She screwed up her face. “I shouldn’t have fallen for it. It was stupid of me.”
The anger in her voice took him aback, not so much the intensity of it, but the fact that it was directed at the wrong person entirely. “It wasn’t stupid. You didn’t—”
“It was a stupid lie. Therefore, it was stupid of me to fall for it.”
“It wasn’t a stupid lie.”
When her only response was pointed silence, he stepped closer. “The value of a lie isn’t measured by how long it stands up to scrutiny, Jane. Its value depends on whether or not it holds long enough to get the job done. In a moment of distraction and danger, I presented a threat to your loved ones as fact. It was only natural you believed me. We are always willing to believe, if only for a moment, that the worst has come to pass. All I needed was that moment.” He could see by her mulish expression that she wasn’t convinced, so he considered his options, then pointed at the sky behind her and shouted, “Cannonball!”
“What?” Jane spun about and took two stumbling steps backward. “What on earth are you…?” She turned back to him, her eyes wide with astonishment. “Did you just saycannonball?”
“I did. Did you believe me?”
“No, of course not.”
“But you looked. And you stepped back. And you did both because for a split second some part of you, however deeply buried, believed that the unthinkable had come to pass. As a lie, it was short-lived. But…” He held up the handkerchief he’d slipped from her pocket when she’d been distracted. “It lasted long enough to get the job done. Nothing motivates like fear, Jane. We are ever quick to believe in it.”
“That wasn’t fear. It was…” She snatched back the handkerchief. “Shock and confusion.”
“Also powerful motivators.”
She stared down at the linen in her hand, and shook her head. “I didn’t even feel you take it.”
“I’m a man of many talents.”
“You’re a man of many faces,” she muttered, shoving the handkerchief back in her pocket. “That’s what you are.”
As there was no arguing that, he changed the subject. “We can’t tally here long, but you need to change before we go.”
“Into what?”
He held the bag out to her and smiled. “Ever worn trousers?”
Fully expecting her to take affront at the suggestion, he was surprised when she accepted the bag without complaint. “Many times. But what’s wrong with my gown?”
“It hinders your movement. Your skirts are catching on every twig and bush we pass.Manytimes?”
“Some work is difficult to accomplish in skirts. Clearing the trails after a storm, for example.” She opened the bag and poked about in it with a frown. “Why is there straw in here?”
“A few pieces may have found their way inside yesterday. I spent the night in your stable loft.”
“You hid in my stable?”
“Strictly speaking, I was trespassing, not hiding. I needed to keep an eye on the house, and you wouldn’t invite me to stay.”
“I didn’t invite you to stay in the stable, either,” she said, and pulled out a neatly folded shirt. “A lack of invitation should prompt one to keep away completely, not simply move out of sight.”
“Add it to my list of misdeeds.” And enjoy the list while it’s short, he thought grimly.
She blinked a few times in surprise. “It wasn’t… I’m not angry with you for that. I’m sorry if I gave that impression. It was quite gallant, really.”
The compliment was unexpected, undeserved, and fully appreciated. “Well, then—”
“Nevertheless,” she cut in, “you should have asked.”
“I see.” He leaned a shoulder against the nearest tree and studied her. “Out of curiosity, if I had asked, and you had said no, and I had stayed anyway…would you still find it gallant?”
She paused with one arm in the bag. “Well…”
“Didn’t think so. There’s a heavy bit of undergrowth over there,” he said, pointing toward a thicket of leafy saplings. “Plenty of privacy for you to change.”
Huffing out a small laugh, she gathered her clothes and walked away to disappear behind the trees. Ten seconds later, she came right back out again.
“I forgot,” she told him sheepishly.
“Forgot what?”
A faint blush crept to her cheeks, and she clutched the clothes a little tighter. “Mrs. Harmon purchased this gown for me as a present. She thought the style quite becoming.”
“And so it is.”
“She was less concerned about convenience. The buttons are difficult to reach. I can’t…” She cleared her throat and briefly looked away. “I can’t get it off. I need help.”
“Ah. Right.” He made a twirling motion with his finger. “Turn round.”
She obliged, still holding her change of clothes against her chest like a shield.
Gabriel hesitated a moment before reaching for her. He’d undressed his share of women in the past. Not quite so many as the press would have the public believe, but more than what might reasonably be considered an average number. There had been a time in his life, particularly in his youth, when he’d approached his romantic affairs as if love were one enormous game, complete with rules and scores, successes and trophies, and even the occasional bruise.
He’d enjoyed himself immensely. He still did, but the pleasure he found in the company of a woman had never depended exclusively on the final act of making love. The smaller intimacies appealed to him as well. There was a sense of satisfaction, even accomplishment, in being allowed to watch a woman take down her hair, or being asked to untie a ribbon for her, or unfasten the clasp of a necklace. Small acts such as those required their own kind of trust and affection, and he’d taken pride in acquiring both.
But as his fingers brushed the back of Jane’s gown, his past victories suddenly felt rather inconsequential. He didn’t know why unbuttoning Jane Ballenger’s dress should feel more significant than unlacing the stays of a coveted courtesan. But it did, and it made him nervous. He fumbled with the buttons, something he’d not done since his earliest forays into the art of disrobing the female form.
At long last, the gown sagged and slid a bit off one shoulder, exposing the simple white linen of her chemise. At which point, Gabriel came to the conclusion that he’d quite lost his mind, because he had the sudden, terrible urge to touch the fabric. Just the fabric. He wanted to run his palm over the linen solely for the sake of feeling the warmth of it. And maybe for the hint of what lay beneath. And maybe because if he ran his hand from her collarbone to her shoulder, he could persuade the gown to slip down a little farther.
He curled his fingers into his palms and took a cautious step back. “You should be able to manage the rest on your own.”
“Yes, thank you,” she mumbled and hurried off without a backward glance.
When she returned a few minute later, she set down her own clothes, lifted her arms, and turned once on the spot. “How do I look?”
“You look…” Like a beautiful woman in men’s clothing a half dozen sizes too big for her. “You’ll do well enough. You’ll never pass close inspection, but it should fool anyone looking from a distance.”
She dropped her arms. “I don’t know if I should be pleased by your assessment, or insulted.”
“You’re beautiful, Jane.” The words came without thought, and with more feeling than he meant to express.
“Flatterer.”
It figured, he thought, that in a rare moment of actual genuineness, it would be assumed he was lying. At least she looked pleased with the compliment—initially, at least. Her pretty smile faltered after a moment.
“Isn’t there anything else you want to apologize for?”
He rubbed his chin with the back of his hand and wondered to which lie she might be referring now. “Er…”
“Is your conscience not troubled by anything else that happened on the train?”
Ah, so
that was it. “You want to know if I’m sorry I kissed you.”
She opened her mouth, shut it, then lifted her chin and looked him straight in the eyes. “Yes.”
“No. I’m not.”
“I don’t think your intentions were sincere.”
“My intentions were deceitful and self-serving. I needed to get you off the train as quickly and safely as possible. My interest in you, on the other hand, is perfectly sincere.”
“Oh.”
“I’ve wanted to kiss you since I saw you standing in the afternoon sunlight outside Twillins Cottage,” he admitted, glad that, at least on this particular occasion, the truth served better than a lie. “I will apologize, however, for choosing a time and place that benefited practical concerns over romantic ones.”
She gave him a bland look. “Or you could simply apologize for attempting to manipulate me through seduction.”
He gave that some thought. “Sounded better my way. But I apologize for attempting to manipulate you.”
“Thank you. Don’t do it again. Prom—”
“What? No seduction at all?” He posed the question for the single purpose of distracting her before she could demand a promise from him.
There was no telling what obstacles and dangers lay ahead, no telling what steps he would need to take to keep everyone safe. He wouldn’t use Jane’s fear for the Harmons against her again if he could possibly help it, nor attempt to influence her through seduction. But neither would he promise to toss out the possibility of manipulation altogether.
He didn’t make vows unless he was certain he could keep them.
In the eyes of most, deception was deception. In his opinion, there was a difference between crafting a lie and breaking a vow. The line between the two might be thin, but it was there. And he couldn’t afford to step over it. There were only so many lines a man could cross before he found himself on the wrong side of every one of them.
He leaned a shoulder against a tree again and offered an inviting smile. “I’d rather leave open the possibility of future seduction.” He was looking forward to it, in fact, once she was safely returned to her family.
“I wouldn’t.”
“Are you certain?” he asked smoothly.
“Yes. Entirely. Don’t do it again.”
He straightened at the conviction in her voice. He hadn’t expected absolute refusal. He’d anticipated some demurring and reluctance. He’d earned her mistrust and censure. But those might be got round with enough time and finesse.Don’t do itwas a different animal altogether. There was no getting arounddon’t. It was final. A man didn’t press his suit on a woman who made it clear she wasn’t interested.
And the possibility of disinterest hadn’t occurred to him, not after that kiss. Setting aside his questionable motives, the kiss itself had been…very interesting.
“Areyou sorry we kissed?” he asked before he could think better of it.
“Yes, rather.”
Well, that was blunt. “Then I bloody well didn’t do it properly.”
She made a thoughtful face. “Seemed adequate to me at the time.”
“Adequate,” he echoed, and ran his tongue over his teeth. “Excellent.”
“I’m still sorry it happened,” she continued, clearly oblivious to the cutting insult she’d delivered. “It was my first kiss.” She looked away for moment and when she spoke again, it was with a soft, slightly embarrassed voice. “It ought to have been romantic.”
And with those few quietly spoken words, he changed his mind. He was sorry he had kissed her. Because she was right. There was onlyone first kiss, and it should be memorable for all the right reasons.
He still looked back on that milestone in his life with great fondness. It had been sincere and passionate and wildly awkward—everything a first kiss should be. There was no remorse in that memory, no wishing any part of it had been different. There wasn’t a second of it he would alter.
There were few truly innocent and exceptional memories one had the pleasure of carrying through life. The first kiss ought to number among them. But he’d taken that from Jane. He’d stolen the chance at a perfect memory, and there was no giving it back.
“I’ll not…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman going forward.” He reconsidered his choice of words. “That is, I’ll make no effort at seduction. You have my word.”
“Thank you. That will make things more comfortable, I should think.”
Not for him, he thought dourly as she bent down to grab the satchel. A shaft of sunlight broke through the trees to play in her hair. He wanted to touch it again, see if it was as warm and soft as he remembered. It would be, of course. There was no reason her hair should have changed in two days, but one did like to have one’s first impressions confirmed.
His thoughts drifted in another direction as he watched her ruthlessly stuff her clothes in the satchel.
“Good God, not like that,” he said with a wince.
“Beg your pardon?”
“Have a care with them.” He gestured at the bag. “Fold them at a minimum.”
“You really are a tidy soul.”
“I’m practical. You’ll need to put them back on at some point. You don’t want them wrinkled beyond use.” In truth, he would want them folded whether or not they were to be worn again. It would drive him mad to see a wadded-up ball of clothing every time he reached into the bag.
She shrugged, pulled her clothes back out again, and rolled them into a shape vaguely resembling a malformed sausage before shoving them back in the bag.
He decided he’d just take care of it later.
She handed him the satchel and then, quite out of the blue, asked, “Why not before?”
“Before? Sorry?”
“You said you wanted to kiss me since you saw me standing outside Twillins Cottage yesterday afternoon. Why not yesterday morning?”
“We’d only just met. Also, you had an awful lot of dirt and grease about you. Were you aware?”
“Well, no. Not at the time, but…” She trailed off and eyed him with suspicion. “You’re teasing me.”
“I am,” he admitted and took great pleasure in seeing her lips twitch with humor.
“I don’t mind the teasing. But I would mind if you were…that is…” She slowly withdrew her hand without taking her eyes off of him. “Were you flirting with me because you were interested in what was hidden amongst my brother’s things?”
“One had nothing to do with the other,” he said firmly. “I said my interest is sincere and I meant it.”
“All right.” She paused a moment. “So was mine. In case you were wondering,”
He didn’t know whether to be pleased by the confession, amused by the frank way it was offered, or disappointed in her use of the past tense.
Disappointed, he decided, and plenty angry with himself as well. He should never have kissed her on the train. It had been a serious miscalculation on his part.
But he managed a smile for her and shouldered the bag. “Always nice to know one’s affections are returned.” If only for a time. “We should be off. We have a long way to go.”
“Whereare we going, exactly? Edinburgh, I know, but we’ll not reach it today.”
“We’re headed west.”
She looked behind her where the late afternoon sun was beginning to sink toward the horizon. “We’re really not.”
“We will be,” he assured her as they started off again. “Eventually.”
Hoping for a better lay of the land, he headed for a nearby hill and was rewarded with an open view of the countryside from the top. There were two houses in sight, modest country homes with reedy streams of smoke curling up from their stone chimneys. He looked at the house to the north, then the one to the south, both nearly equal distance from where they stood. Then he studied the wide, grassy meadow below. “I have an idea.”
Chapter Eight
A half hour later, Jane sat cooling her heels on a sma
ll boulder hidden in a copse of trees at the top of the hill.
After grinning at both houses like a mischievous little boy eyeing a pair of hot pies, Gabriel had sat her down, handed her his coat and the satchel, and told her to wait. Then he’d left her without offering an explanation. He’d loped off so quickly she’d not even had a chance to ask what he was about.
She could assume he’d gone off to one of the houses for horses, supplies, to leave a trail for Mr. Kray, or all three. But she couldn’t say forcertain because he hadn’t seen fit to enlighten her.
She wondered if this was how he generally went about his private investigating business—keeping his clients in the dark until he was in the mood to explain himself. Surely not. No one would put up with that sort of behavior for long. He would have been forced to close shop years ago.
They would need to reach some sort of understanding. She was not going to spend the whole of their journey alternately ignorant of her circumstances, or threatening to shoot him if he wasn’t forthright, or…
Her thoughts scattered and her pulse jumped at the sound of distant hoof beats. She leapt up from her seat to hide behind the trunk of an enormous oak. As the sound drew nearer, she took a cautious look around the tree and spied Gabriel riding a dapple gray in the valley below.
A long, shaking breath rushed from her lungs. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding it, nor that she’d dug her fingers into the bark of the tree.
This was why she needed to know what he was about. If she’d been expecting him to come riding up the valley, she’d not have swallowed her tongue in fear at the sound of it.
Releasing her grip on the wood, she stepped around the tree and watched him draw near. When he stopped just below her, she slipped and slid her way down to the bottom of the steep hill.
“You couldn’t have told me you’d gone for a horse?”
“Wasn’t it obvious?”
She had to admit that it was, but only insomuch as nearly anything he might have brought back from a country house would have been obvious.
Shaking her head, she stepped closer and reached for his offered hand, but the horse tossed her head violently and crow-hopped to the left. Jane jumped back as Gabriel wrestled the mare back into submission. The animal looked distinctly unhappy with his efforts, and Jane noticed for the first time that her ears were pinned and there was a great deal of white showing in her eyes.
A Dangerous Deceit (Thief-Takers) Page 12
