Of course. The niece.
“Do pay attention. Sister Amelia Maria will be at the hospital, but I am told the others will allow me a visit, only the briefest visit, in their common room,” she went on.
Ah. No tower. The niece is imprisoned in a—Good Lord!
“You are taking me to a convent?” he gasped.
“Of course.”
“I must have been ‘much the worse for drink’ indeed, if I agreed to that.”
“You did agree. You gave me your word,” she insisted.
My word. When had anyone last requested my word or respected it when given?The novel idea rolled around in his head. He had given his word.
“You may turn around unless—” He caught a glimpse of wide-eyed curiosity quickly squelched when she turned to face him. “—the sight of a man buttoning his waistcoat and jacket offends you.”
“Certainly not. I have seen an unbuttoned waistcoat once or twice,” she snapped.
“I see. The husband.”
Jamie turned to the basin near his bed and shaved with the economy of movement habitual in a man long used to the privations of camp and campaign.
“This would be easier if I knew your name,” he said from the side of his mouth. She didn’t faint at the sight of a man shaving either.
“I must have—but no, I didn’t, did I? I am Eleanora Haley—Mrs. Edmund Haley.”
Jamie wiped his face and ran a hand carelessly through his hair to smooth it. He had no brush; its silver handle fed him for almost a week.
“Well, then, Mrs. Edmund Haley—” He choked on the words when he turned around.
“It’s what we agreed to,” she said, holding out a leather purse.
She believes she has employed me?
Jamie stifled a surge of hope. His fingers trembled and brushed hers when he took the bag. He pulled out a silver coin. The imprint of the papal coat of arms gleamed up at him—a Papal scudo, Rome’s primary currency.
“It’s what we agreed. Don’t think you can push for more.”
More?One scudo alone was worth more than four guineas. Hehefted the bag and reconsidered his assessment of the previous night. The woman was definitely mad, no “maybe” about it. At least now he understood why he promised to meet her.
“You paid me this to escort you to a convent?” he asked.
“Certainly not,” she said. “For a month of your time. To serve as my interpreter.”
Not so mad then.He knew he should refuse.
A gentleman would refuse the money,he thought.
Luckily, Jamie was no longer a gentleman. His fingers tightened on the soft leather. The money would keep him alive for a month, long enough to do whatever it was the woman hired him to do.
He smiled broadly. “Let’s go see these nuns of yours.”
Chapter Two
Nora stole a glance at the major walking beside her through the winding lanes of his Trastevere neighborhood, the seedy district across the Tiber from Rome’s better quarters that was home to poor taverns, poorer families, and down-on-their-luck majors.
“They aren’t my nuns,” she snapped.
