by Julia London
Mr. Bain glared at her. He pointed a finger at her. He looked as if there was much he wanted to say, but hesitated and said, grudgingly, “Fair point. I should have been more vigilant, aye. But the doesna change the fact that running off like you did could have seen you killed or worse.”
“Worse!” She laughed and pushed hair, come undone again, from her face. What she wouldn’t give for a few pins.
“Does that amuse you, Miss Darby? Has it occurred to you what sort of man might roam these hills, then? You canna talk or charm your way out of everything, and if a man is of a mind, he will do with you what he likes, aye?”
That sobered her. She’d thought of it, but only vaguely. It sounded much more real when he said it.
“You’ve made a bloody fix of things, aye, you have,” he added quite unnecessarily. But, she had to note, not unkindly.
“They are my things to fix,” she said petulantly.
He sighed. “Tell me true, aye? Why did you do it? What do you hope to gain?”
“Freedom.”
“Forgive me, Miss Darby, and at the risk of being accused of condescension, you are a woman. And one without means, aye? Freedom is no’ yours for the taking.”
She could not dispute that. “’Tis more than that.”
“Go on,” he said, gesturing for her to speak. “What more?”
“My necklace. I must have it back.”
He frowned. “A necklace?”
“Aye, I told you. The necklace belonged to my mother and her grandmother before her. It’s all I have of my name, and they should no’ have taken it. I did nothing wrong, Mr. Bain. They should no’ have taken it, and I will have it back.” She held up her hand before he could speak. “Donna think you can stop me.”
He studied her. No doubt he thought her foolish, or mad. She’d not be surprised if he marched her back to Garbett House and demanded Mr. Garbett pay him even more than he already had for all the trouble she’d caused him. “’Tis neither here nor there, but aye, I do understand,” he said.
Maura pressed the used handkerchief into his palm. “How could you possibly?” she asked with weary skepticism.
“The depth of my understanding is too tedious to explain, Miss Darby,” he said as he grimaced at the handkerchief before tucking it into his pocket. “Suffice it to say that I know what you are experiencing, far better than you could possibly imagine.”
It was an odd thing for him to say. Did he truly think that a man as dapper and capable as himself could understand her woes? He was a man, after all, very much in command of his destiny, as all men were. He’d never been cast out. He’d never been humiliated as she had.
“You’ve every right to be cross,” he added quietly. “But if you want your necklace, you must sing a sweet song.”
“A song?” That made no sense to her. “What are you talking about?”
He held out his hand, palm up. “Come.”
“Where?”
“You could do with some food, I suspect, as could I. We’ll discuss your necklace.”
Still, she did not take his hand. “I will brook no discussion, Mr. Bain. I mean to have it,” she said firmly.
He leaned forward, touched a bit of hair that had attached itself to her eyelash and moved it aside. “Aye, Miss Darby, you’ve been exceedingly clear on that point. We’ll discuss how to get it, then.”
They would? What was this? What treachery did he present her now? Maura stepped back from him. “I donna want to discuss it with you—I donna trust you.”
He suddenly chuckled, and the pleasant sound of it tingled through her. “I hardly trust you, either, but I should like to know on what grounds you will no’ trust me, as I’ve given you no cause. What have I done or said that was no’ true?”
He had her there. She sniffed. She looked toward the road. She felt his hand wrap around hers. Dwarf hers, really. “Come, then, lass. I’m hungry.” He smiled, and tugged her along.
* * *
MR. BAIN ORDERED kidney pies and tankards of ale for them, and as they dined, Maura told him more about the necklace. “It’s a ring of diamonds, goes round the throat,” she said, gesturing to her neck. “An emerald the size of a bird’s egg hangs just here,” she said, touching the hollow of her throat.
Mr. Bain’s gaze settled on her throat for a long moment.
“My great-grandmother was a rare beauty, that she was, and a favorite of King Charles. He gifted her the necklace.”
“Did he,” Mr. Bain said, rather stoically.
“Aye. She had her portrait made with it. It hung in the drawing room. My mother would allow me to put it on and pretend to be a great lady.” She smiled ruefully at the memory of herself prancing about her mother’s dressing room, the necklace heavy on her neck. She was a queen in that necklace, the furnishings her court. She even insisted the maid curtsy for her. What an insufferable little beast she must have been.
She glanced up; Mr. Bain was watching her, his expression inscrutable.
“It was meant to be mine all along, to be gifted to me on the occasion of my wedding. But my mother died, and then my father, and everything was taken away.”
She thought of the day men had come to cart off all the furnishings of the house to satisfy her father’s creditors. She hadn’t thought of it in quite a long while, but she recalled now how she’d trembled with fear that they would cart her off, too, and toss her into a debtor’s prison, or worse, a workhouse. Mr. Garbett had appeared just in time to save her. “Oh dear,” he’d said as he’d watched brusque men carrying out the pianoforte. “Oh dear.”
She had believed the kind-faced man to be her knight. But he wasn’t a knight at all—he wouldn’t or couldn’t save her from his wife. She shook her head to dislodge the memory. “I’ve nothing of my family, Mr. Bain, nothing at all save that necklace, and I will crawl to Garbett House if I must and take it by force.”
“Force? What do you mean, a bit of kicking and shoving again?”
Maura didn’t know what she meant, but she showed him her fist.
Mr. Bain looked at her fist, then slowly leaned back in his seat, his expression quite serious. “So you mean to punch Miss Garbett in the nose?”
“No!”
“The belly, then?”
She clucked her tongue. “I donna mean to strike her at all.”
“Then what do you mean, Miss Darby?”
She harrumphed, and sat back, her arms folded across her belly. A smile appeared on Mr. Bain’s lips.
“My plight is no’ amusing!”
“I beg to differ,” he said cheerfully. “The picture of you engaging in a bare-knuckle brawl is highly amusing.” She tossed her head. She didn’t really want to fight for it. The prospect frightened her. It would hurt, for one, and Sorcha was taller than her.
He suddenly sat forward, pushed his plate away and folded his arms across the tabletop. “I’ve a proposition that may suit you, if you’ll allow it.”
She eyed him with skepticism. “Go on.”
“If I help you retrieve your necklace, do I have your word you’ll give me no more trouble and carry on to Luncarty?”
“To marry your friend?” she asked with not a little exasperation. The notion galled her yet.
“Have you someplace else to go, then? Another benefactor who will take you in?”
Maura shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She was, in fact, friendless. “I donna need to be taken in, Mr. Bain. I can do for myself, thank you.”
“Mmm,” he said. “And you will do for yourself...how? The roof that you will need over your head—do you have a way of providing it?”
“I’ll sell my necklace.”
“Ah,” he said. “The sentimental value may not be as great as the monetary value, is that it, then?”
“No! It’s more valuable to me for the sentiment. But I havena any money.”
>
“So you’ll sell it, aye?”
“Aye.”
“In Edinburra, of course, for you’d no’ get more than a fraction of it’s worth in Stirling. Better yet, you ought to sell it in London, where it might fetch its worth. And then you will use that money to, what...purchase the roof?”
She shifted again. She didn’t like the direction this was heading. “Why no’?”
“Oh, no reason, really. Other than the bothersome fact that you’re a woman, Miss Darby, and you are no’ allowed to own property outright. You need a man to purchase your roof, and in spite of your youth and inexperience, I think you know as well as I do that men donna buy houses for women without a few conditions of purchase.” He arched a brow at her.
Heat crept into her cheeks. He was right, she knew he was right. She had no power. She was an orphan in this world and could not provide for herself. She had no living relatives, at least none that could be found when her father had died. She was as helpless today as she had been in Rumpkin’s home. She hated the feeling of being trapped, of having no say over her own life. She hated being at the mercy of men, who cared nothing for her, except her body.
Mr. Bain was calmly awaiting her answer with his arched brow and his mouth pursed.
How could she possibly trust him? He thought she ought to by virtue of the fact she’d not caught him in a falsehood in the space of the twenty-four hours or so that she’d been acquainted with him. Well, she was far less trusting than that—sometimes it took a person weeks or even years to betray another. And then again, she desperately wanted her necklace. It was the principle of it, not to mention the sentimentality. She might possibly want it bad enough to go along with Mr. Bain at the moment. She crudely drew the back of her hand across her mouth. “Verra well.”
“We have a bargain?”
“If the necklace is returned to me, aye, we have a bargain. But donna think for a moment this means I trust you, Mr. Bain.”
“Perhaps no’ yet,” he said amicably, “but you will. I’ve your solemn word, do I?”
He had her word. She would determine what to do to save herself from marrying his “friend” when they reached Luncarty. “From my lips to God’s ears, you have my word.”
Mr. Bain’s gaze fell to her lips, and the shine of his eyes changed, and turned a wee bit darker, and for a moment, Maura’s heart skipped around a beat or two. She shifted in her seat like a child in church, and looked anywhere but at those green eyes shining with something she didn’t quite comprehend, but that felt dangerous. Like the sudden flare of a newly made fire. The sudden swell of an ocean wave.
“How do we do it? How do we get it back?” she asked the table.
He pulled his plate closer, picked up his fork and resumed his meal. “Eat,” he said, gesturing to her unfinished plate. “Can you repair your appearance?”
She looked down at her gown. It looked as if it had been dragged through the forest. She put a hand to her hair. “I’ll need help with my hair.”
He took in the tresses that fell wild around her shoulders, then glanced at his plate. “And you do understand, do you no’, that you must be contrite when we arrive?”
“Aye, aye, contrite, then,” Maura said irritably.
“If you want your necklace, if you want to be freed from the Garbetts, you must do as I say and trust that I know what I’m doing.”
She frowned.
“Och, I know you donna trust me, but for the sake of this exercise, we’ll both pretend that you do, aye? This sort of thing is my occupation, Miss Darby. I understand the way a man’s mind works. We’ll say you’ve come back for a few of your things. Your gown will prove that to be an imperative need.”
She couldn’t help a small, wry smile at that. “It will indeed.”
He returned her smile with one that was a wee bit conspiratorial, and picked up his tankard of ale.
“All right, shall we go?”
“Patience. We must arrive late enough that Garbett will be forced to invite us to stay for the night.”
“What!” Maura exclaimed. “I’ll no’ stay there, Mr. Bain! I’ll no’ risk another moment in the company of Adam Cadell or Sorcha Garbett!”
“Aye, you must. I need time, Miss Darby. We canna waltz in and take the necklace straightaway. If I canna convince Mr. Garbett to return it, I’ll need another solution.”
“What solution?”
He shrugged.
“What solution?” she asked again.
“I donna know as yet,” he admitted. “Do you know where the necklace might be, then?”
She didn’t know for certain, but she suspected Sorcha had it close by, so that she could look upon it every day and gloat. “I’ve an idea.”
“We must know the exact location as soon as possible, before I speak to Mr. Garbett.”
It took Maura several moments before she understood him. She gaped at him. “Do you mean to steal it?” she asked in a loud whisper.
“Certainly no’,” he said, as if that were preposterous, and then gave her a ghost of a smile. “Except, of course, if the Garbetts are unreasonable. Then, I’ll have no choice.” He winked at her, drained his tankard and set it down. “All right, then, your first task is to make yourself...” He paused and took in her disheveled appearance. “Tidy,” he said. “Your second task is to determine the exact location of the necklace once we arrive.”
Maura was still reeling from the idea that they might very well steal the necklace, an idea that both thrilled and appalled her. “What will be your task?” she asked.
“To help you with your hair,” he said. His eyes moved to her throat, to her décolletage. “Because something must be done.”
His voice was silky, a warm caress, and Maura wasn’t certain he was speaking of her hair. She imagined him using that dulcet voice with a woman in his bed. She imagined herself lying naked with him, and him whispering something must be done.
The unsettling image prompted a wave of sparks to sizzle through her. She was suddenly and acutely aware of every part of him. Especially his gaze, which was so intent that she could swear it singed her skin everywhere he looked.
You’re being ridiculous. This man, who had appeared like a faerie with a fist through a window, had come with an absurd plan to marry her off. And yet, instead of seeking every way possible to flee as she ought to be doing, her regard for him was suddenly shimmering, her breath glistening in her lungs. Stop it at once, she commanded herself.
Unfortunately, it was harder to stop than she would have thought. Maura picked up her tankard and took a long drink of bitter ale to steady herself as he watched her with that potent stare.
All right, then. Verra well. She would join him in this mission, and she would, as she said, trust him. But the moment it was over, she would flee. She would not allow a pair of very lovely eyes to weaken and divert her.
He was still watching her, quite casually, like a cat watches a bird or a mouse, and Maura had the strange feeling that he was actually reading her jumbled thoughts. It rattled her, and she realized she had to be more mysterious. She could not have him guessing her plans.
So Maura smiled. She smiled like she’d not smiled in weeks. As if she were entirely happy with what was happening to her.
Mr. Bain’s expression changed. His fine eyes took on an entirely new sheen as they locked with hers.
The sizzle of sparks in her began to blaze.
CHAPTER EIGHT
NICHOL ESCORTED MISS DARBY into the stable where he’d sent the horses to be fed and watered. He searched through his satchel and produced a comb.
“Have you any pins?” she asked.
“Quite obviously, I do no’,” he said wryly.
“We’ll need something with which to bind it, aye?” she said, twirling a tress around her finger. “Had you bothered with my bag, we’d have it.”
Frankly, he was still uncertain if Miss Darby was a woman who had suffered an injustice, or was merely mad. “Do you mean I was to gather your things in my haste to intercept you?”
“I should think it was clear that I could no’ have brought it.”
Nichol thought about pointing out that she should not have escaped him at all, or how illogical it was to assume that he should have made certain he had all her things after she did.
She suddenly caught her breath, then said, “I’ve got it!” She reached for the horse’s bridle, hanging from a hook on the wall. “A wee bit of leather will do the trick, aye? If you have a knife, we can pare off a few strings of it.”
The reins were long enough, and it was the only practical solution, short of finding a ladies’ shop. Nichol removed a small knife from his boot and cut a piece from the end of the rein, then pared that into tiny strips as she combed her hair with her fingers. It was something that was entirely necessary, and should not have been the least bit erotic, but Nichol couldn’t tear his eyes from the process. There was something about a woman’s hair that moved him, that separated him from the fairer sex. A gentleman had once opined in his presence that a woman’s hair was the crown of her beauty. Nichol had never thought of it in precisely that way, but then again, he’d never been drawn to a woman’s hair quite like he was drawn to Miss Darby’s luxuriant tresses, black as a satin night.
When she had combed through the tangles, she began to knot her hair, making loops, twisting the loops into knots, then tying them with the bits of leather he handed her. When she had several knots, she handed him two of the longest strips of the leather. “Gather them all together and tie them, then twist the ends under and tie them there, aye?”
“Pardon?”
She pressed the leather into his hand and presented her back.
Nichol examined the knotted loops. He began to gather them, taking care not to pull the knots from their ties. The feel of her hair was soft as a kitten in his hands. How was it possible that the feel of a woman’s hair could stir emotions and desires in him that had no place in this stable? How was it possible that a man as careful as he, who measured each word and deed, could feel her hair on his fingers and feel himself on the verge of losing all reason?
