“Liar,” he said genially. “I wonder what your aunt would say if she knew you were reading that novel?”
“She would ask me why I did not cut the throat of the man with whom I had this conversation.”
“You know, the attendant might let you across the bridge for free if you smile at him. Most men are susceptible to a pretty face. Are you able to smile, Miss Bassingthwaite?”
“Go away.”
“Although in truth one such as yourself need not smile to charm a man. Take me, for example. I really ought to be stabbing you right now, but am too enchanted by your lovely—”
“Signor de Luca. If I let you pay my toll, will you leave me alone?”
“Of course.”
She nodded, held out her hand for the coin, and waited.
“That is,” he said, “once I have seen you to the other side. Of the bridge, I mean,” he added, winking.
She closed her hand, drew it back, and continued walking. “You seriously think I would cross a bridge in the company of a man hired to kill me?”
“Madam,” he said in an aggrieved tone. “I merely wish to ensure your safety so that when I come into your bedroom—”
“Signor!”
“For the purpose of smothering you with your pillow—that was all I meant. No need for such alarm. And please do call me Ned.”
“I will not.”
“Then Captain Lightbourne, at least. I’m only Italian in my paternal ancestry, and it’s fair to say that was most likely a fantasy of my mother’s.”
“Lightbourne? As in the Dreaded Captain Lightbourne of Leeds?”
“That’s right,” he said with pride.
“The same Captain Lightbourne whose house fell off a cliff?”
He scowled briefly. “It was pushed.”
“I see.”
“And that’s beside the point.”
“Which is, exactly—?”
“That I’d like to take you to morning tea, Miss Bassingthwaite. I happen to know a charming teahouse near the Parade Gardens.”
She glanced at him narrowly. “You refer of course to Sally Lunn’s.”
“Indeed.” His smile was so dazzling, she actually hesitated. What harm could there be in half an hour’s chatting over tea with a fellow buccaneer (unless he poisoned the tea, in which case there would be a great deal of it)? Miss Darlington would not approve, but perhaps Cecilia might represent it to her as an information-gathering session—or not represent it at all. She was an adult, after all, and could take tea with whomever she chose. What Miss Darlington did not know would not hurt her (again, unless he poisoned the tea).
Cecilia almost said yes. It lay like a sugared rose petal on her tongue, small yet delicious. She opened her mouth to speak it aloud.
But in that moment she realized they were halfway across the footbridge, with the river tossing glints like sharp blades beneath and the pirate watching her with an alarming stillness in his eyes. Her heart leaped, and she closed her mouth, swallowing what felt now like a thorn.
He must have tossed a coin to the tollbooth attendant when she was not looking. It worried her that she’d been so inattentive. And it provedhe was a dangerous man to be around. Not that she needed proof further than the fact that he was intending to murder her, but the flaws of others could be more readily excused than her own. Cecilia did not like making mistakes. And she had made a bad one in almost relenting to this man.
“I beg your pardon, Captain Lightbourne, but I’m afraid I cannot be diverted from my schedule. Thank you for your consideration, however, and if you’ll just return my bracelet I’ll bid you good day.”
“What bracelet?” he asked, all innocence. Cecilia pursed her lips and held out her hand, and he grinned as he laid the loop of gold and pearl in her gloved palm.
