirits.

"You do not believe I am a highwayman?"

"No more than you believe I might have a title," she replied, smiling. He nodded, accepting the fact that the answers to those questions would remain unanswered.

"Were you on your way somewhere tonight, madam?" He asked after noticing the tattered handbag that dangled from one hand.

"Indeed." Seeing no more need for fear from a man who was obviously not a highwayman but quite possibly not one of title, she continued, "I was on my way to an All Hallow's celebration when I came upon you."

"How did you come to be alone, though?" He was genuinely curious; for it wasn't often a woman was seen after dark alone in an alleyway.

"My escort for the evening never showed his face at my door so I was forced to walk by myself when no hackney would stop for a peasant," she said sweetly, but stepped to the side once more. "Would you permit me a view of your face, sir?" Smiling, he turned so they were face to face in the narrow alley, causing one side of his face to be cast in shadows and the other to be defined by the shadows that formed among the creases and angles. A fine specimen, to be sure, she thought, but one that would certainly be most intimidating when angry, as he had most likely been when she had collided with him.

When her perusal of his face was finished she asked, "Now that we have agreed to keep our identities a secret, what do you propose we do?"

"Would you be terribly hurt if I declined to escort you to your...party?" he asked with a bit of doubt hinting in his voice. He still wasn't so sure she had been on her way to a celebration.

"No sir," she replied, then a smile spread across her full lips and her eyes glinted with mischief. "But I would be hurt if you didn't invite me to come along with you." Completely taken aback at her statement, he threw his head back and laughed.

"So, not a lady of title after all, but a harlot looking for entertainment!" Leaning forward and ignoring the renewed look of outrage on her face, he whispered, "I mentioned earlier, my lady, that I would be hard-pressed not to look to you for entertainment, now, didn't I?" Her hand collided with the side of his face as she turned to walk out of the alley. He grabbed her arm and held her against the wall, then pressed his own body into hers so she could feel his growing arousal. "Indeed, madam, you stir my loins aplenty, with your fiery hair and emerald eyes. A night of lust would do your educated mouth good." He let out a whoosh of air as her knee came up to find a comfortable spot between his legs, and he fell back against the wall as she swung her handbag aver her head and onto his back. With one hand clutching his groin he reached for the wall to steady himself and stared back at Sarah, only then realizing she was holding a small, shiny pistol in her hand. Through the pain he could make out the clean, shiny metal of the barrel as it was aimed at his face and the slender softness of her hands. His mistake brought a gasp from his lungs and he struggled to straighten up to his full height. When he though he held a bit of dignity in his posture he ventured, "You are a lady, indeed, madam?"

"Aye, sir, and 'twould do you good to remember that fact." She lowered the gun and tucked it back into the handbag then turned to leave but he stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm.

"Then it would seem as though a very, very large apology is in order," though it didn't seem right apologizing to a woman, he thought. "I am sorry for what I said, but you left me an opening for false judgment. Do you deny that?"

"Nay, sir, I don't. What I meant," she said with a sigh, "was that I am not overly anxious to go to this celebration. I am not fond of large crowds because they make me nervous, but if you had nothing important tonight, and since you seem like a reasonably intelligent person, mayhap you would enjoy some company this evening." Brandon let out a harsh laugh at the thoughts that mirrored his own and smiled.

"Aye, madam, indeed I would."

"But I must see proof that states you are indeed not a highwayman."

"I thought you already decided I wasn't," he said smiling.

"I did, but you have undeniable proof that I am a lady, and 'tis only right that I should have some from you that says you are not a highwayman." Her stubborn pose -- arms crossed over her chest with one eyebrow arched, her lips set in a firm line -- told him that she wouldn't take no for an answer and he knew that the evening to follow would not be a dull one.

"Fine," he said slowly, then reached into the pocket of his coat and brought out his own gun, a polished pistol twice the size of hers, and a gold pocket watch. The inscription inside read, "To Brandon, with love, John." The eyebrow arched even higher and he couldn't suppress a laugh. "Madam, John was my father so you don't have to be afraid you are running around with a man of odd likes and dislikes." He put the objects away and smiled. "Now, are you satisfied with the proof?"

"Aye, I am, sir."

"Then shall we go to the park, my lady?" He held out his arm and she gently laid her hand upon it, smiling up at him.

"We shall. But first, what should I call you?"

"You may call me Brandon if I may call you Sarah, since we seem wont to deny our titles. Since neither knows the other's, we have no need to use the proper addresses." Sarah nodded, accepting the terms, and they started walking.

They walked down the dark street, Brandon listening for any sounds of street thieves and Sarah casting sidelong glances at his handsome profile, silently wondering what his past was like but warning herself not to bring it up. Something about him told her he would be unwilling to discuss that subject.

The night was still very young when they reached the park some minutes later, having passed only a few couples and lone hackneys on their way. Torches on high posts lighted the park as they entered the fenced area that was surrounded by tall hedges, the breeze stopped freezing Sarah so she took off the outer layer of her costume. Brandon almost gasped as he saw her peal away the ratty layer of peasants clothing to reveal a plain, beige gown. "Did I not try to tell you in the beginning that I was a lady?" she asked with a smile. He laughed and nodded.

"Yes, you did Sarah, but how could I believe you?" He reached and took the layer from her hands and looked at it, bringing it to his face so he could see it more clearly. What he saw surprised him, for it was merely a summer jacket that had been torn and rubbed with dirt. Some areas were still clean and bore evidence to the very good state the jacket had previously been in. "To make a costume you ruined a perfectly good coat?" he asked thoughtfully.

"It is ruined, yes, but I will just buy a new one."

"You have the money to do so, then?"

"Are you digging for clues?" she asked, grinning at him.

"Of course," he replied with a chuckle.

"And what is your conclusion so far?" After thinking a moment he answered her.

"Your speech is educated, your skin is clear, and your teeth are white. Your clothing is above standard and you walk with an air of authority. I can't help but wonder why you even tried to lie about your status in the first place, though I haven't decided if you hold any title." A thought struck him and he turned to look at her. "Nor have I thought whether to ask if you are married or attached to anyone in particular." With a girlish laugh she replied,

"Nay, I am not married. I am far passed the marriage age and have been put upon a higher shelf where no one bothers to reach." Her smile fell and she sighed. "Indeed, no one wishes to dust off an old maid to find the worth underneath." Not since her parents had died had she had an offer. Her accounts had all been drained by her brother then left for her to settle when he, in a drunken state, accepted the challenge of a duel with a man who sought after the hand of the same maid as Roger's. Then the next morning, while he was nursing a pounding headache and bouts of dizziness, he had tried to win the duel by cheating, only to be shot and killed when the man discovered what he had been trying to do. No one turned anyone in to the authorities, and no one was ever caught.

"You look no more than a score of years, Sarah. How can you be on a higher shelf?" When she refused to look at him he reached out and lifted her face to his with a finger beneath her chin, then wiped away the tear that had left a trail down her cheek.

"I am a score and four, Brandon," she replied sadly, then, in a movement that surprised him to no end, she turned her cheek into his hand and held his hand to her face. Brandon could do nothing but sit and wait for her to end her soft sobs, so he moved closer and pulled her against his side. She turned and buried her face in his neck, sobbing for reasons unknown to her but for her brother and ruined future. Brandon held her, feeling a sudden tenderness and possessiveness wash over him for her. "I'm sorry, I don't know what it is about tonight. It is supposed to be a night for fun and celebration and here I am, crying rivers by a man I don't even know."

"You know me," he said softly into her hair, trying to cheer her up. "You know I am a frightening highwayman who ravishes women and murders people when they won't bend to their will." She chuckled and sniffed then lifted her face, wiping her face with the back of her hand.

"And I am but a peasant who was sitting in that back alley whining for money and selling my body." He laughed and nodded.

"Exactly." Suddenly realizing where she was, she moved to pull away from him, knowing that if anyone came upon them both of their reputations would be sorely darkened. But Brandon held fast and kept her at his side. "It would seem as though you are in need of this," he said in explanation, though he knew he was enjoying the feel of her beside him, the feel of being needed. When she rested her head against his shoulder once more he pressed a soft kiss to her crown of red hair in a moment of tenderness that brought tears to her eyes and nearly to his. Elizabeth and Maria had both had beautiful blonde hair, but Elizabeth had worn it short and straight, never bothering to dress it up as, she had always said, it was never held in place for long. After all, the men she accompanied to bed always enjoyed running their fingers through it. And Maria...Brandon swallowed at the thought of her in the burning building, her hair catching fire as it lay about her shoulders. The torture she must have been in, he thought grimacing.

"What are you thinking about?" Sarah asked into his neck. Should he tell her? He decided not to.

"The past," was all he said and she instinctively knew not to pursue the subject. "What about you?" She smiled.

"The past," she offered, and he returned the smile. "But we won't talk about it, will we?" she asked, both of her past and his.

"No, we won't," he said, agreeing.

"Maybe tomorrow," she whispered, smiling. He tilted her face up to look into her eyes, seeing the smile and finding himself unable to hold one back.

"You think we will still be friends after tomorrow?" Laughing, she nodded. "Even after I ravish you and steal everything of value from your handbag?" She laughed harder and nodded again. He noticed a shadow form on her cheek and reached up to touch it. The movement caught her by surprise and she froze, her smile dimming.

"What it is?" she asked, almost fearful of the seriousness that had overcome his face.

"Smile again," he said softly, and when she did he smiled in return. "A dimple," he said, chuckling. Of it's own mind, her hand reached up to touch his cheek and she, too, smiled.

"You have them, also," she said softly. Their eyes met and a connection was made, a silent agreement that stated before the night was through they would share a much stronger bond. Brandon leaned down and brushed his lips against hers and he felt her lips part. She sighed, letting their breath mingle as they kept their eyes closed and enjoyed the tickling sensation of each other's breaths against their cheeks, the brushes of lips and the gentle caresses of fingertips against chins, jaws, ears. When Brandon pressed his lips against Sarah's in earnest she eagerly accepted the new feeling and pushed the tricorn off his head so she could get up close to him. She automatically wrapped her arms around his neck and pushed her upper body against his as his arms came around her waist and pulled her towards him. Her lips parted and admitted his tongue into her mouth where it explored and caressed as he listened to her excited moans and whimpers. When he finally pulled away she sagged against him, his arms remaining wrapped around her.

"Are you sure there isn't a Lord Ashton?" Sarah jerked away from him and looked into his face with a shocked expression.

"How do you know who I am?" she asked, still panting. Her hair was a bit mussed but still beautiful where it lay around her shoulders and against her chest.

"Because I know the women of society. There are no Sarah�s but one."

"So you knew who I was since I told you my name?" Brandon chuckled but didn't try to pull her back to him.

"No, I knew as soon as you pulled the pistol out. No peasant would have one so valuable unless they stole it which is highly unlikely when it comes to you." He grinned at her and she looked back at him with unabashed incredulity.

"And why is that? You don't think I could be clever enough to steal something?" Brandon laughed and this time reached out and turned her around, pulling her against his chest as he turned sideways on the bench. He wrapped his arms around her stomach, happy to find she didn't tense any muscles or try to pull away.

"Because," he growled into her ear, "when you turned the pistol on me you were shaking so much I thought you might miss and give my hair a trim." She tried to elbow his stomach but he tightened his arms, blocking the move, and continued, "And I have no doubt you would be clever enough -- you were plenty clever enough until I learned your name -- but you aren't mean-spirited enough. You have a gentle heart."

"How would you know that?" she asked, softening up to him.

"Because I can feel it in you," he replied huskily. Smiling yet a bit uneasy, she leaned back into him and sighed, suddenly enjoying the feeling of content she felt in his strong arms.

"You can't feel my heart," she said in barely a whisper. Then his hand moved up to cover her breast and he smiled.

"Yes I can," he whispered back, gently massaging the mound under the gown. She gasped at the tenderness she suddenly felt, the brush of her skin against his coat that caused her flesh to burn, the ache in her lower body that seemed to throb with the strong beat of the blood that pumped through her heart. Her right hand fell to grasp at his thigh and her left came up to rest on the hand that massaged her breast. "Not here," he whispered regretfully, then turned her face to look into her eyes. He saw no sign of regret for what happened in them, only regret that it ended. "Do you wish to go somewhere else?" Sarah turned her head to put his distracting face out of her line of vision. It was all she had just not to run her hands through his hair, test it's length and softness. But what was she doing? This man was nice, funny, obviously somewhat troubled and quick to temper, but she didn't know him. What was his last name? Did he hold a title? When this night was over, what would happen?

Did it really matter to her?

Not a bit. "Yes," she whispered, then stood so he could help her back into her coat. As they walked out of the park at a leisurely pace she wrapped an arm around his waist, comfortable under the weight of the arm he had wrapped around her shoulder. Her left hand was entwined with the fingers that were dangling in front of her chest, and her right was held in the strong grip of the arm on his opposite side. The feeling of closeness, the strong, masculine body pressed against hers, the scent of his maleness and the soap he used, the smell of his house on his coat and the feel of it's textures against her cheek -- all of those seemed so natural that she felt a twinge of fear in her stomach, but it was quickly covered with tenderness as he placed another kiss on the crown of her head. Though the embrace was completely unacceptable in society, so was what they had been doing in the park only a few minutes before. Brandon seemed to be unfettered by the consequences of being seen together like this, and she really had no reason to be bothered by it. After all, she was a score and twenty, so high up on the blasted marriage shelf that it wasn't even reasonable to search out someone to sponsor her for a season to find a possible suitor, maybe even two.

It felt natural, so why was she questioning it? The answer was simple. She was scared! But not of him. No, she was scared of what was going to happen between them. She knew that he was able to elicit any passion like that which he had brought forth from her in the park then she probably wouldn't be able to stop whatever he had in store for her wherever they were going.

Which brought on another question. "Brandon, where are we going?" When he only chuckled she looked up at him questioningly. He let go of her and stepped away then hailed a hackney that was slowly making it's way up the street. He helped Sarah into it then paid the driver, murmuring the directions so she wouldn't hear then climbed in, settling into the seat beside her. As the hackney started to move he drew the curtains and blew out the small torch that lit the interior. "What are you doing?" she asked, though she felt a trust for him that came from somewhere she couldn't fathom.

"What do you think I am doing?" he asked, lifting her hand to his face so she could feel him smile.

"I think you don't want to reveal the whereabouts of your home to me," she said slowly. "Why?"

"Why??"

"Yes. You know who I am but I still don't know who you are. Can't you tell me?" Brandon laughed huskily and drew her against his side, sliding his hand down her slender arm and around her waist. "Because it's only fair that you do," she continued, her voice faltering as his hand tightened. His other hand came to grip the other side of her waist and she was lifted onto his lap, her legs dangling down beside his. She could sense she was eye to eye with him as he felt his breath on her lips. "Are you going to tell me?" she asked only then realizing her face was leaning towards his. Her lips touched his and she felt him shake his head, then the movement slowed and he rubbed his lips against hers, tempting her, teasing her, until she leaned forward, taking the initiative, and pressed her lips to his. They parted slightly but he made no move to further the intimate touch, so she flicked her tongue against his lips, following the example he had given her earlier in the park.

Brandon's chest tightened. He was holding back, knowing she was inexperienced from the timidity of her touch, but the wait was killing him. The tight breeches only served to heighten his anxiety and the throbbing in his groin was growing unbearable. He took solace in knowing that they would reach his house in a few minutes.

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                                                      In The Dark - continued