Page 32 of Stolen By the Rogue
“Andrew McNeal, as he was known until only a few years ago, grew up in the West Indies. His father worked out of Bermuda with the infamous Hezekiah Frith. They were pirates, blood thirsty and cruel.”
He didn’t want to go any further into the sordid history of the Monsale family. If Jane remained in George’s life, she would find out the rest soon enough. “Besides, he is back in the country at his estate, overseeing the planting of his crops. The Duke of Monsale hasn’t got time to come to London and dig in the mud alongside us.”
Jane glanced at her dirty hands. “I’m going to the water pump at the end of the street to clean up. Then we should look to go and find some food.”
Her response to his words told George all he needed to know. Jane Scott was wondering, yet again, how the devil she had got mixed up with such a bunch of crooks and thieves.
“I ask myself the same question at least once a day,” he muttered.
But unlike Jane, George already knew the answer.
Because you are as wicked as the rest of them.
* * *
A couple of bottles of ale and a beef pie was the regal supper which sat before them later that night. Jane licked her fingers. “The meat sauce was delicious. We should put that pie shop on our list of regular dining places.”
George, who was still chewing the last of his pie, nodded his agreement.
Picking up her empty bottle, Jane got to her feet. With hands on hips, she surveyed the parlor. It was a small room, much like all the other spaces in the house. She couldn’t recall having ever lived in such a cramped place. “I think we should put the blankets and pillows down in the corner and that will mean we are as far away from the draft which comes under the door as is possible.”
George turned his head in the direction of where she’d nodded. The look on his face changed from happily satisfied to that of surprised disappointment. “You mean for us to sleep on the floor?”
“We don’t really have an option. I haven’t yet discovered a mattress in the house, and even if there was, I doubt we would wish to sleep on it.” She snorted as George’s unhappy expression turned pitiful. Sleeping on the floor had been something she had done most of her life. At the height of a Byblos summer, the whole Scott family would take their mats up to the flat roof of their house and enjoy a good night’s sleep in the cool air. The lack of a bed hadn’t posed an issue for her, but it clearly did for George.
Poor thing. Fancy never having to rough it.
“Let’s see how we go tonight. If you find it too uncomfortable, then perhaps you will need to look at getting a mattress which you can store out of the way during the day,” she said.
George downed his remaining ale and got to his feet. He winced as he placed a hand in the small of his back. “Even sitting on the floor for an hour hurts my hips and knees. I shall try this sleeping arrangement one night, but something already tells me that first thing tomorrow I will scraping up whatever coins I have and purchasing a well-stuffed mattress.”
Jane moved closer and came to stand behind him, placing her hands on his hips. “If you slowly shift your weight from right to left and back again, you should be able to loosen up those hips with gentle stretches.”
He glanced at her from over his shoulder. His eyebrows raised in obvious doubt at her advice.
“Wait until I teach you how to roll your hips like a proper belly dancer before you give me any more of your disapproving stares, George Hawkins,” she teased.
“Belly dancing? What on earth does that involve?”
She turned him to face her, then took a step back. With hands held out at her side, she began to trace a slow figure eight with her hips. Her skirts lifted and fell in time with her movements. “This is the dance of the east, though usually the woman is dressed in traditional attire and you can actually see her stomach, hence its name.”
Their gazes met. There was the unmistakable haze of lust in George’s eyes. She dropped her arms and stopped dancing.
“Well, something like that. It has been a long time since I saw it danced in the town of Byblos.”
He reached out and slipped his hand around her waist, drawing her to him. “I doubt I shall get much sleep tonight, so will you tell me a little more of your life. Of your family?”
She closed her eyes as tears threatened. “You don’t really want to know my past, do you?”
Warm, soft kisses traced their way along her neck.
Oh, George, you are such a rogue. And I am weak when it comes to you.
“If you and I are to work together, to truly trust each other, I need to know everything,” he murmured.
Where do I begin?
She lifted her face and stared into his gentle brown eyes. She wanted nothing more than to believe in this man. To have him take her in his arms and kiss her senseless. If they were locked in a sensual embrace, then maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t have to share her painful past with him.
