A Dangerous Deceit (Thief-Takers) Read online

  She made a sort of noncommittal humming noise and looked away in thought. And then, to his astonishment, she took his wrist and slipped his arm through hers in a distracted—and decidedly masculine—manner, and began leading him up the trail.

  Gabriel stared at their joined arms in bafflement. He could say with absolute confidence that he’d never before been escorted about as if he were a lady.

  He was less certain how he felt about the matter. Probably he should feel emasculated, or at least embarrassed. But after some consideration, he decided he rather liked the arrangement. Mostly because it was different and amusing, and maybe a little because there was no one around to see. Either way, he saw no cause for complaint.

  Miss Ballenger courteously steered him around another series of roots. “I’ve some additional concerns. I was thinking that…” She glanced down, blinked at their linked arms, and then immediately jumped away, breaking contact. “Oh. I hadn’t realized. I…” Her brows lowered. “You might have mentioned.”

  Oh, naturally, it washis fault.

  To save her embarrassment, and because it amused him, he pretended ignorance. “Beg your pardon? Mentioned what?”

  “I…” Surprise, suspicion, and confusion raced over her face, one right after the other. “You… I was…”

  “Is something the matter?”

  She rolled her lips under her teeth as if to keep her mouth shut, stared right at him, and shook her head.

  It was the least believable expression of innocence he had ever seen. “You’re certain? You jumped away rather quickly just now.”

  “Just…a spider. There was a large spider.”

  He addedterrible liarandabysmal actress to the list.

  “Ah.” He made a show of scanning the ground beneath their feet. “Gone now, I imagine. Shall we?” He offered his arm yet again, and wondered if she’d take it once more. He hoped so. He liked that small connection and the nearness it afforded. “You were saying something about additional concerns regarding the men coming tomorrow?”

  “No. I mean, yes.” She hesitated a second more before finally accepting his arm. “Your men do concern me, but I was speaking of an additional concern regarding our deal. One I’d not considered until after you left.”

  “And that would be?”

  “There was no inventory taken of Edgar’s things before they were packed and shipped. A count of trunks and crates was taken, but that’s all. There was no accounting of their contents.”

  “You’re worried someone might have already stolen the paperwork while Edgar’s things were in transit?”

  “Not particularly. The fate of the paperwork is your concern, not mine.”

  “Ah.” No wonder she was such a terrible dissembler. She didn’t bother to practice.

  “My concern,” she continued, “is that someone might yet make off with something that is of value to me, and I would be none the wiser. How am I to know if the Foreign Office has returned everything, if I don’t know what all they’ve taken?”

  “Are you suggesting we wait until a full inventory has been made?” That could take weeks, if not months. It wasn’t an option.

  “No, it would take too long. I’ve not yet figured out how best to solve the problem.”

  “You could simply trust me.”

  “Will you promise to personally oversee the search of Edgar’s things?”

  Good God, no. He wasn’t going to volunteer to catalogue a man’s intimate apparel. “I can’t do that.”

  “Then why should I take your word on the matter?”

  “Because I know the man who will personally oversee the search, and I’ll obtain his promise on your behalf.”

  She pulled a face. “That’s not very reassuring.”

  “It’s the best I can offer.”

  “Then I suppose it will have to do. Some of what Edgar left to me are family heirlooms. I’ll know if they go missing, of course. But much of what’s in the cottage, I’ve never seen before.”

  “Pity you never visited him in Russia.”

  “I suppose,” she replied with an evident lack of enthusiasm for the idea. “Do you have family? I seem to recall…grandparents in France? You were born in Paris, weren’t you?”

  Gabriel ground his teeth.Finally she took interest in conversation, and what did she do but bring up the one topic he’d rather not discuss. “No, I was born in Cornwall.”

  “Oh, that’s right. But you lived in France as a child, didn’t you?”

  He looked her right in the eye. And lied. “I did.”

  He’d been a grown man the first time he’d left English soil. The childhood years spent in France were a fiction, a story he’d told a thousand times in the past. It never failed to feel like acid on his tongue.

  “What was it like?” she inquired.

  “It was France,” he hedged. “France is always lovely.”

  “Except when it isn’t. It’s been known to misbehave.”

  “That’s when she’s loveliest,” he murmured.

  A moment of stunned silence followed. “You find the guillotine lovely?”

  Glancing over, he saw that her direct stare had turned to one of surprise. “That wasn’t the sort of misbehaving I had in mind,” he said on a laugh.

  “What sort did you have in—” She gave the tiniest start as she finally realized the possibilities. “Never mind,” she said quickly. “No need to explain yourself.”

  “Are you certain?” He wouldn’t mind explaining his notions of misbehaving to this woman. In delicious detail. “It would be no trouble. No trouble at all.”

  “Quite, thank you.” She sniffed delicately. “You shouldn’t allude to such things.”

  “How do you know what my intended allusions might be? You won’t let me explain.”

  “Is the explanation an appropriate topic for the two of us to share?”

  “Not remotely,” he replied. “It would be a shocking illustration of misbehavior.”

  “I think you might be misbehaving now,” she said quietly. “Are you flirting with me, Sir Gabriel?”

  Gabriel considered his response. Typically when a woman asked that question, she was being coy. She already knew the answer.

  Are you flirting with me, Sir Gabriel? How delightfully wicked of you.

  Miss Ballenger, on the other hand, appeared to be asking for clarification. She was genuinely unsure.

  “I am a little,” he said gently. His eyes landed on several of the short wispy hairs on the top of her hair. They were backlit by the sun, and suddenly completely irresistible. He couldn’t stop himself from reaching up and smoothing them down with his hand. “Shall I apologize?”

  She went very still as he touched her. “Would it be sincere?”

  To his delight, the little hairs immediately began to float right back up to their original positions. “That would depend on whether I’m apologizing for the breach of etiquette, or for making you ill at ease.”

  “I’m not ill at ease. That is…” She seemed to think about this a moment. “Not entirely.”

  He looked down, met her gaze and held it. “Then I’m not entirely sorry.”

  She flushed a light pink and quickly broke eye contact. “We’ll never get to the top this way, will we? All this stopping and going.” She turned and hurried up the trail. “Come along, then. We’re nearly there.”

  He blinked at her retreating back. He hadn’t realized they’d stopped again. They’d been talking, flirting, and then, quite out of the blue, he’d wanted to touch her hair.

  It was inadvisable for a man in his line of work to lose track of his surroundings, but he wasn’t sorry he’d given in to temptation. Miss Ballenger’s hair was softer than he’d imagined, not cool and smooth like silk, but light and warm, like down.

  Rumpled owl, he thought again, and fell into step beside her.

  A minute later, they reached a clearing overlooking a large, open meadow sheltered by a circle of rolling, wooded hills.

  “Oh, l
ook.” Miss Ballenger grabbed his arm and pointed at a dozen or more deer grazing in the valley below. “Look at that.” Her lips curved in a dreamy smile. She pointed at a wide stream that cut along the bottom of the hill. “That stream marks the boundary of what used to be the Ballenger estate. Fourgate Hall is but a few miles to the north. Those were my family’s deer. I’ve never seen them this far south.”

  “It’s a pretty sight,” he said absently. He was more interested in her reaction to it. This had once been Ballenger land. These were still known as Ballenger deer. And yet here was the last Ballenger looking at both from a distance, observing it all as an outsider. If they walked to the bottom of the hill and crossed the small stream, she would be an intruder.

  The sight didn’t seem to pain her, however. Instead, she seemed to be lost in happy memories.

  “When I was little,” she said quietly, “I used to sneak out some early evenings and go in search of them. They could usually be found in a shaded meadow not far from the house, or near the pond. I’d watch them until it grew too dark, and then I’d listen until I grew sleepy or they moved on. I fell asleep once and woke up at dawn. It’s considerably harder to sneak back inside in daylight than it is during the dead of night.”

  She had wandered about the woods in the dark as a small child? “Didn’t you have a nanny or governess?”

  “Yes. Several over the years.”

  “None thought to check on you?”

  She gave a small shrug. “I put pillows under my blankets. I doubt it would have fooled a close inspection, but the nursery was large and my bed was on the far side of the room. The ruse held up to a passing glance.”

  “Nurseries are generally on an upper floor. How did you sneak out?”

  “I climbed down the stone. Contrary to recent evidence, I’m not at all clumsy.”

  “Ah, then it isn’t a lack of coordination that prompts you to hide from the villagers?”

  He’d made the comment half in jest, and half in a sudden desire to change the subject. The image of Miss Ballenger as a small child—or any child for that matter—climbing down a stone wall in a nightgown made him queasy. For Christ’s sake, stone gotwet. It became slippery. It crumbled with age. How far up had she been? Two floors? Three? And what had waited for her below had she’d fallen? Pavement? A balustrade? Rock?

  Why had she been worth only a passing glance? Why had no one been paying attention?

  She looked away, and was quiet for so long, he wondered if she’d even heard him.

  “Miss Ballenger?”

  “I’m not hiding,” she said at last. “My place of residence is no secret.”

  “But you rarely leave the cottage grounds, I believe.”

  “And why should I?” she asked a little defensively. “I prefer the company of the Harmons, and I am not well vexed in making polite conversation. So why should I—?”

  “Well vexed?”

  Her brows lowered in confusion. “What?”

  “You’re not wellvexed in making polite conversation?”

  She blinked rapidly several times, the picture of bafflement. “Is that what I…?” Then she gave that quick shake of the head he’d seen her do several times now. “Versed. I meant well versed.”

  “Ah.” He thought back over their earlier conversations, recalling several points of confusion. “You remind me of Renderwell’s youngest sister. She jumbles her words as well.”

  She grabbed his arm with a surprising amount of strength. “Does she? Truly?”

  “Why does that surprise you?”

  “Well…because,” she said, and stopped, as if the rest of the answer was plainly obvious.

  “Because…?” he prompted.

  “I’ve never heard of anyone else with the affliction.”

  “Affliction?” That was a touch melodramatic. “It’s hardly—”

  “What has her family done to help her?”

  “Aside from suggesting she slow down and let someone else get a word in edgewise? Nothing. It’s an endearing quirk, not anaffliction.”

  “Endearing quirk?” Slowly, she released his arm, and eyed him with a mix of wariness and something else. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Hope? Disappointment? Both? “It doesn’t annoy you? Or anger you? It doesn’t confuse people?”

  “I’ve been confused on occasion, amused more than once. I’ve never found it annoying.” He studied her face carefully. “Did someone become angry with you in town, Jane?” Simply because she mixed up a word here or there? Surely not.

  “You shouldn’t call me that,” she said stiffly.

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “We’re not discussing me. We’re discussing…I don’t recall her name.”

  “I didn’t tell you her name. Eliza. And wewere discussing you. It’s your quirk.”

  “We are not discussing my quirks.”

  “What if I told you one of mine?” he offered, and watched her shoulders relax in response to his playful tone. She liked that, he noted. Jane Ballenger might be rude herself, but she enjoyed a little teasing, a bit of fun. “Then may we continue to discuss yours? And use our given names?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “What if it I told you a quirk of mine that annoyed people?”

  “Oh, I could tell you several.”

  The unexpected jab drew a choked laugh from him. “Was that a joke, Miss Ballenger?”

  She looked startled by his question. “Yes, of course it was. I’m sorry, was it not obvious? I didn’t mean to offend. I’m not very good at—”

  “Conversation. Yes, you mentioned. I’m not offended.” He grinned at her. “I quite liked your joke.”

  “Oh.” She smiled back, evidently pleased with both of them. “Good. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Now, as I was saying…my quirk. I am always tidy. Always. I won’t tolerate a scuffed hem or wrinkled collar. Even if I’ve been traveling all day down dusty roads.”

  “That is annoying,” she conceded. “But it’s not at all the same.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s voluntary. It’s a choice. Lord Renderwell’s sister doesn’t choose to jumble her words.”

  It wasn’t a choice. It was a need. It was vital to him in a way he couldn’t hope to explain. He’d never told anyone the real reason behind his fastidiousness, not even Samuel and Renderwell.

  And yet, suddenly, he had the terrible urge to tell this womanwhyhe felt the need to keep everythingjust so. Why, sometimes, it felt like his fashionable clothes and meticulous grooming were the only things that stood between him and a filthy past obscured by a thousand even filthier lies.

  No doubt, the irrational impulse was the sole reason he blurted out the next thing that came to mind. “Fine. I have an aversion to large teeth.”

  “What?” Her mouth dropped open a second before she burst into laughter. “As in…horses?”

  “No, people,” he explained, and decided the absurd confession hadn’t been so ridiculous after all. She had a marvelous laugh. “People with large teeth and jaws make me uncomfortable. I’ll avoid them whenever possible.” Mostly, it wasn’t possible in his line of work. But he did shun the pharmacist with the oversized canines closest to his home in favor of the druggist three blocks over.

  “You’re lying.”

  “I’m not. Look.” He stripped out of his coat, unbuttoned his shirt cuff, and rolled up the sleeve to reveal a faded scar on his forearm.

  She peered closer. “Is that a bite mark?”

  “I’ve been bitten six times.” Not all of them had left scars, but they had left him cautious.

  “Six? Good heavens, no wonder you’re afraid of teeth.”

  “I’m notafraid of teeth. I just prefer them dainty and not attached to my person.”

  “Do mine trouble you?” She spread her lips in a wide, slightly silly grin.

  “No.” Point of fact, the image of her nibbling on him was distinctly appealing. “You’ve a ch
arming smile, Jane.”

  The smile faded, but a becoming hint of color rose to her cheeks. “I told you not to call me that.”

  “But I told you my quirk.”

  “It’s not a quirk. It’s a fear. And it doesn’t count because it’s not annoying.”

  “I find it exceedingly annoying.” He rolled his sleeve back down and shrugged back into his coat. “At the very least, it is an embarrassing confession. Surely that earns me the right to use your given name.”

  “It isn’t proper.”

  “Then I’ll only use it in private.” He watched her worry her bottom lip with her nonthreatening teeth. She was wavering, and he pressed his advantage. “I’ve never told anyone that secret. Not even Sir Samuel or Lord Renderwell.”

  “Really?”

  “They know I loathe being bitten. They don’t know I loathe big teeth.”

  She laughed softly, and he knew he had her.

  “Very well. You may call me Jane, but only when we’re alone,” she clarified, then glanced at the rapidly setting sun. “Which, really, we shouldn’t be.”

  ***

  Jane looked back at the downhill slope and was reminded why she hadn’t been eager to have Gabriel join her on her walk.

  She hadn’t lied when she said she could walk and talk at the same time. What she couldn’t do was navigate her way down a rocky path and listen to Sir Gabriel speak at the same time. She needed to keep an eye on her feet. She also needed to keep an eye on his mouth.

  This was a terrible dilemma.

  She had two options. She could talk incessantly all the way down the hill, thereby removing the possibility Gabriel would ask a question she might not understand, orhe had to talk all the way down the hill.

  “Tell me about your school,” she decreed.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “As I recall, you met Sir Samuel when you were boys at school. I should like to hear all about it,” she explained, then promptly started them off at a pace that was more hurried than brisk. The sooner they reached level ground, the better.

  “There’s little to tell, really,” he began.

  Fortunately for Jane, however, there was enough to tell to keep Sir Gabriel talking for the entire length of the hill and, thanks to the quick pace they kept, most of the way back through the woods.