Barbara Metzger Read Online Free PDF Page A

with a flourish and handing it to Shoop. “Remember to hand it to one of the grooms, as we discussed. Say some stranger gave it to you, a big, nasty looking brute with a scar down his face. Then you’d better play least-in-sight for a bit, in case Squire has questions.”
    Shoop made a last try at dissent, but gave it up when Jacelyn handed him a shilling for the local pub and herded him out the door. He shook his head resignedly and left, muttering about, “’Adn’t oughta be ’ere atall, divil a bit alone. Niver could talk reason…
    Jacelyn called after, by way of reassuring her friend, “Don’t worry, it’s only Arthur.” Then she busied herself emptying a hamper onto the table. Bread, wine, cheese, mugs appeared, no utensils. Her “oh dear” changed to an “oh” of admiration as the gentleman withdrew a knife from his boot top. Wasn’t Arthur complete to a shade?
    Claibourne sliced off a wedge of cheese, pushed it toward the boy and said, “That’s it? No names, no places, no times for exchange of prisoners? A most peculiar kidnapping, cawker. I take it the Squire, Uncle, that is, knows both you and your intentions?”
    Jacelyn giggled around a mouthful. “You might say so.”
    “Then what’s to keep him from coming after you, young Jason? Even if you succeed in obtaining your friend’s release, you’ve still committed a crime. One cannot go around kidnapping people, you know, especially not a peer of the realm. You are obviously well-born, though, and young, so Squire might consider it a boyish prank. He mightn’t send you up for hanging after all.” Claibourne pensively sipped his wine, which, he noted incidentally, was excellent. “No, my guess is that he’ll take a birch rod to your backside.”
    “I don’t think so, my lord,” Jacelyn answered as she removed the droopy hat, letting a heavy shower of dark brown waves cascade down past her shoulders. “I don’t think so.”
    *
    “Do you remember me now, Arthur? It’s Jacey, Jacelyn Trevaine.” Remember her? The gentleman barely remembered to breathe! No, if he’d seen this girl, he’d never have forgotten her. No girl though, definitely a young woman, he could see now, especially as the shirt strained across her chest as she reached in a pocket for a ribbon to tie back her hair. He watched as she gathered the chestnut mass into a haphazard pony’s tail, the rich brown colour catching the fire’s light and reflecting its gold. Some of the waves strayed loose to frame her face delightfully.
    “Don’t ever cut it.” He surprised himself by speaking his thoughts.
    “No? Papa likes it too, but it’s very unfashionable, you know.”
    “It’s perfect.” And it was, in a way, even trailing wisps, just as the girl herself was enchanting, in a warm, softly smiling way that was far from Society’s standards. No china-blue eyes or rosebud mouth or porcelain complexion, or affectations. Miss Trevaine had pansy-brown eyes which sparkled with her enjoyment and a full, laughing mouth just made to be kissed! Claibourne cleared his throat and redirected his thoughts, with great effort. He carefully wiped the knife on a napkin and said, “Well, Miss Trevaine, I’d be mightily obliged to know just what rig you are running.”
    Jacelyn was a bit disappointed at the formal address; she much preferred “Arthur” to the sober “Lord Ponsonby,” which did not seem to fit the gentleman now grinning as if ready to share her triumph. She compromised with, “Of course, my lord, you have every right. And I’d like to say that you’re a regular Trojan, letting me play my game. I know I couldn’t have kept you here against your will, even without the knife.”
    “You mean you wouldn’t have pulled the trigger?”
    The chit even had dimples—unfair! “But you didn’t know the guns were empty, not at first, did you?”
    “No, but I knew mine weren’t. Come now, an explanation. And if it’s not a good one, my girl, and honour-true, then I