Richard dug his spurs into the horse's flanks, driving him faster than was reasonable in the dark. He knew the road, and so did his horse. Frustration burned a hole in his gut. Despite Mrs. Clancy's fine intentions, he left the party without choosing a bride. He'd searched the mansion for the illusive Miss Julia, but she'd disappeared as if she'd never been there.

With one day left and no prospects, Richard had to face the possibility of Mathis taking the Spring Valley acreage.

The road curved through a wooded area, overgrown with brush and low-hanging live oak. When Richard rounded a particularly sharp curve, his horse planted his feet into the earth so fast that Richard had no time to recover and flew over the horse's head, landing in a pile of leafy branches blocking the road.

Before he could extricate himself from the tangle of brush, the hard, cold metal of a pistol barrel pressed into his temple.

Richard froze.

"Give me all your valuables or die," a gravelly voice spoke close to his ear. Was that rosewater he smelled? Surely not on a bandit. What manner of a man splashed rosewater on his skin before robbing another? His senses were playing tricks on him. Or maybe he was remembering the woman in the garden at the Clancy's. What an odd time to remember her.

When he attempted to turn toward the threatening voice, the pistol pushed more firmly against his skin. "Don't turn around. My finger may slip on the trigger at any sudden movements. Do I get the valuables or do I find a new casing for my bullet?"

"You'll get the valuables," Richard ground out. He reached into his fancy frock coat, removing a bag of coins, holding them high.

A hand snatched the bag from his grip. "Your watch and ring too."

With slow movements, he removed his pocket watch and ring, regret burning against his chest. The watch belonged to his grandfather, the man who'd raised him since his tenth birthday. The ring belonged to his father, dead these past fifteen years. The ring and the land were the only things he had left of his father's. His anger over his grandfather's will didn't compare to the rising tide of rage seeping into his heart over the humiliation of being robbed on his way home.
Richard kept an outward appearance of calm, awaiting the opportunity to reap revenge on this thief.

Once he'd been divested of his watch and ring, Richard attempted once again to turn.

"Not so fast." The cold steel pressed against his temple. "I'm going to back away slowly. If you so much as sneeze, I'll shoot you so fast you won't know what hit you.

The sound of boots crunched against the hard packed dirt and loose gravel. A horse pawed the earth a few feet away.
When he heard the squeak of saddle leather, Richard scooped a handful of dirt, rolled to the side and sprang toward the horse and the thief, tossing the dirt into the horse's eyes.

The sleek black stallion reared into the air, dumping its rider to the ground. The thief lay still in the shadows cast by the moon on the trees.

Richard stood, brushed the dust from his good pants and strode toward the inert body. Had the fall killed the thief?
The pistol lay to the side a yard from the black gloved hand. The man's slight form led Richard to believe him but a boy or a very small man, though difficult to tell with his face covered by a black mask and his hat tightly tied beneath his chin. So tightly, it hadn't flown off in the fall.

"Let's see who the Black Bandit is." Richard bent over the still form and removed the hat. Glossy dark hair caught in the strap and pulled loose from a leather band. A great deal of ebony hair. More than fashionable for a man. More appropriate for a woman.

As he lifted the edge of the black mask hiding the bandit's face, his heart beat like thunder inside his chest and his hands shook. Beneath the black hat and mask lay the face of an angel.

The angel he'd met in the garden at Mrs. Clancy's matching-making ball.

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