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A woman is revealed…
By day Miss Harriet Groves is a highly respectable lady, and a darling of society with her quick wit and blonde beauty. But by night Harriet dons a disguise, riding out into the countryside as the feared – and often revered! – Green Highwayman. A life of crime was never the plan, but saving her family from ruin keeps Harriet riding into danger under the cover of darkness. A danger made all the more acute by the arrival of Major Edward Roberts, the man commissioned to unmask Harriet’s legendary highwayman and bring him to justice! Harriet’s far too clever to fall into any trap the major sets to capture her alter ego. Understanding it’s best to keep your enemies close, she sets out to thoroughly distract the major from his duty using all of her womanly charms. Only allowing Edward closer has unexpected consequences for Harriet. How could she have guessed that time spent sparring and flirting with Major Roberts could inspire an excitement in her equal to the adrenaline surge she experiences on her night-time adventures? It seems the dashing major is a danger to her life, and her heart…
Unmasking of a Lady
Sophie Dash Sophie Dash is usually found chained to a laptop in her David Bowie pyjamas, with a spaniel dribbling on her feet, a pen in her hair and biscuit crumbs across her keyboard. She has a cardboard cut-out of Spock in her basement, knows all the words to Disney’s The Little Mermaid and has seen Pride and Prejudice more times than you. Follow her on Twitter @TheSophieDash
Contents
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
A pistol snapped in the night, a glimmer in the darkness. A horse was covered in a sheen of sweat as it ploughed onwards, hooves hammering on the ground with such a force as could summon thunder. The cool air crept up the rider’s sleeves and under the collar of her ill-fitting jacket, nipping at any exposed skin, as Harriet Groves fled. She had not meant tonight to go as it had. The mayor’s carriage should have been an easy target, but there had been a man waiting for her, waiting for the highwayman who haunted the Wessex roads. It begun as it always did – protests, shock, fear and overdressed aristocracy forced to part with their jewels and finery. It was her maidservant, Mary, who sounded the alarm, before a stranger’s weapon was fired. Harriet felt the shot pass between inches of her concealed face, burying itself into a tree trunk at her side with a heavy thud. She turned to the man who had fired it, movements fast, catlike. No one had ever tracked her down before. From the coach’s swaying lantern she saw his strong, tall frame, the light casting shadows across his features – obscuring them from sight. There was no doubt that he had been waiting for them, had anticipated them. She could feel his eyes on her, boring through her skin, her heart skittering beneath her breast as though a sparrow were trapped behind it, shedding feathers in her lungs. Harriet brought up her own pistol, halting him in his tracks, stopping him from reloading. Ever since she had first begun this terrible business, she had dreaded this moment. The night she would have to kill a man. Somewhere nearby an owl shrieked, a fox cried out, the branches above raked one another in the night. It was all dulled to Harriet as the blood rushed in her ears, though her hand remained steady and her resolve was hard. “If you’re going to fire, damn you, fire,” the stranger growled, steeling himself for it, for death. Harriet never uttered a word in response, though she wanted to – an apology, perhaps – but speech would give her away, for a woman’s voice would undo all her hard work. She fired, purposely aiming far above his head, before dashing towards woodland cover. She ran as fast as her feet would carry her, ignoring the brambles that clawed at her ankles and the low branches that swiped at her head. Another distant shot snarled somewhere behind her, giving chase, driving her onwards. She climbed onto her waiting horse with a practised motion, before following her maidservant down a different track. She rode deep into the shadows as though the Devil himself were on her trail. For all she knew, he was. The green leather mask across Harriet’s face cut into her cheeks, her identity further obscured by a wide-brimmed hat, giving her the guise of a man. All who encountered her and her pistol, on the dark Cotswolds roads and traders’ paths, thought of her as such. They rode hard and long until dawn tinged the horizon a light navy, as though the sky had run
