The jockey in question rode Samson back to the barriers. As he took his scolding from Uncle Robert, Prudence leaned out and stroked Samson’s cheek, annoyed she’d yet to find a way to get a ride on the stallion herself. She was certain she could get a faster time out of him. Perhaps she could sweet-talk Brock into letting her ride Samson one morning. Although, she highly doubted it.
‘Don’t spoil the animal, Prudence,’ Gran told her. ‘Or he’ll not be fit for anything but the knackery.’
Hanging his head low, the jockey led Samson back to the stables to cool off.
One by one, Prudence was introduced to friends of her Uncle Robert’s and she shook hands and made conversation where necessary, but she wished she could go to the stables and spend time with the horses. As Uncle Robert’s friends went, the horses were much better company.
***
Jack couldn’t believe his luck. Not in the race. He let the losing ticket flutter to the ground as he stared across at the red-haired beauty snuggling up to the stallion that had lost him money. It had been a month, but he was positive it was her. Prudence. The owner of the gold locket that now resided permanently in his pocket.
He watched her for a while. She talked and smiled at people, the personification of politeness, but when she thought no one was looking, the smile fell and she looked bored. Her gaze would wander across to the rabble by the bar and she almost looked envious of the men and women who gathered around, drinking beer on a warm spring day. And when a man, obviously horrendously drunk, fell and knocked over a table, she didn’t look on him with disgust, but instead chuckled into her lace-gloved hand. As the drunk was carted away by the police, Jack recognised Robert Stanforth exchanging words with Prudence. Was she a relation of his? He had a vague recollection that the Stanforths were from nobility.
As he was musing on the complexities of that, her eyes scanned the crowd and fell on him. He smiled broadly at her and she did a double-take, but she did not smile back. He dipped his head in greeting and a miniscule frown formed between her eyebrows before she looked away again. But as he continued to watch her, every few minutes she would turn her head and peek back in his direction. And each time he would smile again and she would pretend she wasn’t looking at him, or dip her parasol to hide her face.
He knew he dared not go over to her. Most people didn’t make the connection between Jack Fairweather and Jack the Devil. They would not imagine it possible that a gentleman who walked amongst them, attended the same parties and balls, could be a fearsome bushranger. There was always the possibility that someone would recognise him, but that just added to the thrill. What did that say about him? He was a twisted man, that’s what. He didn’t usually lose his mind enough to actually engage with persons from whom he’d stolen. But there was something about this woman, something in her own show of duplicity that intrigued him. He had to speak to her again, even if just for a moment.
Sliding his hand into his pocket, he ran his thumb across the smooth gold of the locket. Why he’d held on to it or why he carried it around with him constantly, he had no idea, but now it was giving him one.
He spotted Mr Walter Harris, a councilman in Ballarat with whom he was friendly. He liked the man. As far as councilmen went, he was one of the least annoying of the collection of preening buffoons who thought of themselves as the fathers of the city.
‘Walter,’ he said, making himself known to the gentleman.
‘Fairweather,’ the man responded, extending a hand.
Jack took it and shook heartily. ‘Good to see you. How are your horses running today?’
‘Not well I’m afraid.’ Walter gave a despondent sigh. ‘My champion drew up lame just before her race and the new stallion is not working out at all.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Jack said, fighting his impatience. He could see Prudence just a few yards over Walter’s shoulder. She was scanning the crowd again. Was it possible she was looking for him?
‘How’s the transport business?’ Walter asked.
‘Oh, fine, fine. Walter, I wonder if you might introduce me to Robert Stanforth and his family,’ Jack requested. ‘I see them over there and I have yet to make their acquaintance.’
‘Of course,’ Walter agreed. ‘You know he owns that grand horse stud just outside of Ballan. Trains racehorses. Although, his stallion didn’t do much better than mine today.’
‘Is that so?’ Jack couldn’t give two hoots about Stanforth’s business as he followed Walter across the grass to where Prudence stood with her family.
‘Robert,’ Walter said, interrupting the conversation.
‘How do you do, Walter?’ Robert asked, shaking the man’s hand. ‘Sorry to see Apple Blossom pull up lame.’
‘Yes, I think my man has overworked her,’ Walter went on with annoyance. ‘But Samson ran a good race.’
‘Not as good as hoped,’ Robert said with equal annoyance. ‘My trainer says he is just young yet and may take some time to get the hang of it.’
‘Brock’s a good trainer,’ Walter said. ‘Trained horses for the Kentucky Derby, I believe.’
‘Yes, it’s why I hired him.’
Jack had stopped listening to the two men as he stood slightly behind Prudence. She had not yet seen him and he was able to take a good look at her in profile. The lavender dress she wore was simple and modest, with that high neck once again. She must have been sweltering in the hot day under all that taffeta and lace. What he wouldn’t give to see her delicate neck free from the confines of such restrictive clothing. Taking a deep inhale, he could smell the perfume she used. Not the cheap overpowering scents the women in hotels and brothels wore. It was subtle and sweet.
‘Robert, may I introduce Mr Jack Fairweather.’
Walter’s introduction broke him out of his reverie and he stepped forward.
‘A pleasure, sir,’ Jack said with a nod as he shook Robert’s hand.
‘Fairweather.’ Robert eyed him as though studying his worth. ‘May I present my mother, the Lady Carrington, Mrs Deidre Stanforth, and this is my wife Alicia and my niece, Miss Prudence Stanforth.’
Jack nodded politely to Deidre, whose face did not alter from her permanent scowl—no recognition there—before turning his gaze upon Prudence.
Her green eyes widened momentarily. She was clearly surprised to see the man she’d been sneaking peeks at for the last fifteen minutes now standing before her.
‘Miss Prudence. It’s a pleasure.’
He took her hand and raised it to his lips. The miniscule frown returned as she studied him.
‘Nice to meet you, Mr Fairweather.’
Deidre and Robert returned to their conversation with Walter about the horses but Jack noticed that Prudence continued to stare up at him with a wary expression. Had she worked it out?
‘I beg your pardon, sir, but have we met before?’
Jack shook his head. ‘I do not believe so.’
‘In London, perhaps?’
‘I left London a good many years ago.’
Her perplexed frown was a delight to watch as she tried to muddle it out.
‘I could swear we have met before.’
She was tenacious indeed, he thought.
‘Do you enjoy the race meetings, Mr Fairweather?’
‘I rarely make it to the races. Football is more to my tastes.’
‘Football?’
‘Yes, it’s the latest sport,’ Jack said. ‘Currently it’s played mostly in Geelong and Melbourne, but Ballarat and Castlemaine are putting together teams in order to have real matches and to grow a league.’
‘I’m afraid I do not know the game, sir.’
‘It’s a new sport with Australian Rules based loosely on the Gaelic football,’ he went on and leaned closer to her. ‘Very rough and tumble, very manly. Perhaps you should come and watch a match with me one day.’
She did not baulk as he had expected but instead grinned at his graphic explanation of the physicality of the game. ‘It sounds exc
iting.’ But her smile dropped when her eyes flickered to her grandmother. ‘Although, I doubt my grandmother would allow me to watch such a sport.’
‘What a pity. I imagine you would enjoy it.’
His eyes stayed on hers and whether it was the colour of the dress she wore or the green of the grass surrounding them, but her eyes looked like two gemstones glowing in the afternoon sun.
‘Mr Fairweather,’ Deidre called his attention. ‘Do you have an occupation?’
‘Of sorts,’ Jack responded. ‘I work on the highways.’ He paused at their blank looks. ‘Transport,’ he added.
‘Oh, like the Cobb and Co?’ Robert asked.
‘Precisely.’
‘And do you use coach drivers brought over from the wild west of America, like the Cobb & Co?’ Robert enquired, his distaste for the practice showing in the turn up of his nose.
‘No, I prefer to hire my drivers locally,’ Jack denied. ‘Unlike the Cobb & Co, my business is a small enterprise. But I am always on the lookout for new teams of suitable horses for a good price. I understand you breed good stock.’
‘I do.’ The man all but puffed up like a peacock at the compliment. ‘I concentrate mostly on racehorses, but I have a good selection of Clydesdales if you would care to visit me at the manor sometime.’
‘I’ll keep it in mind, Mr Stanforth,’ Jack said. He was quickly becoming bored with the conversation. Meanwhile, Prudence was still staring at him oddly. Still trying to sort out where she had seen him before. It amused him greatly. She was a perceptive thing that was for certain.
‘The Cobb and Co has become dreadfully expensive,’ Robert admonished, bringing Jack’s attention back to the gentleman. ‘It costs a fortune to get transport from Melbourne or Geelong to Ballarat or Bendigo to attend the horse auctions.’
‘It’s virtually highway robbery,’ Jack agreed.
He turned and winked at Prudence. She gasped mid-sip of her drink and immediately entered into a coughing fit drawing everyone’s attention. Jack watched her eyes widen as realisation and recognition crossed her features.
Whether it had been his little ‘highway robbery’ joke or the wink he’d sent her, she’d figured it out. She knew exactly who he was.
He leaned in as though to pat her on the back and spoke quietly in her ear.
‘Clever girl.’
If possible her eyes became larger as she continued to cough, trying to catch her breath, pointing at him as she tried valiantly to get out the words she desperately wanted everyone to hear.
Jack took the hand she pointed at him and put a handkerchief to her mouth to stop the coughing, and to stop her giving him away.
‘Prudence, what on earth is wrong with you?’ Deidre said with a disapproving frown. ‘Get a hold of yourself.’
‘Oh dear,’ Jack said to the others. ‘She seems to be choking. Perhaps she needs some shade and fresh air away from the crowds. I’ll escort her to the ladies room to recover.’
‘Thank you, Mr Fairweather,’ Deidre said, seemingly more concerned over Prudence embarrassing the family than her granddaughter choking.
Prudence shook her head rapidly as he took her arm, not roughly, but with a grip she wouldn’t be able to fight, and led her away through the crowd and around to the back of the grandstand where they were now very much alone.
Her coughing fit slowly abated and although he let her go, he herded her into the corner of an empty stable where she was unable to escape.
‘Now, Miss Prudence, what seems to be the matter?’
She took a deep breath.
‘You’re him.’
‘Who?’
‘Him!’ she blurted. ‘The bushranger!’
‘Bushranger?’
‘Jack the Devil.’
She’d remembered his name. It was a ridiculous thing to focus on, but it also made him ridiculously happy.
‘What on earth makes you think a thing like that?’
‘You winked at me,’ she said. ‘You winked at me today like you winked at me when you robbed us. I would know those eyes anywhere.’
‘Really?’ He was more than happy now. He was thrilled.
Her eyes narrowed on him. ‘That wasn’t a compliment.’
‘And you’re not frightened?’ he asked. ‘Being alone here, cornered by a dangerous bushranger?’
‘No.’
‘Really?’
‘I’m annoyed. You stole my locket.’
Jack felt that strange twinge of remorse creep up on him again. It was not a sentiment he’d had to deal with often, but somehow she brought it out in him.
‘I did,’ he agreed solemnly.
Her eyes widened again as he confirmed she was indeed correct. He was a bushranger and he had stolen from her.
But while he waited for the fear to come into her eyes, all he saw was determination.
‘Did you get a lot of money for it?’ she asked.
‘No,’ he said. ‘You were right. It wasn’t worth much to anyone except you.’
She didn’t need to know that he had not been able to bring himself to sell it.
He saw her courage slip a little as a look of pain crossed her pretty features at the loss of her locket.
‘So,’ he began again. ‘You recognised me. No one has ever recognised me before. You know what that means, don’t you.’
‘No. What does it mean?’
Finally some fear showed in the tremor of her voice.
‘It means you will need to stay with me now. I can’t let you go, knowing what you know about me.’
She gasped. ‘You’re kidnapping me?’
‘Well, I can’t have you dobbing me in to the local troopers now, can I?’
‘I won’t tell anyone,’ she promised.
He shrugged. ‘No one would believe you anyway.’ He rubbed his chin, as though deep in thought. ‘How about a negotiation?’
‘Negotiation?’
‘A compromise.’
‘I know what a negotiation is,’ she snapped. ‘But you are a fool if you believe I will let you have anything else of mine.’
‘Then how about if I give you something instead.’ Her wary frown drew his attention to the long lashes above her narrowed eyes. ‘I’ll give you something and let you go if you will guarantee you won’t tell a soul that you know who I am.’
‘You’ll give me something?’ she asked, disbelief ringing in her tone. ‘I don’t want anything you have stolen from someone else.’
‘You’ll want this thing I’ve stolen,’ he said, and reaching into his coat, he removed the locket and held it up in front of her face.
‘My locket!’
She made to grab for it but he lifted it high out of her reach. It was then that he realised how he towered over her. He wasn’t the tallest of men but she really was a little thing. Perhaps her courage had made her seem taller to him.
‘Uh, uh, uh.’ He waved his finger in front of her face.
‘I thought you’d sold it.’
‘It interested me enough to hold on to it a while. Who is the woman in the photograph?’
She went very still then as her expression softened, and her eyes glistened momentarily with tears before she pulled herself together admirably. ‘None of your business.’
‘It’s not you,’ he said, flipping the locket open to look once again at the picture of the pretty young woman. ‘But she could be your sister. Your mother.’
She put her hand out. ‘Give it to me.’
‘Not until you promise that you will tell no one about me and my sordid second life.’
‘I promise,’ she said quickly and reached for the locket again.
He yanked it away with a laugh. ‘Well, that was convincing. I want you to say “Jack, you handsome devil, I promise I will never tell a soul of your real identity”.’
She huffed and put her hands on her hips. ‘Jack, you … devil.’ He grinned at her deliberate shot at him. ‘I promise I will never tell a soul your real identity,’ she finis
hed. ‘Now give me my locket.’
‘Not yet,’ he said and she gritted her teeth and growled at him, making him chuckle.
‘First, we must seal it with a kiss.’
She met his eyes and took a cautious step back. But there was nowhere to go in the corner of the stable.
‘A kiss?’
‘A kiss,’ he repeated.
‘I have to kiss Jack the Devil?’
He gave her a look of censure and she rolled her eyes impatiently.
‘I have to kiss Jack Fairweather?’
‘Yes.’
‘And if I don’t?’
He gave an exaggerated and sad sigh. ‘Then no locket.’
She seemed to be mulling it over, which surprised him. He’d expected a slap in the face, or at the least a flat refusal. He had never forced himself on a woman in his life and wasn’t about to start now. If she refused, he’d accept it and give her the locket anyway.
‘Just one tiny, little kiss,’ he tried again, feeling hope bloom.
‘And then I get my locket?’
‘Yes,’ he said and stepped closer, bridging the gap between them. He could smell her perfume again and was so close he could see the fleck of gold in one green eye. ‘Kiss me, Prudence.’
She still wasn’t saying no but he wanted her to kiss him, he wanted her to want to. It surprised him how much he wanted it.
‘Have you ever been kissed?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she said, her chin going up defiantly.
He was sceptical. ‘By someone who wasn’t a relative?’
Her chin dropped again but she didn’t answer.
‘Didn’t think so,’ he said. ‘A kiss is a small price to pay for your locket, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Fine,’ she said, surrendering with a huff. ‘If it will get me my locket back, you may kiss me.’
She closed her eyes and firmed her lips. She wasn’t going to make it easy for him. He took the opportunity to study her pretty face, her little turned-up nose, the golden hair bundled up. He wanted to see her lips, so full and pink, but they were pressed so tightly together. Closing the gap between them, he placed his lips against the stiff line of hers. At first she didn’t move.
Determined little minx, he thought, nipping lightly at the corners of her mouth, coaxing, teasing, hoping she would surrender and let him kiss her properly.
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