A Dangerous Deceit (Thief-Takers) Read online

  Maybe it wasn’t a scent but a sensation, an experience. There was only one way to find out, just one way of solving the mystery. And it was off-limits until he delivered her from danger.

  Still…a man could wonder. He could imagine taking Jane in his arms and slowly stripping away her clothes to uncoverall her secrets, all her sweetness. And why shouldn’t he?

  He’d promised not to seduce her. He’d never promised not to think about it.

  ***

  Jane’s nervous rambling was only interrupted when they stopped at the odd house and cottage along the way. She waited out of sight every time, an arrangement that suited her well enough so long as she knew where Gabriel was going before he left, what he hoped to accomplish, and how soon he would return.

  She had no interest in contact with complete strangers. She could barely stand contact with people from her own village.

  She was curious, however, why Gabriel occasionally took pains to change his appearance. He traded coats with her at one house, left his coat and necktie off altogether before visiting another, and, at a third, donned a pair of spectacles he pulled from his bag. She even noticed him affecting a stoop and limp as he made his way up the drive.

  “Isn’t the point to be seen?” she asked him when he returned.

  “We want our pursuers hopeful they’re on the right trail, but not so certain of it that they send word to every other man on the hunt. I’d rather keep them separated, if possible.”

  “They won’t be for much longer. How many gentlemen of your general description could there possibly be knocking on every other door in the countryside?”

  “I’ve knocked on four,” he corrected. “We’ve passed over a dozen. We’ll be lucky if Kray’s men stop at any of the same houses. In fact, I don’t think there’s a point in continuing to stop after this. It takes too much time, and the more distance we cover, the less likely it becomes that Kray’s men will find the smaller clues we leave. We’re going to have to do something obvious soon.”

  “I don’t mean to disparage your work, Gabriel, but you’vebeen obvious. Those disguises—”

  “Work well enough, I assure you. People rarely remember the small, boring details from a brief meeting. They’re more likely to make note of the most striking or unusual traits, and form an overall impression from those. Mrs. Kitt probably won’t be able to recall the exact shade of my hair. It’s a fair bet she won’t even remember the name I gave her, or place my age within a decade. But she’ll remember that a man with spectacles, a bad limp, and a thick brogue came to her door asking for directions to the nearest village.”

  “You affected an accent?”

  “One she’ll remember.”

  Jane studied his profile as discreetly as possible.

  He was devilishly handsome, and charming when he had a mind to be. Add in a brogue, and stoop or no stoop…

  Oh, yes, Mrs. Kitt would absolutely remember the day Gabriel showed up at her door.

  ***

  When the sun dipped low and the first traces of orange tinted the sky, Gabriel brought the horse to a stop in a small glade. “We’ll camp here and get some sleep.”

  “But there’s light yet,” Jane protested, brushing away a loose lock of hair from her face.

  “Not for much longer,” he replied and would have left it at that. But then he remembered his promise to try and keep her informed. “We could travel for another half hour, but there’s no telling if we’ll find a spot so well protected as this.”

  She gave the small clearing a thorough inspection. “Thereare quite a few boulders.”

  “And a clear view of the west on the other side of those trees,” he added, dismounting.

  He reached up to help her down, studiously ignoring the feel of her beneath his palms. Although they’d been pressed up against each other for most of the day, he’d not laid anactual finger on her except to help her in and out of the saddle. But he had certainly enjoyed thinking about it.

  He’d had all manner of fantasies over the last few hours. He’d conceived all sorts of ways he might contrive to get his hands on her again—most of them patently ridiculous, although the notion of trading positions on the horse had intrigued him for a time. He could wrap his arms around her and pull her tightly against his chest. She would lean back against him and turn her face up to look at him with those wide amber eyes. It would be so easy to lower his head to hers and capture her mouth. He could take his time, seek out that elusive scent, that singular experience…

  Holy hell. Gabriel’s mind snapped back to the present. He was gripping Jane too tightly, and he’d not taken her off the horse yet. Her small hands were settled on his shoulders. Her eyes were watching him, waiting.

  Gabriel hastily brought her to the ground. The moment her toes met the forest floor, he relinquished his grip on her, and turned away to busy himself with horse and saddle.

  If Jane noticed the tension, she didn’t mention it. In fact, she said very little at all as he finished with the horse and set up a makeshift camp for the night.

  “You’ve grown quiet again,” he commented when his work was done.

  She was several feet away, her back turned and her head tipped up as if looking for something in the tree canopy.

  He frowned when she remained silent. “Are you all right, Jane?”

  She said nothing, wouldn’t even turn to look at him.

  “Are you cross with me?” He didn’t see how she could be. It hadn’t been more than twenty minutes since she’d been talking away on the horse. He’d not said or done anything offensive in the last twenty minutes, had he? “Is this because we stopped? If you wanted to press on, you should have said so. We could have discussed it.” It wouldn’t have changed his decision, but he wasn’t opposed to talking about it.

  And still nothing.

  Shewasput out with him. Good God, the woman was unpredictable in her moods.Not mean, but fast or feast, he thought grimly as he closed the distance between them and caught her arm lightly. “Will you look at me, please?”

  She started at his touch, and whirled around to face him. “What? What is it?”

  “I was talking to you.” Had he surprised her? He couldn’t have. He’d only been standing a few feet away.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. I… I was listening to the breeze in the pines.” She pointed toward the tree tops. “It sounds like ocean waves. That’s what Mr. Harmon says. Lovely, really.”

  “The…?” He cocked his head, listening. Now that she mentioned it, he did feel a slight breeze. He hadn’t noticed it before, nor the rushing noise it created amongst the pines. It was just background noise. “You couldn’t hear me speaking over the breeze?”

  “Of course I heard you,” she replied defensively. “I just wasn’t paying you any mind. I thought you were talking to yourself.”

  “Going forward, when you hear me speaking, assume I’m speaking to you.”

  There was a pause before she answered. “I’ve offended you,” she said softly.

  She sounded weary suddenly, and a little embarrassed. He didn’t like it.

  “No, you haven’t,” he replied, gentling his tone. “I was thinking of your well-being. It’s important you pay close attention until we’ve reached safety.”

  “Yes, of course.” She gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I apologize. It’s been a long day.”

  “Very long.” Particularly for her, he thought.

  Hoping a meal and rest would help, he retrieved the food from his bag. When she began to yawn halfway through the cold meal, he spread a blanket out for her over a soft mound of leaves.

  Jane crawled onto the makeshift bed, and stretched out on her side. “Aren’t you going to sleep?”

  “I’ll keep watch for now.” Once the light was gone, it would be safe to rest for a few hours. The sky had grown cloudy over the course of the evening. Kray’s men wouldn’t attempt to track them without the benefit of moonlight. They wouldn’t be able to tra
ck them for the last five mileswith the benefit of moonlight. Gabriel had been careful to put distance between the obvious trail he’d left and their resting place for the night.

  “All right. Good night, Gabriel.”

  Jane rolled over, giving him her back.

  Two minutes later, she rolled back and propped herself up on one elbow. “He must have been sick.”

  “Beg your pardon?”

  “Edgar. He must have been very sick. He must have known he was dying. Why else would he have sent me the list?”

  “He might have known he was in danger.”

  “Edgar would have run from danger. He was not a courageous man. At least, not the Edgar I knew.” She was quiet a moment. “Do you suppose the Harmons have reached your friends in Edinburgh?”

  “Not yet. They won’t travel by train. You should go to sleep, Jane.”

  “I can’t.” She lay back down with a sigh. “It’s the nightingale. It’s too loud.”

  “The…?” He heard it then, the distinctive song of the small bird. He hadn’t noticed the nightingale before. Like the breeze rustling the trees, the distant chirping had been background noise, automatically dismissed from his mind. But now that she’d pointed it out…

  The bird trilled again.

  Damn it. It was like a clock ticking in the dead of night. It was possible to fall asleep without giving the repetitivetick-tock, tick-tocka moment’s thought. But once a man noticed it, once hereallyheard it, he couldn’tstop hearing it.

  The bird warbled another long series of notes. “That’s very irritating.”

  “Quite. Ordinarily, I’m rather fond of them, but…” She huffed out a breath when the bird sang again.

  “Try to concentrate on something else.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Concentrate on something else.”

  “I…huh.” She shifted on the blanket. “He might not have gone to Lancashire.”

  “What?”

  “I was trying to think of something besides the bird. I thought of that stable hand you hired.” She propped herself back up on her elbow. “How do you know he didn’t pocket the money for catching the horse, and decide against going to work for you? He might have family he doesn’t wish to leave behind.”

  “He doesn’t. I asked. And I offered him significantly better pay.”

  “Money isn’t everything,” she said softly. “He must have friends. He has a life at that house, one he might decide he’d rather not abandon for extra coin. I’d not abandon Twillins for any amount of money, not permanently.”

  “That’s different. You have the Harmons. Without them…”

  “Without them,” she finished for him, “I would be lonely. But I would still be at Twillins Cottage.”

  “Does it mean so much to you?”

  He could just make out her thoughtful frown in the dying light. “It’s my home,” she said simply, then shrugged and settled back down on the blanket. “Good night, Gabriel.”

  Chapter Nine

  As the sun broke over the horizon to light the forest with a soft glow, Gabriel stepped out from the trees, took one look at Jane, and said the first thing that popped into his head.

  “It’s curly.”

  Not the most charming sentiment a gentleman might give to a waking lady, but there it was.

  Jane blinked the sleep from her eyes as she sat up. “What?”

  “Your hair. It’s curly.” Strictly speaking, it was more an unruly mass of waves and tremendous frizz, but he didn’t think she’d appreciate the accurate description.

  She touched the top of her head experimentally and groaned. Like a young boy trying to tame a cowlick, she brought both hands up and pressed down with her palms.

  Grinning at the sight, he approached her and took a seat on the ground. There were things to do. They needed to get moving. But this was worth taking a little time for. “That’s not working, love.”

  “Stop laughing.”

  He couldn’t possibly, not when she licked both palms and tried again. “Is licking your hair a typical part of your grooming regimen?”

  With a growl of frustration, she gave up trying to smooth the hair and combed her fingers through it instead. “It’s this dratted humidity.”

  “If it’s the damp causing it, I don’t think adding spit will help.”

  She looked about her bedding and snatched up the hat she’d worn the day before.

  Without thought, he grabbed it out of her hand. “Wait.”

  “Give that back.”

  He tipped his head at her. “I like it. You look rumpled.” In the best possible way.

  “I…” She blinked at him twice. “What?”

  “You look mussed and rumpled.”

  “Oh. Well.” She looked him up and down. “You look a bit worse for wear yourself.”

  He did, and the knowledge of his disheveled appearance crawled under his skin like ants. But it was just one day’s dirt, not soot and grime built up over months. He could live with it, just as he lived with it when he took on a disorderly appearance as part of a disguise, or arrived at such a state by means of a long night with good friends and fine drink.

  He could stomach it for a little while. Still, he couldn’t help but eye the clothes Jane was wearing with a bit of longing. He really ought to have put more than one change into the satchel.

  Determined not to dwell on it, he let his gaze travel up to her face, which was smudged with dirt and framed by the wild hair.

  “Little owl,” he murmured.

  She blinked at him again. “Did you just call me an owl?”

  “That’s what you remind me of. Wide-eyed and fuzzy.” And blinking.

  She paused in the act of parting her long hair into three sections. “That’s a dreadful comparison. I don’t want to be an owl.”

  “Why not? Perfectly respectable creatures, owls.”

  A line of annoyance formed between her brows. “They’re unimpressive.”

  “They’re hunters.”

  “So are tigresses.”

  “You can’t be a tiger. They’re not fuzzy.”

  She made a disgusted sound, but there was more than a little amusement in it as well. “Bears are fuzzy. I’ll be a bear.”

  “You’re no man-eater, sweetheart.”

  “Maybe not yet,” she muttered. “Well, if I’m an owl, then you’re a chameleon.”

  “A chameleon? That’s alizard.”

  “And a hunter,” she returned. “It’s fitting. You seem able to change your colors at will.”

  “It’s an insult to call someone a reptile, Jane.”

  “I find it insulting be called a little owl.Although…” She drew the word out and began to lazily braid the parted sections of her hair. “Owls eat lizards, don’t they?”

  He gave that some thought. “Fine. You’re a bear.”

  “Excellent.” She smiled happily and reached out to snag the hat from his hand. “You may be a fox.”

  “Bears don’t hunt foxes, in case you were wondering.”

  “I wasn’t. I know they don’t.” She put the hat on and tucked her braid up underneath. “But I suspect they could with the right provocation.”

  “I’ll remember that.” He gained his feet and helped her to rise.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, brushing off her trousers.

  “East for a while longer. Can you ride?”

  She looked up at him quickly. “Beg your pardon?”

  “Can you ride?”

  “Er…”

  “It’s all right if you can’t.”

  There was a long, peculiar pause. “All right.”

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “Certainly not.” She cleared her throat. “Why should it be?”

  He had no idea, but she seemed uncomfortable. “It won’t put us in danger, if that’s what concerns you. We’re not trying to outrun Kray’s men, just lead them about in circles. A few of them are likely ahead of us by now.” />
  She went from looking vaguely ill-at-ease to completely horrified in the space of a heartbeat. “What? While we slept? They passed by us?”

  “They passed us aboard trains,” he clarified. “Some of the men who didn’t follow the tracks are likely checking the villages nearest to Ardbaile.”

  “Oh. Right.” She glanced a bit nervously over her shoulder as if she still half expected someone to jump out from behind the nearest bush.

  “We’re safe,” he promised her. “If Kray’s men stumbled upon us right now, it would be by sheer dumb luck.”

  She seemed to give that some thought. “Like you stumbling upon Edgar’s things at my cottage?”

  “Good point,” he said, his lips curving up in a smile. “You gather the bedding. I’ll saddle the horse.”

  In short order, they were headed east once more.

  Generally, a day spent trudging through the woods followed by a night spent on the hard ground followed by yet another day in the woods left the average individual out of sorts. Apart from occasionally shifting uncomfortably in the saddle, however, Jane seemed to suffer no ill effects from the experience. She seemed…a bit cheerful, actually.

  And thank God for it. In Gabriel’s estimation, their current method of travel was sufficiently miserable without one or more parties becoming an intolerable whinger.

  He loathed long journeys unless they were undertaken in style and comfort. Years ago, as a young boy, he’d made his way from Leeds to Cornwall in much the same manner as they were traveling now—slowly. At the time, he’d not had the luxury of a horse or the funds to stay at inns. He had walked and slept on the ground or, if he’d been very lucky, in a barn or stable. The journey had taken him weeks. He’d been hungry and ragged at the start of it. By the time he’d reached his grandparents’ home, he’d been little more than a frozen, filthy shell of a boy. Several hours later, he’d been warmed, bathed, and fed. But he’d not felt clean. The choices he made that night had left a stain behind that could never be removed.