A Dangerous Deceit (Thief-Takers)

by Alissa Johnson

  Gabriel made a conscious effort to relax in the saddle. There was nothing to be gained by dwelling on that day. There was no point in thinking about it at all. He wouldn’t be, he thought grimly, if he could just get his hands on a bar of soap, some clean water, and a change of clothes.

  Since none of those items were currently at hand, he forced his mind clear and returned his focus to Jane.

  “Those are silver birch, of course,” she was saying. “And there’s hawthorn over there to the left…”

  And immediately he felt a little better, a little lighter.

  She’d been listing off the various trees and shrubs for some time. He’d noticed that she wasn’t keen to speak about the details of her own life, but she did seem to enjoy talking about the woods, of which she evidently had extensive knowledge. And Gabriel, who until that day possessed no interest in botany whatsoever, now found the topic utterly fascinating.

  Or maybe it was just the sound of her voice that held him transfixed.

  Ormaybe, he thought with a stifled grimace, he was every bit as changeable as she’d accused him of being earlier.

  She’d called him a chameleon. Twice, really, as she’d also labeled him a lizard. It wasn’t the same thing, but…

  He shot a covert glance at her profile. Did she see him as reptilian? God, he hoped not.

  “I’m not always pretending, you know.”

  Jane stopped mid-sentence and stared at him. “Beg your pardon?”

  “What you said earlier. That I was a chameleon? I think you’re wrong.”

  “Have you been listening to anything I’ve been saying for the last half hour, or have I been talking to myself this whole time?”

  “Of course I’ve been listening.” He could think and listen at the same time. He shifted to point at a short, bushy tree. “That’s an elder.”

  “Oh. Well, good,” she replied, looking mollified. Then she frowned and briefly glanced back at the trees. “I can’t see how either of them made you think of lizards.”

  “I thought I saw one,” he lied, unwilling to share the actual train of thought that had led him to the topic. “It reminded me of what you’d said earlier, and I wanted to correct your misconception.”

  “Is it a misconception? You do seem to change your colors to suit your environment.”

  “No, I play a role to manipulate my environment. It’s entirely different.”

  There was a short, thoughtful pause before she answered. “It really isn’t.”

  “A chameleon uses camouflage to ward off predators, to survive. I use my skills to do my job.”

  “Don’t you need your job to survive?”

  “Not anymore. Not for some time now.”

  “Then why do you keep working?”

  “Because I like it,” he replied, a little surprised by the question. “I’m good at it.”

  “Those are the very reasons you change your colors, I imagine. It’s easy to like something you’re good at.”

  “I’m not—”

  “I didn’t mean to wound your feelings when I called you that. I didn’t think it was an insult… I’m in earnest,” she insisted when he gave her a dubious look. “It’s not exactly an admirable skill, but it is an extraordinary one. Particularly as you’re so adept at it.”

  Gabriel was taken aback. Not for a moment had he considered the idea that her comment might have arisen from anything other than distaste. Samuel and Renderwell were the only other people who appreciated his talent—or habit, if one wished to be precise about it. Everyone else was either unaware of it, found it contemptible, or, in the case of Samuel and Renderwell’s wives, simply took it as a matter of course.

  Jane, on the other hand, seemed quite impressed. That was immensely gratifying, not to mention flattering.

  “Thank you, Jane.”

  “You’re welcome. But you know, extraordinary or not, it can make things unclear for me.”

  He slowed the horse so that he could catch her gaze and hold it. “I’m not pretending now. Not with you. Not since we jumped off the train.” Sometime in the ensuing hours, he’d stopped trying to figure out what sort of role he ought to play for her benefit and had settled into being himself. Which, against all good reason, seemed to be working out reasonably well.

  It shouldn’t be. A sweet, genuine woman like Jane ought to prefer the company of a completely different sort of man. But there it was—by all appearances, Jane seemed to rather like him.

  She studied him briefly before nodding once. “I think that might be true. I hope it is. You’re certainly different than you were before. You’re not as charming.”

  That was significantly less flattering. “I’m still charming.”

  “I meant you’re not as glib. No, not glib. Practiced, maybe. No, that’s not the word, either.” She pressed her lips together in a frustrated manner, then shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. You’re different, and I’m glad of it. I want to know you’re being honest with me.”

  He opened his mouth, then shut it, completely at a loss how to respond. He hadn’t claimed honesty. He’d only said he wasn’t pretending to be someone else.

  He was, in fact, deceiving Jane about many things. He’d lied to her not two minutes ago about seeing a lizard. He just happened to be lying to her as himself, as opposed to, say, a lost Scotsman with a bad leg. Or a glib and practiced potential suitor.

  Somehow, he didn’t think she’d appreciate the clarification.

  “Honesty is always the best policy,” he muttered, and quickly pointed to the next sizable plant he saw. “Tell me about that one.”

  ***

  Jane didn’t remember getting on the train.

  It had been dark when Mrs. Beechum roused her in the nursery. The new governess had washed, dressed, and fed her in near silence, then ushered her into the carriage just as the night air began to glow with the cool light of earliest dawn.

  She must have fallen asleep then, because the next thing Jane knew, it was daylight, and she was on her way to the coast.

  The sea air will be good for you. It will make you better.

  Her father’s voice echoed in her head to the rhythm of the locomotive.

  Make you better. Make you better. Make you better.

  She didn’t need to get better. There was nothing wrong with her. Other people needed to speak clearly, that was all. And stop lying about her.

  But she’d not argued against the chance to go to the seaside. She’d always wanted to see the ocean. She hoped it would be warmer there. And she hoped Mrs. Beechum would make for better company than her predecessor. But she doubted it. The lady had a sour, pinched-face look about her that didn’t bode well for the future.

  “Almond bear,” Mrs. Beechum said, and Jane ignored her.

  Almond bear. She’d not been around a week and already the woman was talking nonsense.

  Jane huddled in the corner and kept her gaze trained out the window. There was so much to see—towns and villages, fields, forest, castle ruins, and thriving farms. It was fascinating, and it might have been quite enjoyable if the carriage had not been so damp and drafty. The cold crept under the hem of her skirts and seeped through the wool of her cloak.

  Had it been this cold when they’d boarded? Had it been this cold ten minutes ago? She couldn’t remember.

  A sudden, biting wind whipped through the compartment, bringing with it a chilling mist.

  Gasping, Jane turned her head to discover Mrs. Beechum standing in front of the open carriage door. Behind her, the wooded countryside, blurred by a downpour of biblical proportions, raced past.

  “Here we are,” the older woman announced.

  “What are you doing? That isn’t safe. Why is it only raining on that side of the train?”

  “That’s your side. You’ve arrived.” Mrs. Beechum’s voice was eerily cheerful. She made a jaunty sweeping gesture toward the door. “Off you go, then.”

  “But it’s not time. We’re not there yet.No—” Jane reared ba
ck when Mrs. Beechum reached for her, but she was no match for the grown woman.

  “Come now, Miss Ballenger, up with you. Don’t make a fuss. There we are.”

  “Wait!” Jane dug in heels, and groped wildly for any solid object that would safely anchor her to the carriage interior, but to her horror, her fingers passed through everything she touched. “What’s happening? Stop!”

  “It is time for you to disembark.”

  “But we’re still moving! We’re not there!”

  “Bend your knees and cover your head,” Mrs. Beechum advised reasonably as she propelled Jane the last few inches toward the door.

  “Mrs. Beechum, stop it!”

  “And hold your nose.”

  “Stop it!”

  “It will all be over before you know it.”

  “No! I don’t want to go—”

  “Irrelevant. You’re an idiot.”

  And with that, Mrs. Beechum hurled Jane off the train.

  She didn’t hit the ground and tumble. She hit water. A vast, freezing ocean of it that crashed over her in a wave so cold it burned the skin and ripped a choked scream from her throat.

  ***

  Gabriel barely caught Jane before she tumbled headfirst off the horse.

  It all happened so suddenly. Having exhausted her knowledge of the local woodlands, she’d grown silent, then fallen asleep. He’d been enjoying the soft weight of her against his back, and the feel of her head resting against his shoulder. The rain had started soon after, a drizzle so thin and fine it was but one step removed from a heavy fog. Cold, misty beads clung to his clothes and glittered in the horse’s mane like winter frost.

  And then Jane had shouted something incoherent and lurched to the left.

  He barely managed to turn and grab her at the last second. Pulling them both to the ground in a controlled descent, he twisted as they fell, shielding her from the impact.

  The moment they hit the forest floor, Jane reared up and tried to scramble away. She was half-awake, frantic and clumsy. Her knee jabbed into his thigh. An elbow dug into his ribs. When her other knee threatened to make a eunuch of him, he caught her gently by the shoulders and wrestled them both into a sitting position.

  “Jane, be still. Jane.”

  “Don’t!” She shoved at him wildly and without any evident aim. One hand caught him on the shoulder while the other connected with his face, glancing off the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t a direct hit, but it was unexpected and had a fair amount of force behind it.

  “Jane, stop. Stop. Darling—” He reached for her wrists before she could deliver another blow, but she’d already snatched her hands back. They were curled into fists and held tight against her chest as if she’d been burned.

  Her eyes were wide open now, and staring at him in silent horror.

  “It’s all right,” he soothed. “You’re all right. It’s only me.”

  Her gaze jumped to her hands, to the woods, to the horse as she tried to find her bearings. “It was a dream.”

  “Yes. Just a dream. Can you look at me?” Slowly, carefully, he lifted a hand and lightly brushed the underside of her jaw, urging her face toward him. “Jane, here. Look at me.”

  Her eyes tracked to his face, fixed on his lip. “I hurt you.”

  “You didn’t.” Or barely, he amended. It couldn’t be more than a scratch.

  “You’re bleeding.”

  He touched a fingertip to the corner of his mouth and, sure enough, felt the unmistakable warmth of blood mixed with the thin, cool rainwater. “It’s nothing, sweetheart.”

  “I hit you.” She hunched her shoulders and pulled her hands in even closer. He couldn’t tell if it was out of shame for striking him, or an irrational fear that she might do it again, but he rather thought it might be a bit of both.

  It was on the tip of his tongue to say something flippant, something that would minimize the harm she’d done. Humor was almost always effective in draining the tension out of a situation and putting a person at ease.

  But he bit those first words back. She had lashed out in fear. Something in her dreams had terrified her. It might have been a giant, three-headed hedgehog, for all he knew. Nightmares didn’t have to have a reason or make sense. But it was reasonable to suspect that a woman swept up into a dangerous situation over which she had very little control might feel cut adrift and powerless. Making light of her struggles, even those in a dream, would only serve to cut away at her confidence. Belittling her strength wasn’t going to make her feel better.

  He touched her upper arm, brushing his fingers over the firm muscle beneath. “You’ve considerable strength.”

  “I help Mr. Harmon keep the trails at Twillins clear.” Her voice was choppy and dazed. “He showed me how to use the axe.”

  Taking one of her hands in his, he ran a thumb over the soft skin of her palm. “No calluses.”

  “I don’t do it often. Mrs. Harmon doesn’t like it. And I wear gloves.”

  He wished he could see her face, but she bent her head to stare at their joined hands, and for a long time said nothing. Still, he could see she was struggling. Her hand shook in his, and her shoulders rose and fell in a quick, uneven rhythm, as if she were trying to catch up with her own breath. The sound tore at him.

  “Jane?”

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  He swallowed both an oath and the immediate urge to dismiss her apology. “You don’t have to be sorry. But I’ll accept your apology if you need me to.”

  Her eyes flicked up at the sound of his voice, but she didn’t say anything.

  “Will you tell me about your dream?” he tried.

  “No.”

  Not a giant hedgehog then. Not a random, meaningless nightmare. People were ever ready to share the details of those sorts of dreams, even the frightening ones. The personal dreams, the ones that stemmed from things like desire, fears, or bad memories—those were the ones people kept private.

  “Was it Kray and his men?” he ventured. If it was, they would pay for it.

  She shook her head mutely.

  “You might feel better if you talked about it.” Or so he’d heard. He’d never tried it himself, and he’d never been even marginally interested in offering the opportunity to someone else. But if it would take the stricken look from Jane’s eyes…

  Shaking her head again, she pulled her hand from his and made to rise. Gabriel got to his feet first and helped her up, but when she tried to head straight for the horse, he stayed her with a gentle grip on her arm.

  “Take a moment more.”

  “I’m all right.” She dragged in a long, deep breath and let it out on a shuttering exhale. “I’m fine,” she said, sounding stronger. “It was only a dream.”

  “Only a dream,” he agreed, relieved to hear her sounding more like herself.

  She gripped her fingers at her midriff and, for a few moments, looked everywhere but at him. Finally, she huffed out one more breath and let her shoulders sag. “This is very embarrassing.”

  Gabriel’s lips twitched at the hint of disgruntlement in her tone. His own muscles relaxed.

  “This?” He settled a hand at the small of her back and led her to the horse, stopping to retrieve her hat along the way. “No, love. Embarrassing is when a classmate filches a boy’s clothes while he’s in the bath, leaving him no choice but to make a mad, naked dash down the hall in front of several gawking maids. Pretty ones too, as memory serves.”

  “Good heavens.” She made a small, airy sound of amusement. “Didn’t you have a towel?”

  “Oh, I hadall the towels. Fortunately for Samuel, the hall was short and his legs are long.”

  She blinked at him. “Youdidn’t.”

  “I did,” he assured her and took immeasurable pleasure in seeing her lips curve up briefly.

  “I thought you were friends.”

  “The very best. Up you go.”

  He lifted her into the saddle first, t
hen swung up behind her. Despite his many, many fantasies featuring just such an arrangement, Gabriel preferred to ride in front. He found it easier to control the horse. But he wasn’t quite ready to let Jane go.

  He slipped an arm around her waist and settled her back against his chest. Her shoulders rested comfortably between his arms, and her curls brushed softly against his jaw.

  “I don’t like the cold,” she said suddenly. “That’s what the dream was about. It was raining and I was cold.”

  Gabriel gently tightened his hold but said nothing as he urged the horse forward.

  There was an art to passing off a half-truth. The key was to resist the urge to over-emphasize one’s conviction to obscure the underlying guilt.

  There was far too much conviction in Jane’s voice. It was true she didn’t like the cold. But that wasn’t all she’d been dreaming about.

  Taken on its own, however, the comment was intriguing. “You don’t like the cold?”

  “No.”

  “You live in the north of England.”

  She leaned a little to look back and offer a small smile. “Fortunately, God created coal and the hot toddy. So it all works out in the end.”

  “So it does,” he agreed.

  When she looked away again, he grinned over her head. No amount of coin could tempt Jane Ballenger to take permanent leave of Twillins Cottage. That’s what she’d said. But the marvelous and terrible thing about temptation was that there were as many varieties available in the world as there were people available to succumb to them.

  For reasons Gabriel chose not to ponder too closely at present, he liked knowing that there were aspects of Jane’s life at Twillins that she found less than ideal. He very much liked the idea that there might be at least one variety of temptation in existence capable of persuading Jane Ballenger to walk away from her little cottage. Permanently.

  He ruminated on the possibilities as the drizzle slowed, turned to mist, then disappeared altogether—much to his frustration. In his opinion, if it was going to rain, it might as well rain properly. He wanted a nice, long soaking that washed away the grime that came with travel. Instead, he’d gone from feeling dirty, to feeling dirty and slightly damp.