Page 33 of Stolen By the Rogue
George brushed a soft kiss on her lips, then drew back. He kept his arm around her. “Tell me about your family.”
Chapter Twenty
Jane’s whole body stiffened. Her gaze fell to the floor.
“You only have to say just as much as you are comfortable with telling me. Nothing more,” he said.
She sighed. “People think the Mediterranean Sea is a calm place, but it’s not. Just over three years ago, my family and I left the Ottoman Empire. We sailed from Constantinople, with the intention of stopping over in Sicily for a time so that we could visit the ancient Phoenician temples and settlements on the western side of the island.”
He waited patiently as Jane paused, releasing his hold on her just a little. Enough to let her know that if she wanted to create a physical distance between them, he wouldn’t stop her. “Go on,” he gently urged.
“We sailed over thirteen hundred miles, and, in the end, Sicily wasn’t that far away. We almost made it—” Her voice cut off as she pulled free of George’s embrace. Instinctively, he took a step toward her, but she held out her hand. “Don’t. Please. Just give me a minute. I haven’t told anyone this story, so you have to forgive me if I struggle.”
“Jane.” The weight of pain in his heart at seeing her in such distress was almost too much for George to bear. He had founded his whole existence, his life on lies. Experiencing such honest emotion from another person was profoundly confronting.
“A storm blew up. The waves were so high, they simply crashed over the ship. It was an endless onslaught. We stayed in our cabin and prayed. When the captain came and told us that the boat was in danger of foundering, I knew we were in serious trouble.” She took another long, deep breath. “Within an hour, we had hit a reef off the north-east coast of Malta, and the ship sank. The last time I saw my family was when we were all assembled on the deck, just before one last terrible wave hit us.”
“Did anyone else make it to shore?” he asked.
Jane shook her head. “No.” She made stiff, unhurried steps toward the door. George was in two minds as to what he should do, but he let her go.
A few minutes later, he found Jane standing outside in the garden, staring up at the grey, smokey London night sky. His boots crunched on the dry, hard ground as he approached, and she turned.
“It’s strange to live in a city where the stars cannot be easily seen. You get the odd glimpse of them, but nothing like what you experience in the east,” she said.
George came and took a spot beside her. “I cannot imagine what it must be like to lose your whole family and find yourself alone in the world. But I promise that you won’t ever be on your own again.”
The weight of his words was that of a vow. George held out his hand, and Jane slipped her fingers into his. They were in this together, and he wouldn’t ever let her go.
Chapter Twenty-One
Anice thick mattress arrived midmorning the following day. When Jane had woken just after dawn, it was to the sight of a sleeping George slumped against the parlor room wall, his head dropped against his chest. It looked terribly uncomfortable, and his complaints about a stiff neck and back soon confirmed her suspicions.
The fact that George had purchased only one mattress, albeit a large one, did not go unnoticed.
I wonder if he has plans to share it. It would be presumptuous of him if does, but then again, I wouldn’t complain.
She helped him to drag it into the parlor, where George leaned it against the wall.
“Hopefully a better night’s sleep tonight,” he said.
“I am sure you will be comfy,” she replied.
There was a moment of awkward silence, after which George cleared his throat. “So, are we going to put a strategy together as to how the house should be searched? I mean, we need to make sure we work methodically so as to ensure that we don’t overlook anywhere.”
“While you were out indulging yourself in a nice piece of padded luxury, I started on something. Come and have a look.” She led him into the kitchen where she had earlier spread out a large piece of paper on the table. Jane pointed to the rough plan she had made of each floor of the house and also the rear garden. “I have noted where various cupboards and fireplaces are situated, as well as the number of floorboards in each room. I thought we could tick them off as we search; that way we won’t miss anything.”
He gave her mud map a slow looking over, pointing out things she had missed and offering helpful suggestions. She accepted them, grateful to have someone else’s input.
“We could use chalk to mark the actual places we have looked. I find I am a visual person, and if I can walk into a room and see where we have explored, it will help me enormously,” said George.
Jane shot him a wary glance. “Is that a skill that you’ve developed from casing places when you were planning to rob them? Like what you did with the embassy.”
The dirty look she got in reply informed her exactly what George thought of that remark, but Jane wasn’t done.
“George, you were making notes about the security of the exhibition the night we first met. You can’t possibly be sensitive and precious about your past.”
I really do hope you are going to put your criminal life in the past. If not, then we have no chance whatsoever of a future.
