Page 15 of Stolen By the Rogue
Shaken from his lustful fantasy, George sat back as the barmaid placed a large platter of food on the table between him and Jane. A second maid stepped up and handed George a bottle of wine.
Jane took the two glasses. “Thank you. This all looks wonderful.”
George let out a slow breath as his manhood began to soften. “Yes, it does. They always serve excellent, fresh food here. Quite a few of the gentry come to this tavern, especially for their fried whitebait.”
Jane’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, yes. I do missPulpetti tal-Makku! They are the best thing in all of Malta.”
Malta?“Sorry, what did you say?” he asked.
She chuckled. “Maltese whitebait fritters. You mix whitebait with eggs and some cheese, and you fry them in a pan with hot butter. They are heavenly.”
When was she in Malta? That’s part of the British Empire, not the Ottoman.
“I thought you said you lived on the far east coast of the Mediterranean, not on an island,” he replied.
The look of joy on Jane’s face disappeared, replaced by an unmistakable touch of sadness. “I was in Malta for two years. I returned to England just before Christmas at the end of last year.”
Once again, she was only giving him scant information about her past. It bothered George greatly that Jane didn’t appear willing to share private matters with him. It shouldn’t, but it did.
She doesn’t trust me. And can I blame her?
“And what have you been doing since you arrived back here? I mean, before this exhibition?” he asked.
Jane picked up a piece of bread and a slice of stilton cheese from the platter and took a bite. While she chewed her food, George sat silent. Finally, she let out a sigh, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze. “I took on the role of a governess for a little while, just to make ends meet. On my days off, I usually went to the British Museum and spent my time going through the archives. I have a special interest in the English civil war. As did my father.” She pointed toward the wine bottle. “May I?”
He poured them both a glass, then helped himself to some of the food.
As they sat quietly eating, George pondered the mystery that was Jane Scott. She was intelligent and well-read by the sound of it. Interesting, articulate women had always been attractive to him; the fact that she stirred his primal lust was an added bonus.
By the time they finished the wine, along with most of the food, and were making ready to leave, George had made up his mind.
I want that crown, but I also want her. Now I just have to figure out how I can make that happen.
Chapter Nine
While it was a refreshing change to spend an evening with a gentleman, Jane still found herself constantly on edge. George was far too interested in her old life for her liking. The life she had spent the best part of a year trying to bury deep in her memory was not something she wished to discuss.
I am here to start afresh. To break free of the pain. Don’t make me relive it.
As they left the tavern, George offered her his arm, and they began to head back toward the embassy. She quickly noted that the pace of his steps was slower than it had been on the walk over.
“Was the wine too much for you?” she ventured.
He shook his head. “No, I just want to spend as much time as I can with you. I hope that meets with your approval. If it doesn’t, please say so.”
She would be a fool to push away a friend. Lord knew she had been lonely since her return to England. Her mother’s family lived somewhere in Scotland—she knew not where—and while her father’s people kindly sent her a small annual stipend, they hadn’t been particularly interested in actually reestablishing familial ties.
Loneliness was a hard and cold companion. Here was a living, breathing, and rather handsome man wishing to spend time with her.
I am taking a huge risk in getting involved with him. I should be focusing on finding the treasure, not gambling with my heart.
“I sense a reluctance on your part to open up to me, Jane. To trust,” he said.
Jane nodded. She wasn’t the least surprised that George could read her so well.
“I like being with you, George. You have to excuse me for being reticent at times. I don’t trust easily. I have been burned before, and those were bitter lessons,” she replied.
He stopped under a gas streetlamp, then drew in close. “Will you give me your trust now?”
