Page 44 of Barely a Woman
“Without a doubt.”
She leaned against the edge of the half-open door, considering the revelation. “What next? Do we draw up an arrest warrant and fetch Mr. Jarvis?”
His expression grew grimmer. “We cannot. As we are outside Bow Street jurisdiction, we must apply to the local magistrate for a warrant and have the constable serve it. Jarvis is too afraid to challenge Atwood. And even if we could convince him to do so, guess who the magistrate is?”
She rubbed her forehead. “Do not tell me. Lord Atwood.”
“Unfortunately.”
She cocked her head with confusion. “What can we do, then? We cannot very well abandon the farmers.”
His grim features slowly grew into a hard smile. “We steal back the wheat and hide it.”
She tipped her head sharply to one side. “My confusion deepens. If we steal the wheat, should we not turn it over to the constable or the farmers?”
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“I have my reasons.”
The conviction behind those words reeked of story, innuendo, and vengeance. She wanted to press him further, but his tone had built a wall and barred the gate to further inquiry. She wished to challenge him. However, a nagging distraction dislodged her from another attempt. She recalled what he had just said about stealing the wheat.
“You said ‘we’.”
He chuckled, perhaps recalling how he had relegated her to the inn. “I require your help, but this time asMissBrady.”
“Miss Brady?”
“In the morning, wear your green dress and pin up your hair, just as you did at the tavern.”
Before she could recover from her surprise and ask him why, he tipped his hat and left her standing in the doorway. She stood in unmoving disbelief before closing and locking the door. She remembered what had happened the last time she wore the dress in his presence. The scorching memory only added to her mounting confusion and promised another restless night.
Chapter Fourteen
“You want me to do what?”
Practically steaming, Morgan stood with hands on hips, head cocked, and jaw slack as she glared at Steadman. He stood before her in his ruffian disguise, looking more dashing than he had a right to. He recoiled slightly from her sharp response but continued to examine her in a manner that appeared far from platonic.
“Perhaps I should explain my points more carefully,” he said.
“Do you think?”
He waved to her to follow him away from the inn’s entrance. She reluctantly followed as he began again.
“Point one. We must steal the wheat. Point two. To steal the wheat, we require strong backs and willing dispositions. Point three. Young lads seeking an escape from the boredom of Broad Chalke would fit the bill nicely.” He stopped and bowed toward her with a flourish. “And point four, young men are far more likely to help a lovely woman than a man of a certain notoriety.”
She waited until he returned upright. “Then I misheard. I thought you wanted me to recruit these boys, but then you mentioned a lovely woman.”
He crossed his arms and shot her a frown of reproval. “Of course I meant you.”
She mirrored his affronted stance while drawing her worn pelisse tighter to cover her dress. “I question your judgment on the subject of loveliness, then.”
“Given my reputation and many opportunities, I am something of an expert on the matter. And you are absolutely lovely despite what your father told you or your country yokels failed to appreciate.”
His affirmation ignited a wave of warmth that exploded from Morgan’s chest to course through her extremities. However, she remained determined to stand her ground. “My father would have argued that point strenuously.”
“And I might have planted a fist in his chin to demonstrate my opinion of his strenuous point.”
