“Hardly.”
“But perhaps one day.”
“If I have my way, I will never see you again after today.”
“What do you mean?” She stopped walking, letting go of his arm. He walked ahead a couple steps before turning to look at her.
“I do not wish to transfer your parcel. After seeing all the shady things that seem to follow you every moment of your existence, I do not wish to be a part of what you have planned tonight.”
“But your six hundred pounds,” she said.
“Are not worth me going to jail.”
“But you won’t go to jail,” she insisted.
“Mrs. Gillingham,” he continued, “you stole from me, bribed me, snuck into my father’s townhouse, and then I saw you being forcefully escorted into a man’s home. Do you think I would trust you to be honest with me?”
Her mouth pulled to the side as her gaze fixed in thought. And then, after a moment of deliberation, she said, “Can we speak privately?”
He shook his head.
“Please,” she begged, clasping her hands together and taking two steps toward him. “I will meet wherever you prefer. I will give you a quick explanation, and then you can decide what you wish to do with what I say.”
Leonard narrowed his eyes on her, trying to judge her authenticity. “I can choose where we speak?”
“Yes.” She nodded.
He jerked his head, beckoning her to follow. “Let us go on, then.”
Chapter Eight
Honora was on the arm of a man. And not justaman. A young, handsome, seemingly available one. It was possible he was only doing so because she owed him something, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. And Honora would consider herself a beggar in this regard.
Not to mention that he had gone after her when he saw Hind’s thugs force her into the carriage. It was almost enough to make her swoon. Of course, she would never do something so silly, but if she were the type, now would be the time to do so.
She glanced over at Mr. Stanton’s profile. He had tied up his horse at the opening of the small park they now strolled through, allowing him to be free to walk with her. She was really enjoying her view. And not just of the trees which had begun to boast the subtlest change in hue, but more the man beside her. He wasn’t a particularly large specimen—average height, average breadth, average girth. That wasn’t to say he wasn’t handsome. He very much was, especially his wavy brown hair that she had been so bold as to touch the other day. Her fingers itched to brush it aside again just at the remembrance.
She needed to focus. Her current task was to keep Mr. Stanton from backing out of their agreement. And since he didn’t seem keen on her efforts thus far, she would have to try another angle.
“Mrs. Gillingham,” Mr. Stanton began, still keeping his gaze ahead. “Do you plan on telling me what we came here for?”
“Of course. Excuse me.” How did one even begin to tell him how they ended up here? Surely, she couldn’t tell him the whole truth. The truth she told others would have to do for now. “You see, I am a widow.”
“Yes, Langford told me.”
She halted on the path, loosening her hold on his arm as she spun to face him. “That is how you found me!”
Mr. Stanton threw his head back. “Blast. I wasn’t supposed to mention that.” He pressed his fingers to his eyes, briefly rubbing them. “Andrew will have my head if he finds out.” He peered at her from the corner of his eye. “Though under the circumstances, I’m sure he will find it within his heart to forgive me. He is partially to blame for this.”
“Really? How so?”
“He was part of the wager all those years—” He narrowed his eyes. “We aren’t talking about me. We are talking about you and why you stole my ring and why you asked me to deliver a parcel and why I showed up to your house to find you being forced into a carriage by two men—”
“All in good time,” she said, taking his arm and attempting to pull him ahead with her. At first, he was reluctant, and she nearly tripped from his unmoving form holding her in place as her feet attempted to move forward. “I’m afraid a person’s mind can only absorb so much in a single moment, so I shall try and keep my little story brief.” She tried moving ahead again, and while he still hesitated, he eventually moved with her.
“I think I can handle it,” Mr. Stanton muttered beneath his breath, his frown clearly indicating he would rather be anywhere else than tethered here with her.
“I will be the judge of what you can and cannot handle.” She tightened her hand on his arm—partly because she was afraid he would bolt away. Though truly, it just felt so wonderful to be near someone. To breathe in an unfamiliar scent, to bask in their warmth, to study them and their mannerisms. She cleared her throat. Best not to get too distracted. “Anyway,” she said, trying to get her mind back on task, “I may have relieved Mr. Hind of something a few weeks ago and now he wants it back.”
