Again, the memory of him kneeling in order to place a rose at the base of the church wall where his sister was killed flickered in her mind’s eye.
She shoved that aside as well and told him, “I’ve always hated playing the piano.”
He produced a low chuckle as he came to stand beside her.“Why?”
“I’m not especially fond of sitting still.”
This time he gave a full-bodied laugh – a rich rumbling sound that swept over her like a tidal wave, catching her in its thrall.He angled himself toward her and propped his hip against the balustrade.“Then why do you play?”
“Because it’s expected, I suppose.”It was the truth.Harlowe believed all young ladies ought to possess certain skills – refinements, he called them.He also loved the sound of music filling the house and she hadn’t the heart to tell him she’d rather not play when asked.
“Do you always do what’s expected, Miss Carmichael?”
Mr.Croft’s voice held a hint of deep curiosity mixed with something she wouldn’t have picked up had she not been paying perfect attention.It was a secretive element, as though he’d discovered something she wasn’t aware of.
Concern gave her pause as she wondered what he might know.Choosing to err on the side of caution, she tilted her head as though in thought.“For the most part, I suppose.”
“You’ve never done anything…shocking?”
Samantha’s mind raced.Why would he ask that unless he’d discovered something about her?But what?She’d done an endless amount of things that would be considered shocking for any young lady to undertake.
So what was it?
Had the men she’d fought in St.Giles reported back to him somehow?Did he know of the room she’d rented near Covent Garden?Was the man she’d almost trampled while riding, one of Mr.Croft’s informants?
She’d no idea, but the icy shiver stealing across her shoulders warned her he might be about to turn the tables.
Despite the frantic beat of her heart, she held herself immobile for a couple of breaths before daring to meet his gaze.
The intensity of that stare was so penetrating and seeking, it felt like it drove all the way to the depth of her soul.It made it hard for her to think.
Yet she had to.If she was to answer his question correctly, she had to muddle her way through this with calm, collected control.
“Can I trust you?”she asked, choosing to start by asking a question of her own.
Surprise flickered in his dark eyes.The soft play of light from nearby torches caused them to glow in a way that threatened to reel her in and hold her captive if she weren’t careful.
A wry smile only added to his appeal.“Whatever secrets you wish to impart will be safe with me.”
It was time for her to take a gamble.If word of her fighting skills and her visit to Wycliffe’s had reached him, she doubted they would be having this conversation.Rather, he’d have tied her to a chair in a basement somewhere and demanded she give him an explanation.
Because that was precisely the sort of thing a man with his reputation would do.
If it was the room she rented that he’d discovered…
He’d know she was up to something and would probably choose to steer clear of her henceforth.
Yet here he was, asking questions with what appeared to be genuine interest.
Which had to mean…
“I love to ride, but maintaining balance in a sidesaddle while all those skirts are twisted around my legs is no fun at all.So I usually ride astride instead.Especially if I’m planning to go for a gallop.”
The briefest hint of amazement pulled at his features before he managed to mask the response.An element of mischief replaced it.“How very improper.”
She grinned, surrendering to the amusement that danced in the air.“That’s only the half of it, Mr.Croft.”
“Oh?”An arch of his brow challenged her to confess the rest.
