Page 45 of Barely a Woman
Morgan smiled and let her arms fall to her side. “Have you always been this charming?”
“Since childhood, as I told you earlier.”
“I still think you were a naughty boy, then.” She sighed. “Very well, Mister Beau Monde Highwayman. I will do your bidding, no matter how foolhardy the plan or disastrous the result. Then you will see what a failure of a woman I am.”
His eyes grew soft, warm, empathetic. “I wish you could understand how wrong you are.”
A tremor rushed through Morgan as his expression trended perilously close tothe look. She wondered what he saw that she did not. And she wanted desperately to become what he saw. She began walking again in self-defense.
“Speaking of wrong. How can we possibly steal from a lord given that contracts were signed for the wheat, even if under duress, and not expect to face consequences? Surely, the law is not on our side.”
Steadman fell in beside her and shook his head adamantly. “Even if the law does not favor us, justice does. When law and justice are at odds, always choose justice. The law will catch up in time.”
Morgan wrestled with her ongoing reluctance as they continued walking. “Are you certain these boys are willing to steal from a lord?”
“They will not know about that particular detail. You must not tell them.”
“Is that not a lie?”
“No.” He paused. “Yes. But a lie for a higher cause is… is…”
“Still a lie. I see your point, though. It is best that we protect their innocence.”
“Exactly. I’m glad you thought of that.”
She cast a faux glare at him. “Very well. Just tell me what to do.”
He held up his palms to her. “Easy, now. Just do what you did to Three-Finger Jack. Unleash your cleverly disguised and well-hidden feminine charms.”
“I possess no feminine charms.”
His expression grew abruptly serious, almost offended. “Again, despite what you have been told, you possess ample feminine charm. Far more than you believe.”
She yanked her eyes away from his handsome face, nearly overcome by his show of support. She almost believed his opinion over the countering voices in her head. Her tongue locked as a result. After a moment of silence, Steadman laughed.
“Besides, if you do not charm them, thenImust.”
His levity lifted her gaze from the dust, and she smiled wryly at him. “I dare you.”
In response, he handed her his hat, unwound his cravat, and draped it over his head like a bonnet. “Oh, Mr. Brady!” His tone was singsong. “You are such a vigorous and dapper fellow.I imagine you might hoist a heavy bag of grain with great ease given your impressive physique.”
His absurd playacting nearly drew a guffaw from her. She put his hat on her head, poked out her elbows, and began to swagger. “Of course, Miss Steadman. I hoist weights in my sleep and eat nails for breakfast. And I must commend your astonishing eyelashes.”
“Oh, these eyelashes?” He made a great show of batting his lashes at her. “Are they having the desired effect, kind sir?”
“If by desired effect, you mean causing me to question the presence of your brain, then yes, m’lady.”
He appeared to swallow a laugh. “Oh, but m’lord. I have no brain. I donated it to a charitable foundation seeking functional brains for members of Parliament.”
“I recall your brain, now. Clearly, no great loss.” Unable to maintain the theatrics any longer, she snorted a laugh. Her reaction opened the floodgates, and they both laughed until they halted in the road to wipe away tears. She turned to him, thinking to say something clever, but found him inches away. Steadman’s laugh trailed into nothing. His hands rose to softly grip her elbows and his lips began to dip toward hers. There he paused. She blinked with joyous alarm, unable to think.
“Why…” She cleared her clogging throat. “Why are you holding my elbows?”
He looked at his hands, seemed to be surprised by what they were doing, and released her elbows. He retrieved his hat from her head and began walking again while retying his cravat. “Clearly, I am confused. Now, let us keep moving. We are nearly there.”
Morgan followed in the throes of tortured question. Why was he treating her so kindly? Was it merely a ploy to earnher cooperation? Or was it pity? Surely, his assertion of her charms was desperately overstated. He was a man ripped from a heroic tale, perfect in appearance and a beacon of well-rounded manhood. He could have any woman of his choosing. Why flirt with her at all? While doubts swirled, though, she failed to bury a growing fancy that he might see her as something more than just a means to an end.
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