“Strange, isn’t it?” Jane commented as they walked down the upstairs hall. “It’s as if they just threw sheets over everything and walked away. I wonder where they went. And why they left so much behind. Anyone might pick that front lock and make off with their things. Though I suppose the house is rather isolated, and perhaps there is someone nearby who keeps an eye on it.”
“Not this evening, he won’t,” Gabriel commented with a jerk of his chin toward the window at the end of the hall. Rain and wind lashed against the glass, rattling the panes.
“Maybe whoever lived here died,” Jane mused aloud. “And there is no one to claim the estate.” Her gaze landed on a small portrait of a pretty, young woman with a coy smile. “Or maybe someone set up house for his mistress and the affair ended badly. Maybe she broke his heart when she ran off with another man, and he can’t bring himself to come here again, nor to be rid of her things.” She made a face at the idea. “That’s all a bit tragic, isn’t it? Perhaps the owner just fancied a spot of travel and it’s lasted longer than he intended. Maybe he went to Rome and met the love of his life.”
“Well, let us hope. He deserves a nice girl after that unfortunate business with the mistress.” Gabriel opened a door and led them into a generously proportioned bedroom. “Any particular reason it has to be Rome?”
“Er… No, it just seems more romantic. I suppose they might have fallen in love in Manchester just as well.”
“You’re right, Rome sounds better.” He stepped over to the giant four-poster bed in the center of the room and carefully rolled down the top sheet. “You’d make a fair detective, you know.”
She stared at him, mouth agape. “Are you making fun of me?” He didn’t look as if he was poking fun. He looked quite sincere, but the idea was laughable. “I’d be dreadful.”
“You wouldn’t. You’re clever, inquisitive, compassionate, and courageous. Most of the essential requirements are there; the rest could be learned.”
She’d been warming to the list of compliments, until he’d reached the last.
“I’d not left Twillins Cottage in six years,” she reminded him quietly. She wasn’t courageous, and they both knew it.
“And I would very much like to know more about that,” he returned in an equally soft voice. “But setting that aside for the moment…” He straightened from the bed. “One is rarely as brave as one might hope. Most of us allow fear to guide our choices more often than we should. But whether or not one is brave when one wants to be is of less significance, I think, than whether or not one is courageous when one needs to be. You left Twillins when it became necessary, when your friends were counting on you. That’s what matters.”
She wasn’t entirely convinced of his logic, but it was such a lovely thing for him to say, she hadn’t the heart to argue. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said simply, and went back to rolling down the blanket.
Jane eyed the bed with longing. A soft mattress and warm blankets sounded simply divine. But the thought of being found in it by their pursuers turned her stomach.
“Perhaps we should sleep in the stable,” she suggested, and shrugged at Gabriel’s questioning glance. “I know it’s unlikely Kray’s men will come looking for us in the storm, but if they did… They would expect to find us sleeping inside, wouldn’t they? They might peek in the stable and see our mounts, but I suspect they’d search the house for us straightaway. After all, why would we choose a mound of scratchy old hay on a stormy night when there are warm, soft beds to be had? Perhaps, with some luck, we’d be able to sneak away while they searched the house.”
Gabriel’s mouth curved in an appreciative smile. “You see? You’re a clever woman, Jane.”
She felt a smug little glow, until… “Oh. That’s why you’re taking the blankets, isn’t it?” That was disappointing.
“Great minds think alike.” He tipped his head once to the side. “Or fools seldom differ. You can let me know which it is when you’re picking straw out of your ear at two o’clock in the morning. In the meantime, see if you can’t ferret out some clean clothes for us.”
While Gabriel continued to gather the necessary supplies for their night in the stable, Jane found a change of clothes for both of them, then took advantage of the tub they’d found in the washroom at the back of the house. It took some time and effort to fill it, but at least it provided warm water once the small, attached furnace was lighted.
She scrubbed herself clean and donned her new trousers and shirt. They were even larger than the ones Gabriel had provided, and hung on her frame like shapeless sacks of flour. Gazing into a vanity mirror she’d uncovered, she made a face at the unattractive picture she made. Pity she’d not been able to unearth any gowns, but at least the new clothes were warm, clean, and dry.
Which was more than could be said for Gabriel.
She found him in the parlor downstairs, dripping puddles on the rug.
“Ah,” he said, glancing at her when she came in. “I thought I’d have another minute or two. Nearly done.”
“Good heavens, you’re sopping wet. Did you go back outside?”
“I needed something.”
“What could possibly be so important that you’d risk drowning or a lightning strike…” She trailed off as her eyes landed on the small table behind him. He’d pulled it in front of the fireplace and set it with what looked to be very fine china, silver flatware, and elegant crystal goblets. In the center of the table, a small vase that had been wiped clean of dust held a meager bouquet of sodden, yellow blooms.
She walked slowly to the table, the only sound in the room the cheerful crackle and snap of the logs in the fire.
“What is this?”
“This, Miss Ballenger, is romance.”
Her eyes lingered on the flowers. “Rather soggy.”
There was a short pause. “It’s raining.”
“Yes,” she said softly. “Yes, it is.”
“If you don’t like them, I’ll remove them.” He reached around her and plucked the vase off the table.
“Do what?Remove them?” She snatched the vase out of his hand. “Don’t you dare.”
“I thought you didn’t like them.”
“Of course I like them.”
“They’re wet.”
“Iknow,” she said, and couldn’t suppress a happy sigh. They were drenched and drooping pitifully. The saddest little blooms she’d ever seen. And he’d stood out in the rain and picked them. Just for her. “They’re perfect.”
Gabriel looked down at his wet shirt, then tugged uncomfortably at his collar. “I need a minute.”
He strode out of the room, but was back in short order in clean, dry clothes much like her own. Only his fit a good deal better. He’d only rolled the cuffs once by the look of it, while hers looked as fat as sausages.
He seated her at the table before reaching around her to take the lid off a large covered platter. There, sitting rather meekly atop the ornate silver, was a single block of cheese, one sliced apple, and half a loaf of bread.
She laughed at the sight of it.
“Peasant’s fare, I’m afraid,” Gabriel said.
She met his gaze and beamed at him. “But served at a table fit for a queen.”
***
Gabriel couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this nervous sitting across the table from a woman. He was, in fact, quite certain he’d never been this nervous.
He was usually good at this sort of thing. Then again, he’d always had nearly limitless resources at his disposal. He could offer his guest the richest dishes, the finest meats, the most decadent of desserts. He wore impeccably tailored suits of equally impeccable style and never was there a cuff or hem out of place. He set a pretty picture designed to please, impress, and, above all, distract the lady from looking too far beneath the surface.
Tonight, he had cheese and bread and wilted flowers. Worse, he was wearing another man’s clothes. Another man’s outdated, i
ll-fitting, wrinkled clothes.
He felt unkempt. Slovenly. Exposed.
While Jane looked…
Well, she looked a bit wild, actually. Her hair was drying into an outlandish mass of curls and frizz. The collar of her oversized shirt had slipped to the side, exposing a white shoulder that he was doing his best not to stare at too often. And she’d spilled a little something on the front of the linen. A drop or two of wine from the looks of it. Her cheeks were wind chapped from riding out of doors, and showing the beginnings of freckles from the sun.
God’s truth, she looked half-feral. Just as she had after climbing the tree. And now, as then, he thought her beautiful. Wild and messy suited her. There was no need for Jane to armor herself in starched gowns and sparkling jewels, or tame her hair with pins and ribbons and pomade. She was perfect just as she was.
Whereashe…
His gaze landed on the small vase.
He was a bastard.
He may not have picked the flowers and set the table with manipulation in mind. He’d just thought she might like them. He’d wanted to see her smile, maybe even laugh the way she had when he’d caught her from the tree.
But that wasn’t going to stop him from using her obvious pleasure with them to his advantage.
Regardless of his initial intentions, hewas going to manipulate Jane into exposing her secrets. He didn’t have much choice. Neither of them did.
“What would I have to learn to become a detective?” Jane asked him, drawing his attention. “You said I had the essentials, but some things I would need to learn. What things?”
“Interested in applying for a position as a thief taker?”
“Not remotely.” She wrinkled her nose at the idea. “I’m certain I wouldn’t care for the position at all. But I am curious what sort of skills I’m lacking.”
“Well, you’ve quite a lot of natural talent as a fighter, as I’ve mentioned, but those skills would need to be honed. More important, you would need to learn how to lie properly.”
“Police officers are trained to lie?”
“No, though the ability to deceive can be useful in certain situations. But I was thinking of private work, as you’re a woman.” The police would never allow a female in their ranks.
“Oh, right. Would you work with a female investigator?”
He did work with one, but that wasn’t his secret to give away. “I would have nothing against it,” he replied instead. “If she had all the requisite skills.”
“Like the ability to lie.” She lifted a careless shoulder. “Perhaps I’m better at deception than you realize. How would you know?”
And here it was. The moment he ruined everything.
Can’t be helped. He caught and held her gaze. “Because I know you’re keeping secrets now.”
***
It took a substantial amount of willpower for Jane keep her hand steady as she reached for her wine. “Everyone has secrets.”
“Not the sort you’re hiding,” Gabriel said softly. “You didn’t avoid your village for six years because of awkward conversation, Jane, nor because you weren’t receiving the right invitations.”
“That’s not—”
He shook his head, cutting her off. “There’s something else. Something you don’t want the villagers to know, and something you very much don’t want me to learn. You’re hiding the truth and it clearly bothers you. You’re distracted and it shows. You’re not always paying attention when we’re talking, and it’s resulted in misunderstandings that could have endangered us. You’ve let your mind wander to the point that you’ve failed to hear me when I’ve called your name. My guess is that it’s wandering to that secret and your fear that it will be discovered. I don’t want to press you for an explanation, but under the circumstances…” He shook his head again, slowly. “It’s dangerous, Jane. I need you focused. I need you concentrating on the task at hand.”
She felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment, the sort that made her feel small and foolish. She’d been doing her best, her absolutebest, to stay focused and to listen, understand, and remember.
And, naturally, she had failed. She always did.
Concentrate, you stupid girl.
“I need you to tell me the truth,” Gabriel said in an odd tone. “Are you married?”
“What? No!” The notion was so absurd, so unexpected, it succeeded in pulling a breathless laugh out of her. “Good Lord. Why would you ask such a thing?”
“Because there are a limited number of reasons a woman will hide herself away from the world. An unwelcome spouse, a criminal past, an untimely pregnancy, and a catching or disfiguring illness generally top that list. You’re clearly not ill, and you’ve certainly not been with child for six years.”
“When on earth would I have gotten married?”
“You’ve not been entirely isolated at Twillins,” he pointed out. “You’ve visited Ardbaile in the past, and you’ve allowed visitors in the cottage. There are all sorts of ways people meet, fall in love, and carry out secret elopements they later regret.”
“I’ve no marriages to regret, thank you.”
“I find it hard to imagine you’re wanted for a crime,” he said thoughtfully. “But if that’s the case, you’ve nothing to fear from me. I’m not a police officer anymore.”
She lifted her brows at that. “Really? You’d not turn me in if I confessed to… I don’t know… having murdered a man and buried him in my turnip patch?”
“Oddly enough, I’d not considered that exact possibility.”
She was ninety…no,eighty percent certain that was sarcasm. “I’m in earnest. What would you do?”
“I would ask you why you’d done it, and then listen attentively as you explained what I have no doubt would be very good reasons.”
“But what if I didn’t have a good reason? What if I’d killed him accidentally and then panicked and—”
“Jane,” he cut in patiently. “Is there a man buried beneath your turnips?”
“No, of course not—”
“Of course not,” he echoed before she could continue. “Because regardless of whatever secret you’re hiding, you are not the sort of person who could kill a man, accidentally or otherwise, and use his corpse to fertilize your vegetable patch. Your conscience would never allow it. Neither would your stomach, for that matter,” he added, rather as an afterthought. “It’s fairly revolting.”
“Well, yes it is. And of course I’d not do it, but…” But theawfulness of it was the point. She didn’t want to know what Gabriel would think if he learned she’d once nicked a sweet as a child. What did that matter? She needed to know how he might react to something significant, something he was sure to find shocking, something he might even find revolting.
He didn’t understand. He couldn’t unless she explained—
“I know what you’re trying to do,” he said. “You’re attempting to gauge my reaction to a confession you imagine is equally appalling as the secret you’re keeping.”
Very well, he did understand. Perhaps, she thought with increasing alarm, he understood too well. She’d planned on telling him something in the morning, but not everything. She’d decided to appease his curiosity and any budding suspicion with a few vague admissions—from time to time, she had a spot of trouble with her hearing. It was nothing serious, just a mite embarrassing. And there was the business of jumbling her words. She was quite sensitive about it. Those confessions would suffice. He was already aware of the latter, and well on his way to guessing the former.
If she affected the proper attitude and chose her words with care, she could appease his curiosity while minimizing the risk to herself. But that plan would never work if their current conversation carried on in the same serious vein.
“It’s nothing so dreadful as murder,” she said, trying for a slightly amused tone. “I was merely curious as to how much a former police officer was willing to overlook. And you’re wrong, besides. I’ve not been distracted becaus
e of some terrible secret. My friends are in danger, you’ll recall. My mind does wander in their direction on occasion.”
“Jane—”
“But you’re right. There are reasons I avoid the village that I’ve not seen fit to share with you. Primarily,” she said carefully, “because they are embarrassing.” She poked absently at her cheese. “I had thought perhaps we could discuss them tomorrow morning.”
He looked genuinely surprised. “Had you?”
“Yes. I’m not hiding a body or shameful love affair. There’s no need to fear the worst, I assure you.” Her gaze traveled over the table and landed on the flowers once more. “This is all so nice. Couldn’t we just…talk about embarrassing things later? Can’t it wait a few hours?”
Just a little while more, she thought. She just wanted a bit more time before she…gave up. And that was exactly how it felt to her—like a surrender.
Jane had long ago accepted that secrecy was her best hope for leading a free and normal life. Letting go of the pretense of normalcy felt like letting go of that hope. Once she told Gabriel the truth, even the measured portion of it she planned, there was no hiding it again. Her time of beingjust Jane would be gone, and she was afraid, very much afraid, that Gabriel would soon be gone as well.
Was it wrong to want a few extra hours? Would it be immoral to tailor her confession a little so that maybe, just maybe, if he wasn’t too put off by what he heard, Gabriel might stay one or two more days?
She sincerely hoped not, because she fully intended to follow that path.
Provided, of course, she could gain Gabriel’s cooperation. He didn’t look happy about it. He turned to frown at the closed drapes for a moment, and tapped his fork lightly against the table.
A Dangerous Deceit (Thief-Takers) Page 20
