Page 48 of Barely a Woman
Her willingness to walk with him into danger for his protection nearly unmoored him. Who would do that foranyone, especially for a scoundrel like him? He gathered his scattering wits. “No. And no pistols.”
“Because I am just a woman?”
“Because I would never forgive myself if any harm came to you. Because I protect those whom I care for most.”
Her eyes went impossibly wide. “You care for me… most?”
He knew the next words from his mouth could undo them both and imperil his mission. In a moment of panic, he slipped out the door while beckoning Morgan. “We should take a walk to clear our heads.”
***
Morgan trailed Steadman from the inn, intent on understanding if he meant what he had just said. However, he thoroughly changed the subject before she could utter so much as a word.
“Are you weary yet of wearing your dead uncle’s suit?”
She frowned at his blatant attempt to avoid meaningful conversation, but decided pithy banter was better than silence. “Yes, but it is necessary for the job. I do enjoy the freedom of riding without a sidesaddle and avoid constantly soaking my hem in the mud. But it does itch and is three sizes too large.”
“So, are you saying you prefer the suit to the dress?”
“No, Steadman. Pay attention to what I mean, not the words I say. I much prefer the dress. I am far more accustomed to it and at least it fits properly.”
“It does fit you…nicely.” When she glanced at him with a start, he tore his eyes away from…whatever he had been watching. “I prefer the dress as well.”
As Morgan’s cheeks grew warm, she hoped he would not notice the blush climbing her neck and cheeks. When hereengaged her, his eyes had lit with idea. “Since you went to the trouble of wearing it, what say you if we take a meal together as you are.”
Alarm bells rang in Morgan’s head. What was he up to? Surely, such a meal would stretch propriety while she was firmly inhabiting a feminine role. What had become of Steadman’s concern for his reputation? Before she could express her qualms, Steadman stopped dead in his tracks and stared ahead with dawning distress. She followed his eyes to find a woman standing perhaps thirty feet away, having just emerged from a shop. She looked barely older than Morgan, finely outfitted and gorgeous. Without glancing at Morgan, Steadman said, “Remain here, Miss Brady.”
She furrowed her brow, but he was already approaching the stranger. The woman’s face dripped indignation. When he drew within a few feet of her, she put one hand on her hip and lifted a finger to his nose. “Where have you been? And why have you returned?”
Steadman stepped nearer to touch her shoulder and seemingly urged more discretion. Morgan watched mortified as the two whispered furiously to each another, their lips inches apart. A dire notion struck her. Was this his first love? An old flame he had jilted when he left town? She seemed of the proper class, given her stately bearing and well-tailored dress and pelisse. A remarkable surge of jealousy rose within Morgan but quickly gave way to a deep sense of inadequacy. How could she compare to such a woman? She could not tear her attention away from the passionate but unheard conversation even though she wished to escape to her room at the inn. It came as a surprise, then, when the woman slapped Steadman’s face and stormed toward Morgan. Though in a state of shock, Morgan set her feet and balled her fists for a coming tussle, like anycountry girl would. However, the stranger stepped past her, but not without a warning.
“Stay away from that one,” she said to Morgan, “If you know what’s good for you.”
Morgan watched the woman cross the road and enter a carriage with a coat of arms festooning the door. She had not noticed the rig before. Only when the carriage pulled away did Morgan look up to find Steadman at her side, a red handprint marking his cheek. His expression was a chaotic blend of anger, confusion, and haunt.
“You must dine without me,” he said.
Stung, she failed to hold her tongue. “Who was that woman? A spurned lover?”
“If only,” He shook his head. “That was my sister, and she was quite displeased to see me.”
His sister Evelyn? Here in Broad Chalke? As if oblivious to her turmoil, Steadman began striding toward the inn. She hurried after him as annoyance began pushing aside bewilderment. “Where are you going?”
“That most unpleasant meeting has reminded me that I must ride for Longford Castle immediately.”
“Why?” She hoped he would finally speak of his family. However, he remained coy.
“I have business with Lord Radnor, if he will see me.”
Without another word, he opened the gap between them, leaving Morgan to return alone to the inn, baffled and hurt.
Chapter Fifteen
Perhaps it was the distraction over his highly unexpected encounter with Evelyn that doomed Steadman. His sister had eviscerated him and left a welt on his cheek. The reunion at Longford Castle that followed had gone much better than anticipated, though, and had buoyed his spirits. Regardless, his thoughts were on the past rather than the present, which was usually a recipe for disaster when dealing with unscrupulous men.
Everything went well until he arrived at Lord Atwood’s barn in the abandoned tenant village alongside Three-Finger Jack and his gang. In fact, he had almost convinced himself that his suspicions of a trap were unfounded. Then it all went wrong.
“Worm. Let us have a word.” The gang leader flashed a decaying smile at Steadman as the wagon rolled to a stop. Steadman leaped from the wagon bed as Jack tied off the reins, grabbed the single torch, and stepped down. Dormant suspicions erupted into a frenzy of renewed apprehension. Steadman joined Jack several steps away from the wagon in a halo of light cast by the torch. He crossed his arms in a show of nonchalance despite his mounting concern.
