Carstares pulled himself together and set his teeth as he faced the inevitable. Escape was impossible; Miles would shoot, he felt sure, and then his disguise would be torn away and his friend would see that Jack Carstares was nothing but a common highwayman. Whatever happened, that must not be, for the sake of the name and Richard. So he quietly held out his hands.

“Ay, I give my word, but ye can bind me if ye choose.” It was his highwayman voice: raucous, and totally unlike his own.

But O’Hara’s eyes were fixed on the slender white hands held out to him. In his usual haphazard fashion, Jack had quite forgotten to grime his hands. They were shapely and white, and carefully manicured.

Miles took either wrist in his large hands and turned them palm upwards in the moonlight.

“Singularly white hands ye have, for one in your profession,” he drawled, and tightened his hold as Jack tried to draw them away. “No, ye do not! Now be so good as to step within, me friend.”