“Do not begin,” she sighed, forming a skirt from the fabric. Her hands had taken on the tiniest tremble.
“What are the chances that Doucette will not show?” she asked. She took up the leather belt and cinched it tightly around her waist, securing the fabric over the buckskins.
“I hope he does not show,” said North, watching her. He checked the passageway and leaned a shoulder on the doorjamb, crossing his arms over his chest.
The night Isobel convinced the duke of her plan, he had dispatched a man to find the pirate liaison in Reykjavík. He delivered an offer from the Duke of Northumberland to pirate captain Phillipe Doucette. The offer was, let’s make a trade.
“Isobel Tinker,” the offer had read, “so-called Lost Boy and Known Accomplice of the International Grifter Peter Boyd, in exchange for the seven captive Englishmen.”
“I’m wondering now why we sent something so dull as a letter. A sketch of you in this ensemble would have been more effective. Any man who saw you dressed like this would be at the bargaining table. Early. With the captives.Anda pot of gold.”
“Doucette will not want me for himself,” she assured him.
“The devil he won’t.”
She sighed and picked through the golden necklaces from her trip to Godfrey’s. The first she looped around and around her neck like a choker. She looped the other once, allowing it to hang to her waist.
“I’ll set the tone from the first moment,” she explained. “Seize the upper hand. It’s not always a matter of who will possess whom; what matters is my perceived role in their lives.”
“Yes, and your role will begin as currency, but rapidly shift to—”
She said, “Informant,” in the same moment he said, “Plaything.”
“Stop,” she said, taking a seat on the bed and hiking up her makeshift skirt to pull on the black boots. “I am currency to you, because you want your cousin.”
“You are not currency to me, damn it.” He stepped forward and dropped to his knees, taking over the job of fitting her feet into the boots. With deft, sure movements, she slid one stockinged foot inside and he began to lace. The task was subordinate and intimate, but his movements were terse and jerky.
He said, “Never forget that this was your idea.”
“Ouch,” she pronounced, frowning at his angry lacing.
He mumbled an apology and cinched the stiff leather with less force.
He took up her other foot, squeezing it. After a long moment, he guided her foot to his mouth and pressed a kiss to her instep.
Isobel closed her eyes and let out a little whimper.
“So small,” he mumbled, massaging her foot. He slid it into the other boot. “They could overpower you in an instant. Even I—evenShaw—can be overpowered if we are outnumbered by armed men.”
“I’ve dealt with this lot before, please don’t forget.” She opened her eyes and watched him, staring at the top of his head.
The ordinary head of an ordinary man, she thought.It is not beautiful or perfect. I am not falling in love with this head or with him.
The lies she told herself.
He was in fancy dress. Fine overcoat, brocade waistcoat, cravat. Every inch the duke. He was a duke who laced her boots.
Tears filled her eyes and she blinked them back, staring up.
“Men overpower when they feel threatened,” she declared to the ceiling. “I am not a threat; I am a means to an end to obtain Peter Boyd. I can be used as bait or... I actually hope to convince them that I canlead themto Peter. I’m an asset.”
When the boots were secured, he sat back on his haunches, gazing at her.
“You are an asset,” he repeated blandly.
“Stop worrying,” she continued, shoving up and stepping around him. “The plan is to extricate myself by nightfall. There won’t be time to menace me. We’ve a primary plan. We’ve asecondaryplan. We have that dashingthirdplan where you kick down the door and rescue me at gunpoint. Please have faith in my ability to do this.”
“My lack of faith is not with you,” he said, rising. He caught her hand, stopping her. “It’s these men. There are reasons to overpower a woman that have nothing to do with feeling threatened, and I think we both know it. We could plan for weeks, and yet, so many things are out of our control.”
