She didn’t answer. Instead, she took off her hat, jerking at the ribbons like she was fashioning a hasty noose. The pins came next. When the hat was unfettered, she pulled it from her head and fanned herself with it.
Jason paused, giving her time.
They stood before an iron fence that separated thewalkway from the empty shop. He leaned against the corner post. He crossed his arms over his chest and propped a boot on the bottom rung. He studied her, now free of the tidy straw hat. She’d styled her hair in another large poof of a yellow bun, high on the top of her head. Upswept tendrils broke ranks and feathered her neck.
“Do notgazeat me,” she remarked.
“Oh right,” he said, looking away. “No given names. No touching. No gazing. But may I—?”
“Fine,” she exclaimed. “Out with it.Tell me the rest.All the exciting, noble, unsanctioned bits. Why not?”
Jason nodded and dug for a coin in his pocket. He flipped it, and hopefulness made the same flip in his chest. Her resistance seemed to have more to do with an internal battle and very little to do with him. He remained calm. He kept his body lax and his voice even. He explained how he’d verified the information she’d given him, how he’d come to realize thatshewould be his ideal translator and guide.
Finally, he said, “I haven’t yet decided how I will approach the mission. I could negotiate with the pirates for the life of my cousin and his comrades. I could simply pay the ransom. Or I could steal away the lot of them under the cover of darkness. However I do it, I must be quick, efficient, and leave no diplomatic trace. I could devote another month to planning and research and anticipating all the things that could go wrong.OrI can simply enlistyouas my translator and guide—and leave next week.”
He snatched the coin from the air. “Thatis why I need you.”
“What if I’ve already said everything there is to know about—”
“I spoke to your uncle, Miss Tinker,” he said. “I know about your time in Iceland.”
She went still, her hat frozen midarc. If possible, her blue eyes grew wider. She looked as if he’d held up a stolen broach.
“Isobel?” he said carefully.
“My uncle will not have told you everything,” she said finally. “Please be aware.”
“No,” Jason said, “I don’t suppose he did.”
“I don’t want to know actually,” she said, but she sounded anguished. She replaced the hat on her head, jabbing the pins and tying the ribbons.
“Your uncle said,” Jason recited calmly, “that your youth was spent traveling Europe in service to your mother’s career.”
“Ah yes,” she said, “my mother.”
“It goes without saying, I suppose, that I learned she was the actress—”
“Renownedactress,” Isobel amended. “Of international acclaim.”
It was the first time he’d heard her boast of anything but her own competence as a travel agent. She was proud of her unconventional mother. As well she should be. Good for her.
“Quite so,” he agreed. “Georgiana Tinker. I, myself, am a fan. I had the good fortune to catch her Lady Macbeth in Copenhagen. It was ’09, I believe. Transformative.”
She would not look at him. She closed her eyes. He was treated again to her profile. Full swoop of lashes, pert nose, plush lips, defiant chin.
He went on. “Your uncle described your girlhood and youth as unorthodox, but he passed no judgment.”
“No,” she said, “he would not. He is a decent man.”
“He said that by the time you reached Iceland, you’d outgrown it all.”
She laughed, a sharp, jagged sound. It left a cut on Jason’s heart.
“We talked about the number of months you were in Iceland,” he recalled. “The estate on which you lived. On the topic of your return to England—‘outgrown’ was all he said.”
Sir Jeffrey Starling’s lack of elaboration meant there was far more to the story, but Jason didn’t require the full story. He did want toknow, but it wasn’t necessary for this mission.
“I sought out your uncle only to verify your time in Iceland. You are an unlikely source of intelligence, Miss Tinker, but you offered so very much of it. It was too valuable not to confirm.”
