A Tall Dark Stranger by Joan Smith Page B

in the shepherd’s hut.”
    “I shall require all my attention to come out of this unscathed,” he said, and drew the curricle to the side of the road near a weeping willow.
    “You forgot the best part of Isaiah’s tale, ma’am. Doing ‘things they shouldn’t ought to,’ “ he said, smiling. “Do you know, I’ve been wrestling with my conscience. I shouldn’t have struck that bargain with you. It was ungentlemanly in the extreme. I’m surprised you didn’t point it out to me at the time, as you are always looking out for my behavior. The female in the case was a lady, and a gentleman never carries tales detrimental to a lady’s fragile reputation.”
    “It was indeed improper of you to strike such a bargain. It can only be my love of gossip that blinded me to its impropriety or I would have called you to account. But once a gentleman has made a deal, he pays the price. Surely that is the very essence of being a gentleman?”
    Renshaw drew off his York tan gloves and flexed his shapely fingers. I wouldn’t have called his hand a fire hand. His fingers were quite long enough for aesthetic admiration. The emerald twinkled on his smallest finger.
    “Paying one’s debts is only one of the essential ingredients of gentlemanhood,” he said. Then he flung the gloves aside. “Making a jackass of himself to gain a pretty lady’s company is another. It was rash, ill-bred, and foolish of me to strike that bargain. I am on the horns of a dilemma here, Miss Talbot. Demmed uncomfortable place to be. Can’t you help me out of this appalling position?”
    “Never mind trying to shift the onus on to me. So you’re going back on our bargain!”
    “Not at all. You were kind enough to accompany me and I must pay the price, but can’t we reach a compromise? Ask me anything else. Anything. A fair exchange is no robbery.”
    He gazed for a moment into my eyes. I read a challenge there. “Is there nothing of a more personal nature you care to know about me?” he asked in an insinuating manner.
    “And you promise to tell the truth?”
    He looked leery. “Oh, dear, why do I have the feeling I’m hopping from the frying pan into the fire?”
    He was right about that. I meant to give him a good roasting about chasing after my fortune.
    “That will teach you to renege on a bargain. I want the truth, the whole truth—”
    “And nothing but the truth. You would make a fine lawyer, ma’am. Do you remember Portia? ‘The quality of mercy is not strain’d.’ More is expected of a lady lawyer than a mere male.”
    “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Renshaw. My question is: Why are you really here? Beau never mentioned you before. You can’t be bosom bows. A brief visit to a school chum might pass muster, but you’ve been with him for days now and show no intention of leaving.”
    “You make me sound like a piker! I brought him a case of very fine sherry from—” He came to a guilty stop.
    “Wine would certainly be the way to Beau’s heart. You’re not eighteen years old, like Lollie, to be loitering in the neighborhood because of the murder and theft. Are you sure you don’t have an ulterior motive for all these drives out with me?”
    I sat back, enjoying his discomfort. Auntie had half convinced me that he was courting me for my dowry, and as he squirmed and turned pink, I felt she had hit it on the head. It was a disappointment, but I hadn’t quite fallen in love with Renshaw yet. Maitland still had a strong-enough grip on my imagination to prevent it. Blame it on my soft heart—or on Renshaw’s boyish embarrassment or on Portia. I let him off the hook.
    “It’s all right, Mr. Renshaw,” I said. “It was obvious from the beginning that you cared nothing for hops. I couldn’t quite believe the ten thousand a year, either. You should have made it a more reasonable five. I expect Beau put you up to it. I can almost hear him,”
    Renshaw sat with his head bent and his ears pink, looking well and