Harlan’s mouth kicked up at the corner, and then he conversed with his lovely captive once more. “The way I see it,youhave little choice in the matter, as it appears you are at my mercy.”
She crossed her arms in a mutinous fashion. “Then why act as though you cared about my wellbeing if you were just going to keep me as a prisoner?”
“If you are injured, you are no good to me. I needed to know what sort of information you might possess.”
“I already told you who I am and my purpose for traveling beyond London. Is a lady’s word not good enough for you?” she challenged.
Harlan wanted to smile but suppressed it. He had to admit that this female had pluck. Which was why she had to be watched closely. If she was a spy intent on doing harm to the Crown, then he needed to ensure she didn’t pass along anything vital to members of the rebellion. “I have found that a lady’s word can be broken as easily as that of a gentleman.” He turned back around and started to gather a few things from the kitchen cabinets. He was aware of where all the knives and other sharp implements were, and his senses told him to be on alert. This woman was resourceful. “Tell me,” he murmured. “How did you learn to pick a lock?”
“My father had a friend in Egypt who was adept with certain activities, some of which weren’t all that honorable.”
“Egypt?” She was becoming more intriguing by the moment. “Was your father an explorer, then?”
“Something like that,” she noted with a bored sigh. Then, her voice turned sharp. “What is it that you hope to acquire from me? Other than housekeeping and cooking skills, that is.”
Once he had everything laid out to his satisfaction, he turned to her and replied to her mocking retort with a lazy grin. “I will let you know if you spark something of interest to me.” He waved a hand to the spread he had laid out. “Everything is here for you to make a tasty mutton and vegetable stew.” When she didn’t move, he added, “If you care to eat, this is the way to accomplish that.”
She set her hands on her hips and glared at him, but then she stalked over to the plain white apron that hung on a peg and tied it around her waist with angry movements. She snatched the handful of carrots off of the counter, along with the wooden cutting board, and the paring knife he had intended for her to use. It was too dull to cause much damage, but although the blade might not kill him, it would cause a bit of discomfort if it was plunged into the middle of his back.
Harlan watched in silence as she made quick work of the carrot peelings and sliced them quite neatly. After she marched back and added them to the pot on the counter, she gathered the potatoes and started to attack them with the same furious precision.
“Did your mother teach you to cook?” he asked.
“No,” she clipped out. “She died when I was a child. A woman my father entertained from time to time in Italy showed me how to do most of what I know now. The rest was taught by a lady in India.”
Harlan’s brows lifted in surprise. “You have been fortunate to have traveled as much as you have. Most people would love the experiences you have enjoyed.”
“I would have gladly exchanged them for a chance to know my mother.” A slight frown creased between her brows and Harlan knew that she spoke the truth. He’d been around enough charlatans in his time that he recognized true regret. “It was because of her death that my father couldn’t settle anywhere for long.”
“It sounds like a hard life for someone so young,” he noted softly.
She shrugged and started on the onions. “It could be, but it was rewarding as well.” She glanced at him and with a sparkle of mischief in her gaze. “Like learning to pick locks. I never thought I would need to know something like that, but it served me well enough today.”
He snorted. “Indeed.”
She finished the onions and set them in the pot along with the rest of the vegetables that she had prepared. Since Harlan had already added the water and meat, she added a few seasonings that he had laid out and carried it over to set it on the hook in the chimney where it would start to boil.
Once she was done, Harlan murmured. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”
She brushed off her hands on her apron as she turned to him. “It was obvious I wasn’t going to expect the luxury of a tray in my room.”
He snorted. “You have a sharp tongue, but you are also very astute.” He regarded her steadily. “You might be of some use to me.”
The wayhe spoke made Leah’s heart thrill for some odd reason. She shouldn’t want anything to do with this man atall, but if she was honest with herself, he unnerved her. And not in an entirely unwelcome manner. She yearned to know what he looked like beneath that concealing mask—and dare she admit—the rest of his attire?
She felt very wicked, indeed. No doubt her brother would frown heavily upon such scandalous thoughts. However, for someone who had never been kissed, moving about from place to place too much to dare to form any sort of lasting attachments, Leah had always yearned for the sort of connection she had witnessed around the world. From passionate stolen kisses in alleyways to gentle hand-holding, she wanted to experience it all. She decided that this man might be the one to offer the temptations she had only imagined. But first, it would be wise if she knew more about the man behind the mask.
“What should I call you?”
He crossed his booted feet at the ankles and tilted his head to the side. “Does it signify?”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so stubborn. It doesn’t have to be your real name. Just a pseudonym so I don’t have to call you ‘the highwayman,’ or scoundrel, or—”
He held up a hand. “You made your point.” He paused. “You may call me Harlan.”
“Mr. Harlan?” she guessed.
“No. Just Harlan.”
