the earl’s library with no one the wiser.”
“Except Croisset, of course,” he said dryly.
Of course . Margaret did not like to think of Croisset’s rage when he woke and found them and his money gone. His vengeance would be terrible if he caught them, and she was sure he would try. And if the angry Frenchman did not kill her thief, surely English justice would. But, she reminded herself, if she could recover the papers or prevent their sale to the French, he would not be guilty of treason after all. It was no more than Prudence would do for Tom True.
“But you have fooled Croisset once and gained a fat purse. Might we not fool him again?”
“And what would be the gain?” he queried coolly.
“Your life,” she answered, and blushed for the intensity with which she had said it, hurrying into further speech. “And the good of your country and the respect of all good men and women.”
He laughed, but it was not the teasing laugh she found so pleasant. “At least one of those rewards might be worth something,” he said, “but no gold?”
“I can hardly promise you gold,” she retorted, affronted that he had shown greed in the face of her concern. She turned her head away so that he would not see her bitter disappointment.
“Alas,” he said, “without gold, what will I do when I want to give some brave girl a bauble?” Margaret felt his fingers touch her chin and yielded to their gentle insistence that she turn back to him. He was kneeling beside her on the deck. “And if I give up my wicked ways, will I win your respect?” he asked quietly. Untrusting, she studied the handsome face so close to hers. She could detect no deceit in its clean lines and fair features. But if she offered her respect, something of herself, would he really abandon his treason?
“Yes,” she said, “if you will turn the papers over to me and allow me to restore them to the Earl of Haddon, I will respect you.” In her eagerness to persuade him she swayed forward slightly.
“I can’t,” he said.
“Oh,” she cried, in the grip of an emotion quite new to her. He had played upon her hopes. The brightness of his eyes had deceived her again. While she took it for the fire of purpose, it was merely the gleam of greed. She pulled at her skirts and cape so that she might rise and flee, but he caught her by the shoulders with his strong hands and subdued her resistance by the simple expedient of wrapping his arms about her in a tight embrace.
“Meg,” he began, speaking down at her averted face, “I said I can’t , not I don’t wish to . I do what I must do, and when I have done it, I shall restore you to your family. Now,” he continued, “I shall go below so you may stay here to enjoy the sun and breeze, but it would be well if you were willing to negotiate a truce with me.” He released her, and she felt his gaze on her as he waited for her reply. She held herself rigidly still and refused to look at him until she could command her voice properly.
“I may be forced to accompany you,” she said, “but I do not choose to be on familiar terms with a thief and a traitor.” He was gone almost as soon as the words were spoken, and if, after he left, she found her cape inadequate protection from the chill breeze and occasional spray, she would not admit it, even to herself. When the sun set on her second day at sea, she numbly made her way back to the cabin.
On her return, changes in her cabin were immediately evident. Someone had straightened the berth and brought fresh water and made other arrangements for her comfort. Across the blanket lay a man’s cambric nightshirt. When she lifted the article and examined it she found it had been peculiarly altered, the sleeves chopped short and a hasty seam taken up the back in regular though unsightly stitches. It was too small a garment for any man she had seen aboard the ship, so it must be intended for her, strange as that seemed. She hung her cape upon its hook and
“Except Croisset, of course,” he said dryly.
Of course . Margaret did not like to think of Croisset’s rage when he woke and found them and his money gone. His vengeance would be terrible if he caught them, and she was sure he would try. And if the angry Frenchman did not kill her thief, surely English justice would. But, she reminded herself, if she could recover the papers or prevent their sale to the French, he would not be guilty of treason after all. It was no more than Prudence would do for Tom True.
“But you have fooled Croisset once and gained a fat purse. Might we not fool him again?”
“And what would be the gain?” he queried coolly.
“Your life,” she answered, and blushed for the intensity with which she had said it, hurrying into further speech. “And the good of your country and the respect of all good men and women.”
He laughed, but it was not the teasing laugh she found so pleasant. “At least one of those rewards might be worth something,” he said, “but no gold?”
“I can hardly promise you gold,” she retorted, affronted that he had shown greed in the face of her concern. She turned her head away so that he would not see her bitter disappointment.
“Alas,” he said, “without gold, what will I do when I want to give some brave girl a bauble?” Margaret felt his fingers touch her chin and yielded to their gentle insistence that she turn back to him. He was kneeling beside her on the deck. “And if I give up my wicked ways, will I win your respect?” he asked quietly. Untrusting, she studied the handsome face so close to hers. She could detect no deceit in its clean lines and fair features. But if she offered her respect, something of herself, would he really abandon his treason?
“Yes,” she said, “if you will turn the papers over to me and allow me to restore them to the Earl of Haddon, I will respect you.” In her eagerness to persuade him she swayed forward slightly.
“I can’t,” he said.
“Oh,” she cried, in the grip of an emotion quite new to her. He had played upon her hopes. The brightness of his eyes had deceived her again. While she took it for the fire of purpose, it was merely the gleam of greed. She pulled at her skirts and cape so that she might rise and flee, but he caught her by the shoulders with his strong hands and subdued her resistance by the simple expedient of wrapping his arms about her in a tight embrace.
“Meg,” he began, speaking down at her averted face, “I said I can’t , not I don’t wish to . I do what I must do, and when I have done it, I shall restore you to your family. Now,” he continued, “I shall go below so you may stay here to enjoy the sun and breeze, but it would be well if you were willing to negotiate a truce with me.” He released her, and she felt his gaze on her as he waited for her reply. She held herself rigidly still and refused to look at him until she could command her voice properly.
“I may be forced to accompany you,” she said, “but I do not choose to be on familiar terms with a thief and a traitor.” He was gone almost as soon as the words were spoken, and if, after he left, she found her cape inadequate protection from the chill breeze and occasional spray, she would not admit it, even to herself. When the sun set on her second day at sea, she numbly made her way back to the cabin.
On her return, changes in her cabin were immediately evident. Someone had straightened the berth and brought fresh water and made other arrangements for her comfort. Across the blanket lay a man’s cambric nightshirt. When she lifted the article and examined it she found it had been peculiarly altered, the sleeves chopped short and a hasty seam taken up the back in regular though unsightly stitches. It was too small a garment for any man she had seen aboard the ship, so it must be intended for her, strange as that seemed. She hung her cape upon its hook and
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