“You think me capable of figuring you out, do you?”
This brought him up short, his mouth snapping shut. Then it opened again, but only long enough to utter a quick and decisive “no.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about.” She smiled and sashayed past him, his little admission adding a bit of wind to her sails.
Steps sounded from behind her, and she slowed so they could walk side by side. This time, he actually offered her his arm. Shestared at it for a moment, surprised by the display. He was a gentleman—and while gentlemen were supposed to escort ladies by arm, she still did not feel like one. No matter how many times she stood in front of the mirror, dissecting every part of herself. The clothes could mask what was beneath, but not to those who knew better. When she saw herself all primped and primed, she could admit she looked pretty, but she felt like no lady. Like Mr. Pratt had said, she would always be little Honora. A thief’s daughter.
“You are strangely quiet,” Mr. Stanton said as he led her down the sidewalk.
“I’m surprised you would deign to break the silence.”
He lifted his shoulder. “I need to know where we are going. Care to share?”
“Oh.” What a dunce she was. Deep in the recesses of her mind and wandering aimlessly when there was an important task that needed to be done. “Yes. I know this is the street they live on, but I do not know which home, precisely.”
“Lovely,” he drolled.
She puffed a quick breath. “Not to worry. I will contrive a way to find their residence. It will not take long, I assure you.”
“The best news I’ve received all day.”
They walked arm in arm, Honora’s eyes taking in everything. Which windows were open and which had drapes pulled, all points of exit from the street if they needed a quick getaway, even a broken gate on the lower end of the road that had not been repaired.
But she needed to come across someone who resided nearby. Once she had that, it wouldn’t be difficult to ascertain where the Fageans lived.
Unfortunately, after fifteen minutes of walking, there was still no one on the street.
“My feet are getting sore.” Stanton looked at his feet with a grimace, lifting one in the air and circling it about.
“Oh, posh. You are such a liar.” She glanced over her shoulder to be sure she had not missed someone exiting their home or leaving the park down the way. “It has not been that long.”
“It’s been longer than I care to be here.”
Biting her cheek, Honora pulled Mr. Stanton’s arm toward the small park they had walked past nearly five times already that morning. She had not wanted to enter, thinking it better to stay near the townhouses, but if he needed a rest, she could allow a quick respite.
“Where are you dragging me?” he asked, pulling back on her arm.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” She dropped his arm, spinning on him. “I was going to lead us to the park for your precious little feet to rest. Do you wish to complain about that too?”
For once, the man had the decency to look ashamed of himself. He looked at the ground, his hair tumbling down the middle of his brow. “No.”
She jerked her head toward the entrance. “Let us go, then.”
Past the entrance, there was a bench not a hundred feet inside. It was tucked just off the path, under a weeping willow tree and beside a lovely pond where several ducks paddled about. While Honora thought it a beautiful spot, she had no doubt that the man beside her would find some fault with it—probably mention something about animal droppings barring their path.
“Will this suit your lounging needs?” She swept her arm out toward the bench. “Or shall I search for something more suitable?”
He dipped his head, his mouth sheepish. “This will be fine. Thank you.”
No sarcasm in his tone, no haughty lift to his brow or judgmental furrowing. Instead, he took his seat and clasped hishands, his leg bouncing wildly away. Never had she seen him so discomfited.
“Oh.” She walked over, her steps tentative as she took the seat beside him. “I had rather thought you would complain.”
“I know.” More leg tapping.
“I should not have snapped at you,” she admitted. “This is all my doing, and I appreciate the favor.”
“You had every right to snap at me. I was being abhorrent.”
