A Highwayman Came Riding by Joan Smith Page B

door.
    Marianne cast a questioning, hopeful look at him. His eyes met hers and held them for a long moment. The smile that spread slowly up from his lips to lighten his eyes softened her heart as no words of love could do. He looked like a young boy, eager to please his tutor. This is how Macheath must have been before war had warped his nature, giving him that hard edge that both frightened and intrigued her. Something twisted in her breast, making her feel warm and soft inside.
    She didn’t say anything. Words seemed inadequate, even superfluous. His eyes told her he was returning the diamonds to please her; her answering smile was all the thanks he wanted. She unlocked the door and went into the duchess’s room with Macheath behind her, carrying the tray. After all her trouble, she found the duchess sound asleep.
    “I’ll awaken her,” Marianne said.
    Macheath just shook his head lightly. “Let her sleep. She needs it. All this commotion has been hard on the old girl. I’ll come back in the morning. I told her I would call.”
    “I’ll leave the milk here, in case she awakens again before morning.”
    She left the milk on the bedside table and they went to Marianne’s room, closing the door behind them. It no longer seemed strange being alone in her room with Macheath, but it was almost painfully exciting.
    He took his glass of milk and clinked it against hers. “To—us?” he suggested playfully, peering down at her to see if she objected.
    “To your reformation,” she parried. “Or is that hopelessly naive of me?”
    “You could reform Old Nick himself. To my reformation.” They drank. “To prove it, I’ll leave the diamonds with you now. You can give them to the duchess when she awakens.”
    “Why do you not wait and give them to her yourself?”
    “I want to go home early tomorrow. I have a few things to attend to.”
    “Where is home?” she asked eagerly—too eagerly. It was as if a shade had been drawn over his face at hearing the question, leaving it blank.
    When he spoke, even his voice was different. “Not far away, but as you are to leave tomorrow, I shall give you the necklace tonight. If I were you, I would take it and run,” he said lightly.
    It was a joke, of course. He just wanted to change the subject to conceal where he lived, who he was. She knew she would not learn anything he didn’t want to tell her and accepted it, though she was hurt that he didn’t trust her.
    “Your home must be very close by, as I noticed you had changed your clothes for dinner.”
    “I didn’t go home for that. I keep a spare set of duds in my room here. I keep a room—for emergencies. It’s better you not know where I live, Marianne. You are too innocent. If Officer Bruce should decide to question you ... I am worried about you ladies having the diamonds with you in this place. I want you to take my pistol.”
    “I would rather not. I’d be afraid to shoot it.”
    “Would you not have been glad to have it tonight, when Dirty Dick was at you?”
    “Perhaps. But really I would rather not. I’d probably shoot myself.”
    “I certainly wouldn’t want that to happen. I have it! A knife! No, no. Don’t look at me like that. It is not a carving knife, but a pretty little thing I picked up in Spain. Practically a fruit knife. It will fit in your reticule.” He reached under his jacket, behind his back, and pulled a dainty little bone-handled knife from his waistband.
    “What other lethal weapons do you carry?” she asked, taking the knife and wincing at its razor-sharp edge.
    “Just a garrote and a cannon—for emergencies,” he said, smiling.
    She shook her head in wonder. “How on earth did I ever meet anyone like you?”
    “You make me realize what a bloodthirsty monster I have become. I have been too long away from polite society.”
    “It’s not too late to turn back, Jack.”
    He set his glass aside and took her hand. “That is the first time you have called me by my name.