“No, sir. I insist. I must seethe lookif I am to learn.”
“Really, I don’t…”
“Not afraid of a little ridicule, are you? Are we not men after all?”
He rolled his head around his shoulders and sighed. “Very well. But do not say I did not caution you.”
Without further warning, Steadman leaned toward Morgan and dipped his chin until dark eyebrows cast his eyes into shadow from which emerged the merest glint of light from his irises. His lips stretched slightly as those fervent eyes plumbed the vulnerable depths of her soul. Her breath caught when a shudder rose from her gut into her throat. The gaze could only be described as a divine smolder, like the aftermath of Vesuvius or the slow burn of a sieged city—a testament to devastation and a promise of danger to come. She yanked her gaze away in self-preservation and forced a laugh to cover her erupting unease.What did he just do to me?She felt as if he’d invaded her senses with a cavalry charge, and by her invitation. She was certain that, at any moment, he would see through her pitiful disguise and sentence her to ruin.
“See,” he said. “Did I not warn you how ineffectual it is on men?”
She nodded and inhaled a deep breath before facing him again. Fortunately,the lookhad given way to a tolerable smirk. She knotted her brow, suddenly annoyed by having felt anything for something as trivial as a smoldering gaze. She failed to bite back her pique. “Steadman, you must think women to be vapid creatures to fall for such nonsense.”
His smirk faded. “Vapid? Never. Quite the opposite. I find women to be mysterious, clever, and willing to savage an unsuspecting man for nothing more than brute ignorance.The lookis my only means of self-defense. Which brings me to another word of advice.”
Surprised by Steadman’s confession, she blinked twice. “Advice?”
“Yes. Whatever you do, Mr. Brady, never let a woman draw you too close, lest it be your downfall. I never have. I never will.”
Morgan turned her head away to hide her amusement and pretended to scan the far distance. “Excellent advice, sir. Your sterling record of evasion is a credit to manhood everywhere.”
Despite her mirth, though, Morgan casually accepted a sad fact. Steadman would never sparethe lookfor one as unremarkable as she.
***
Several hours into the day’s journey, Steadman’s spirits remained remarkably buoyed. More than a decade of evading the law, holding unsavory associates at arm’s length, and sheltering Lucy from both had left him isolated—an island in a sea of adversarial humanity. He hadn’t realized the extent of his detachment until the past two days. Morgan’s presence—the intelligent conversation, the exchange of wits, the easy camaraderie—this and more reminded him of what he had let slip away over time. He had not felt so content in years, despite knowing what lay ahead at Broad Chalke.
“Mr. Brady,” he said, interrupting Morgan’s detailed description of the inner workings of a Stanhope iron printing press.
“Sir?”
“Just how hungry are you at this very moment?”
The dimples reappeared. “Eating an elephant is not out of the question, I must admit.”
Steadman returned the smile and nodded. Morgan’s earlier nerves had clearly abated with each mile of the road. “I have a perfect solution, then. Follow me.”
He turned up a lane on the outskirts of the village of Andover. Within two minutes, the Broken Cauldron came into view behind a natural screen of massive oaks twisted with age. The tavern remained a picture of rural England, its high gables and thatched roof a throwback to simpler times.
“My favorite haunt west of London. What do you think, Mr. Brady?”
Morgan cocked an eyebrow. “Seems nice. Although off the beaten path.”
“Which is largely the reason I favor it so. Come, then. My treat.”
He dismounted and tethered his horse to a large tree. Morgan began to do the same, but with clear skepticism.
“Are you not concerned someone will steal the horses?”
Steadman grinned at the lad’s naivety. “No. I am known here. As are the consequences, should anyone abscond with anything belonging to me or my associates.”
When he entered the tavern with Morgan at his heels, his eyes slowly adjusted to the dim interior. Wood paneling and beams stained by three hundred years of lantern smoke soaked up the light and made identification of the patrons difficult. Another reason he favored the place.
“Sir Steadman!”
He turned toward the call of a woman’s voice and smiled. “Beverly. How long has it been?”
“Too long.” She stepped into his welcoming embrace.
