Chapter Six
Roseley again. According to Kate Grant, there had been some kind of scandal in the family, which immediately made Bella more protective of the children. This youthful lord was presumably the son of the Lady Roseley she had once met.
To Bella, it was inconceivable that anyone would leave their children with no care but an apparently brutal keeper. That a young baron and his sister should be kept in such conditions boggled the mind.
She glanced at Alban, who didn’t look remotely impressed by the title. She couldn’t be sure he’d even heard, for he was gazing off into the trees, his face in profile calm and unreadable.
She said brightly, “Lord Roseley? I believe we might be neighbors in Scotland.” Although the Roseleys were never there. For as long as she could remember, Powhill had been rented out to a series of people her father disapproved of. She certainly couldn’t recall ever meeting any of the family up there.
“I’ve never been there,” the boy said dismissively. “My father never cared for the Powhill place.”
Abruptly, Alban sprang to his feet.
“Did you know our father, then?” Florrie asked Bella. “Or our mother?”
Bella frowned, trying again to recall anything about the lady she’d once spoken to, who might have been their mother. “I believe I met your mama in London several years ago. But it was a short meeting.” When Maria had dragged her away, hadn’t it been when she’d mentioned Scotland? “Do you know,” she said slowly, “I think our families might have some sort of feud?”
“Oh, that will be my uncle’s fault,” Leo said cheerfully. “He’s an outlaw, like Robin Hood.”
“Goodness,” Bella said, startled and beginning to lose a little hope in the uncle as more than a figment of the children’s lonely imaginations. The poor things needed a hero. “What did your uncle do?”
“He helped a prisoner to escape the law and had to flee the country,” Leo said with pride.
“Oh dear,” Bella said. “Then he will be hard to find!”
“My father always said he would come home.”
“But then maybe he wouldn’t be the best person to care for you,” Bella suggested. “In your mother’s absence, I mean.”
“Nonsense,” Leo retorted. He cast her a quick grin of apology. “That is, I don’t believe he is a bad man. The wicked duke was going to hang a poacher—or send him to be hanged or something. The poacher was one of our people and my uncle spirited him away under the noses of three guards! I expect he killed them,” Leo concluded with relish.
Alban had his back to them, but his shoulders shook as though he might actually be laughing. Bella didn’t feel very amused. The wicked duke of Leo’s tale could easily be her father.
“Let’s hope not,” Bella she hastily, “though I’m sure they deserved it.”
“Oh yes,” Leo agreed. “But the wicked duke was furious, and so was my grandfather, who threw my uncle out of the house.” He shrugged. “To be fair, he had to go or he’d have been arrested. But my grandfather was so angry, he didn’t give him a penny, and he forbade my father to have anything—”
“Who told you all this?” Alban interrupted impatiently, swinging back to them.
“My father,” Leo replied in some surprise. “And old Mattie.”
“Who’s Mattie?” Bella asked.
“Our nurse,” Florrie replied. “She died.”
There seemed to have been a lot of death in these children’s lives. Now, apparently, they had no one except a neglectful mother, an unkind stepfather, and a criminal uncle.
Alban gazed at the children for another moment, as though he were thinking of something else entirely. Or wanted to. Something was bothering him, she realized. Well, the plight of these children bothered her, too.
“We need a plan,” he said abruptly. “And the first stage is for you to go to back to the house and write letters for us to post.”
“But we might not be able to sneak out again,” Leo said uneasily.
Alban considered it as he walked back to them and offered Bella his hand to rise. The children sprang up. Like a plague of locusts, they’d left nothing but a few crumbs. Alban lifted Bella’s cloak and shook it out before flinging it carelessly over one arm.
“I don’t think you’ll need to sneak,” Alban said at last. “I think I should have a word with Jenkins.”
“Oh no,” Florrie said in alarm. “He’s huge! He’ll hurt you.”
“I guarantee he won’t,” Alban said. “Lead on.”
Excited and somewhat awed by the idea of anyone standing up to Jenkins, the children skipped ahead, talking in low voices. Clearly, they suspected Alban might change his mind when he met the man in person. Bella thought they were wrong. And she had a few things to say to him herself.
But either way, this was wrong. The children should not be living with people they held in fear and loathing.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said to Alban. “I should take that cottage in Silton and the children can live with me there until their mother comes home.”
Alban stared at her. Although she couldn’t remember taking his arm, her hand was tucked warmly into the crook of his elbow.
“Don’t you think it a good idea?” she said, disappointed.
“No. No, I don’t. To begin with, you don’t know them or their family, and then, legally, you can’t just take children away from their homes.”
“But they shouldn’t live in their home like that, not when they’re frightened. They should never be frightened.”
A frown twitched down his brow. “Who frightened you?”
Flushing, she waved one dismissive hand. “Oh, everyone who raised their voice. I was a timid child, which annoyed my father excessively. However, we are not talking about me, but about them. They are neither fed nor clothed nor washed! And probably don’t want to be by anyone who frightens them.”
“That’s why we’re going to see for ourselves.”
Bella remained unconvinced, but obviously they should have a look before coming to any decisions at all. The children could be making up stories, about some of it at least.
It wasn’t far to walk. The children led them to the edge of the wood and through the hole in a fence into a formal, well-tended garden. Bella, who’d expected a neglected estate surrounding a crumbling old house, glanced at the children and felt like scratching her head. More than one day of rolling around in forest mud had led to their present appearance.
As they approached the manor house, Florrie and Leo fell back to walk between them. Florrie almost seemed like a little dog hiding in Bella’s skirts.
“So how would you normally go into the house?” Alban asked casually.
“Through the side door and up to the nursery,” Leo replied.
“And where would I find Mr. Jenkins?”
“At this hour, probably in the kitchen,” Leo said.
“Who’s your favorite among the servants here?” Alban asked unexpectedly.
“Molly,” Florrie answered at once. “She’s the kitchen maid and she slips us food when Jenkins—and the cook—aren’t looking. She has a kind smile.”
Alban nodded and glanced at Bella. “Could you bring yourself to go with them? And supervise the letter writing?”
She understood at once that though he’d never insist, he wanted to know the true state of their living conditions. And perhaps he wanted them all out of the inestimable Mr. Jenkins’ way.
“Maybe I should be with you,” she said doubtfully. “I could threaten him with my father.”
Alban blinked. “Trust me. I’m more frightening than anyone’s father.”
It was easy to forget who he was. And the children didn’t appear to be frightened of him either. No doubt it was something he’d learned to turn off and on for purposes of disciplining his men and scaring the enemy…whoever the enemy happened to be that day.
The children settled the matter by tugging at her hands. “Be careful,” she begged Alban and allowed herself to be dragged away from him across the lawn and down the side of the house.
*
It was a long time since Alban had been anywhere near this house—more than twelve years, in fact, several weeks before the events in Scotland which had led to his exile. Although he’d learned long ago to squash homesickness and nostalgia with utter ruthlessness, he couldn’t prevent the strange prickling of his skin as he approached the house. As if he were going to meet his past. Or someone else’s past.
Nick had told his children about him. That meant something to Alban, more than he’d ever admit. But Will had been right to inform him about the children’s situation. This was something he would not tolerate, and never would have, even if Nick had vilified him or never spoken his name.
He chose not to use the front door. He wanted to observe this Jenkins character in his natural surroundings. So, he walked around the house in the opposite direction to Bella and the children, until he came to the kitchen steps.
He strolled down the stone steps, listening to the droning male voice and the raucous laughter, which both seemed to belong to the same man. The stale smell of tobacco smoke and ale mingled with the fresher scent of cooking beef.
Inside, three men lolled at the kitchen table. A plump woman of middle years was chortling as she rolled out pastry. Behind her, a maid was stirring pots above the fire. Another maid sat, giggling, in the lap of a large, florid man in a buff-colored coat. A somewhat older man, similarly dressed, looked to be three sheets to the wind. The youngest of the three males wore livery—a footman, clearly—although his coat was open and his necktie loosened.
All of them turned their heads as he entered in the kitchen, their mouths lolling in surprise.
“Lord Roseley’s residence, I apprehend,” Alban drawled.
“Mr. Radnor’s, as it happens, though what’s it to you?” the large man said rudely. “Who in hell d’you think you are just walking in here without a by-your-leave?”
“I don’t need your leave,” Alban said flatly. “Jenkins, is it? On your feet, man.”
Jenkins stood up so quickly the maid tumbled off his lap on to the floor. However, there was clearly more aggression than obedience in his action.
“You can’t give me orders!” he blustered.
“Oh, I can. I’m a friend of your mistress’s, looking in on her behalf. Where is the young lord and his sister?”
“In the nursery, of course,” Jenkins said, frowning as he tried to get his head round this sudden intrusion.
“Being taken care of by whom?” Alban barked.
“By the nursery maid, of course,” Jenkins said. He pointed at the girl who’d been in his lap and was now climbing unsteadily to her feet. “That’s Lily there. She just nipped down for a cup of tea. They keep her on her toes all day, little varmints.”
Alban didn’t even think about it. He swung hard.
Jenkins was a large man and he went down like a felled tree.
The maids squealed. The other men leapt to their feet, but Alban had no intention of giving Jenkins the chance to retaliate. He leapt on to him, struck him again, then hauled him to his feet, shaking him like a rat.
“That’s for lying, you filthy wastrel. And that—” Alban struck him a third time across the open mouth—“is for your so-called care of Lord Roseley’s children.” He swung on the other two approaching, glowering men. “Sit down!” he thundered, and they did, so quickly that the footman sat on the knees of the squealing maid from Jenkins’s lap.
Alban flung Jenkins from him. “Where is Molly?” he demanded, without even looking to see where Jenkins fell, though he heard him land on the floor again.
The little maid who’d been stirring the pots nearly jumped out of her skin with fright.
“Her!” cried the other maid, shoving the footman off her so she could point triumphantly at the kitchen girl.
“Come here,” Alban barked, and the girl did. Her legs shook, but she met his gaze with conscious bravery. He inhaled, searching for any sign of strong drink. Finding none, he looked deeper. Behind the fear was simple kindness. No doubt she was frightened of Jenkins, too.
Alban nodded. “From now on, you are in charge of the children. No one touches them but you. You’ll see them washed and dressed and fed properly three times every day. That will not happen in here, but in the nursery which you will keep clean and tidy. Understood?”
“She’s my kitchen maid!” the cook expostulated.
“Use him,” Alban said, flicking one contemptuous hand at the footman. “Clearly he’s got nothing else to do. As for you.” He glared at the third man, and then at Jenkins who was sitting up and shaking his clearly woolly head. “I think it would be best if you stuck to outdoor duties. You’re clearly unfit for a gentleman’s house.”
Jenkins stared at him, fury and aggression beginning to return as he realized his utter humiliation.
Alban held his gaze and spoke with ice in his voice. “And you, filth. If you lay so much as one finger on those children again, I’ll have you tried and hanged before your master even hears of the mess you’ve made here. Don’t imagine I won’t know, for I’ll be back. Tomorrow. Now clean up this pigsty. It isn’t fit to cook in. You have ten minutes, and then I want you all outside in the yard. All the servants. Molly, go to the nursery and introduce yourself to the lady you’ll find there.”
He turned on his heel and walked up the steps.
“Next time, I’ll have the pompous little shit,” Jenkins muttered audibly to his cronies. “Next time, I’ll hit him so ha—”
“Next time,” Alban interrupted, “if there has to be a next time, I’ll simply shoot you. Ten minutes. Don’t waste it.”
*
By the time Molly the kitchen maid appeared in the nursery, looking bewildered, the children were seated together at a desk composing a letter to their mother. Bella was relieved that Leo at least could write.
She had managed to wash their hands and faces and combed out their hair. Though quite mutinous at first, they quickly cooperated, laughing, when she turned it into a jest by pointing them at the looking glass before and after.
“Gentleman said I should come here, ma’am,” the maid said, bobbing a nervous curtsy. “I’m Molly the kitchen maid, but he says I’ve to work here, now.”
“No one’s caring for these children,” Bella said severely.
“I know, ma’am. Sorry ma’am. I slip them some food when I can, but Mr. Jenkins and Cook are something strict.”
“You mean they’re eating—or selling—all the food that should be for the children!”
Molly bowed her head. “Wouldn’t know about that, ma’am.”
“Don’t cry, Molly,” Florrie said anxiously. “We said we liked you best, and you don’t need to spend much time in the kitchen at all now.”
“If Mr. Nieve gets around Jenkins,” Leo said gloomily.
“Well, I’m not sure he’s got round him exactly,” Molly said judiciously. “More like over the top of him. Are you really friends of her ladyship? I mean Mrs. Radnor.”
“They met in London,” Leo said, returning to his letter.
“Do you have little brothers and sisters?” Bella asked Molly.
“Why, yes, ma’am—”
“Then look after these two as if they were your siblings,” Bella said. “It should only be for a few days until their mother comes, but you should take them out to play and go for walks, and protect them. And don’t let that man who beats them anywhere near them. If there’s any trouble at all, you must bring them to me at the Blackhaven Hotel. Now, perhaps we could take these dirty dishes down to the kitchen and fetch a broom and a mop.”
“Oh, I’ll do that, ma’am,” Molly said, hastily taking from her the slightly furry plates she’d discovered earlier, and adding them to a few more. “If you could just get the door for me…”
Bella obliged. But in the doorway, the girl hesitated. “Who is he?” she asked bluntly. “I can see he’s a gentleman but he’s…” She took a deep breath, then looked Bella defiantly in the eye. “Rough.”
“I certainly wouldn’t offend him,” Bella agreed. “He’s Captain Alban.”
The maid’s eyes widened in instant recognition, and she walked out the door as if sleepwalking. An instant later, she glanced over her shoulder, a whole new set of questions clearly hovering. Bella gently closed the door on her and turned back to the children.
Leo had completed his letter to his mother and left it lying at the side of the desk while he worked on his uncle’s.
“Did you tell her everything?” Bella asked.
“Everything we told you,” Leo said. “Read it if you like.”
She did, and was immediately touched by the attempt at a grown-up tone. Leo clearly bore a grudge against his mother, perhaps for leaving them here, perhaps for choosing her new husband’s company over theirs. But his longing and affection still came through, although he ascribed them hastily to Florrie whose message he’d transcribed faithfully.
If that doesn’t bring her, nothing will, Bella thought.
Leo’s letter to his uncle was shorter and he didn’t invite her to read it. While he signed it, folded it, and inscribed his uncle’s name, she looked out of the window onto the kitchen yard. Alban had the grubby servants lined up there and seemed to be laying down the law. A huge man with a black eye and a scowl stood to one side as though not really part of them. Molly stood between a fat older woman and a somewhat blowsy young girl.
Leo presented her with both letters, but his gaze was on the yard below.
“Jenkins isn’t saying a word,” he said, in some awe. “Has he got a black eye? And a fat lip?” His mouth fell open. “Did Mr. Nieve hit him?”
“Oh, I shouldn’t think so,” Bella said hastily. There was no sign of a fight about Alban that she could see. But it was as well they knew who he was. They were less likely to defy him. “But remember, if there’s any trouble at all, Molly must bring you to me. She knows where to find me. But I’m sure your mother will come and sort everything out in just a few days. You’re better here with Molly than running away.”
She glanced down at the letters in her hand, one inscribed to Mrs. Julian Radnor in South Audley Street, London, the other simply with a name. The Honorable Alban Lamont.
She blinked, assuming she had read it wrongly. “What is your uncle’s name?”
“Alban. Alban Lamont.”
She let her hand fall, hiding the letters in the folds of her gown. No wonder he cares what happens to them…
He’d always been coming here. This was the business he’d always meant to attend to, though initially with her safe in some inn and none the wiser.
*
She emerged into the yard just as the servants were being dismissed about their business. To Bella, they seemed a trifle bewildered, but there was something in Alban’s manner that commanded obedience, even from servants who were not his own, who were, in fact, complete strangers to him. Perhaps the fact that he’d grown up here had imbued him with some invisible authority. Or perhaps years of commanding rough seamen had simply taught him how to gain obedience from anyone. Through fear if nothing else.
He turned as she approached. “Will the girl Molly do?” he asked.
“I think she’s kind. But she’s too used to obeying this Jenkins for me to be entirely comfortable leaving the children here.”
He glanced unerringly up at the nursery window, where the children’s grinning faces could be seen pressed against the glass. Molly’s more serious face loomed behind. Bella waved.
“I know,” he said.
She drew in her breath. “Maybe we should take them with us.”
“I can’t, for any number of reasons,” he said abruptly. “And neither can you.”
“I can find ways around my family when I need to,” she said defensively.
“I believe you. But there is a feud between your family and theirs that spiriting away their children would not help.”
“You mean it would be misconstrued. And the children stuck in the middle.”
“We’ve done what we can here,” he said abruptly. He lifted his hand to the children at the window as he began to walk out of the kitchen yard. “I’ll keep my eye on them until Mar …their mother returns.”
Bella hurried after him. “Do you think she will?”
“She’ll at least send for them.”
“Leo wrote very well.” She handed him the two folded letters, which he took without a word and slipped inside his coat.
He began to walk faster, so that she had to trot to keep up with him. Noticing, he slowed. “Sorry. I don’t like this place.”
Bella didn’t believe that was strictly true. She suspected being home tugged his emotions in so many different directions that he found it difficult. But he hadn’t even told her his real connection to the place, so she would never bring it up.
Instead, thinking more exercise might help him to feel better, she offered, “We can run, if you like. Once we’re into the wood, of course, out of sight from the house, and can preserve our dignity.”
He cast her a surprised glance, and then his eyes began to gleam. “You are good for a man’s soul, Arabella Niven. And I shall hold you to the offer.”
He did. Almost as soon as they entered the wood, he seized her hand and bolted. With a breath of laughter, she ran, too, but he was so clearly holding to a slow place that she tugged her hand free and darted past him into the trees, swerving to avoid obstacles and find new paths. Although he always caught up with her easily enough, she was smart, racing in circles to avoid him and forcing him to change directions.
Inevitably, however, she tired first. As he shot passed her, she took the opportunity to slow to a halt, leaning against a tree to catch her breath. It had been years—too many years!—since she’d run like that, and she was no longer as spry as a child.
What she didn’t expect was for him to double back and loom over her before she even noticed he’d changed direction.
“Bella.” He frowned, throwing one arm around her waist. “Bella, I’m so sorry. Sit and rest—”
“I don’t need to,” she said breathlessly. “I’m fine. Just not used to running.”
His supporting arm was hot at her back, holding her too close to him while his impatient fingers tipped up her chin so that he could search her face, presumably for signs of illness. Although her breath was quick and uneven, it didn’t wheeze. No coughing fit threatened to drown her.
“I don’t believe you’re ill at all,” he said in wonder. And with no further warning, he dipped his head and kissed her.
Perhaps because she’d wanted this so much ever since his last shocking embrace at the harbor, she let out an inarticulate squeak of triumph. But this was nothing like the quick, hard kiss he’d given her then. This was long and unhurried, exploring her mouth with slow, gentle caresses that seemed to curl her toes. Heat suffused the pit of her stomach, which seemed to host a thousand soaring butterflies.
One of her hands was trapped between their bodies, but she flung up the other to cup his rough cheek while she opened her mouth to his onslaught. Against her trembling body, every inch of his was hard, male, and exciting.
“Hit me,” he groaned into her mouth. “Slap me. Hard.”
Bella couldn’t think of anything beyond the amazing kiss. “Why?” she managed.
He released her lips, but only just. Carefully, he removed her hazy spectacles. “Because if you don’t, I might just take you against this tree.” He pushed with his hips until the rough bark dug into her back.
Nothing in the world had ever been as thrilling as his kisses, or the pressure of his hips, and the ever-growing hardness between. Because his lips were so close above hers, she reached and took them back.
She was lost, drowning as his hand trailed down her throat and closed over her breast. Delicious weakness suffused her, and yet the confused desires pulsing within her were powerful, demanding, overwhelming her.
“Don’t let me be a cad,” he whispered against her lips. “Not to you.”
“Are you a cad?” she wondered.
“Oh yes.” His lips sank into hers once more while his hand cupped and caressed her breast so sweetly that she pushed into it.
“I expect it comes with the profession,” she said shakily when he raised his head for breath.
“No,” he said ruefully. “It comes from my nature. And it’s taking advantage of yours.”
With what seemed a massive effort, he tore his body away from her, turning her, and walking with her back toward the main path. She was glad of his arm still around her waist, holding her upright.
“I suppose it was most improper,” she managed.
His lips twisted. “It still is. But in a moment, if the horses are still where we left them, I’ll put you in the saddle and propriety will be restored.”
Her heart still beat frantically. “Why?” she asked, hearing the desperation in her own voice.
He squeezed his eyes shut, walking on, it seemed, purely from instinct. “Don’t tempt me anymore, Bella, I’m being good now.”
A horse snuffled through the trees, and he opened his eyes once more, veering toward it. When they found the horses, which still stood cropping grass and leaves where they’d left them, he took her forgotten spectacles from a hidden pocket in his coat and polished them on his handkerchief before returning them to her nose.
“Thank you,” she managed.
He swooped and pressed a quick, soft kiss on her lips. But then he was as good as his word, boosting her into the mare’s saddle with perfect courtesy before mounting Pegasus.
“It’s midday,” he said, glancing up at the sun as they emerged back onto the road. “We’ll have to hurry.”
She was glad of the speed to dissipate any awkwardness. She would have hated that after the delicious interlude in the woods.
*
Although she refused to dwell on his kisses—at least until she was alone—she couldn’t think of anything except him, and by extension the children they had left at Roseley. He obviously cared for their wellbeing, although not enough to actually stay there with them. But then “Captain Alban” couldn’t just stay in Roseley House without revealing who he actually was, and that could easily lead to his arrest. What use then would he be to the children?
It had churned him up to be there. She had sensed that before she even understood why. In some ways, perhaps his anger with the staff had been a relief, a means of dealing with his unwanted emotions as well as the intolerable situation in which he’d found his brother’s children. Had he loved his brother? Missed him? Or did he hate his family for his banishment?
She was sure now that her father had to be Leo’s wicked duke. Mr. Conway had known it, too, which was why he’d brought the subject up at supper last night. She wished she could recall details of what had happened between her father and his at Kelburn. But no one had told her about it and she’d never asked. Although…
Now that she dredged it up, she did remember a lot of shouting about a poacher and how someone or other—Lord Roseley, perhaps—might as well have spat in the duke’s face. She’d stopped listening at that point, although she vaguely recalled feeling relieved when she’d discovered the poacher had escaped. She’d been about sixteen years old.
Her father had never spoken of Lord Roseley after that. She’d even been prevented from conversing with young Lady Roseley, encountered by accident at some London party. And no one had ever mentioned the younger son. Or at least, she hadn’t paid enough attention to hear. She’d just wanted the shouting to stop.
But now, galloping across the rugged country beside him, a faint memory stirred. Of standing in the schoolroom with her younger sisters, being told off by the governess for her poor deportment. In fact, she suspected she had been clumsier and more nervous than usual because her father’s furious voice had filled the whole house, along with that of an angry stranger. And as she’d stood miserably in the schoolroom, Edmund Burke’s Reflections on the Revolution in France balanced precariously on her head, she’d seen a dark young man bolt furiously along the path in front of the window.
She’d only ever seen the back of his head. Wild, black hair, a tall, lean back and long legs. Every inch of him had screamed with tension and anger. And yet the way he’d dragged his hand through his hair had seemed to hold utter despair. She’d felt an instant’s pity before the relief set in. He’d been the other shouter. With him gone, her father would quieten down. For a little at least.
Had that young man’s back belonged to Alban Lamont? She couldn’t ask him, and there was no real reason to imagine so. Except that few people were ever prepared to shout back at her father.
They had reached the coast, and beside her, Alban drew rein, bringing Pegasus to a halt. She pulled up beside him, letting Betsy snort and blow while she and Alban gazed over the sea.
“Everything seems possible when you look out to sea,” she observed. “I wonder why that is?”
It was a stupid thing to have said aloud, and she immediately bit her lip. But Alban only said, “Because you don’t know what’s on the other side. It could be anything. And because it’s bigger than you and all your little problems.”
She turned her head, gazing now at his profile. “Is that what it does for you?”
“Once, perhaps. Maybe still.” He met her gaze. “Mostly, it makes me a good living.”
“Are you really a pirate?”
“I might have committed the odd act of piracy. It’s easier in war time and one side or the other is always pleased with you. Mostly, I just trade.”
“How did you come to this life?”
He shrugged. “I learned to sail with fishermen and then with a merchant captain. I traded a little on the side and eventually bought his ship.”
“The Albatross?” she asked.
“No, I bought her later, once I’d sold The Maid. And then in time, I acquired the others.”
“How many ships do you have?”
“Four. Why?”
She smiled apologetically. “I’m curious. Your life seems exciting to a mere landlubber.”
“Sometimes it is,” he admitted. “But whatever anyone tells you, it was never heroic. Don’t imagine I’m something I’m not.”
She pulled her gaze free. “I’m not a child, Captain. Nor was I ever given to hero worship.”
She could almost see the sardonic twist of his lips as he urged Pegasus back into motion. She didn’t quite catch what he muttered into the wind, but it sounded like, “And now I’m perverse enough to wish you were.”