companion raised an eyebrow. “Or if not so very uncomfortable, I could learn to be so.”
“I am glad to hear you say it because very likely you will be cold and wet and hungry before we are through with this game.”
“Game? Is it a game to lie to the senhor? ”
He winced at her scorn as if she had caused him pain. “If I do think of our adventure as a game, an exercise of wits against a clever opponent, there is little I can lose in your estimation, is there?”
Margaret looked at the floor. Did he care then for her good opinion? And wasn’t the game what she herself had admitted she enjoyed? But she had not thought others could be hurt in it. To lie to Croisset and the brothers did not trouble her conscience as perhaps it should, but the senhor was so like her father. What would her parents think if they knew the disgraceful role she had to play while traveling with her thief?
“Did you have to say we were married?” she asked, looking up. “I do not even have a ring.”
“So,” he said, his expression quite unreadable, “it is the particular lie that bothers you.” He came toward her then, removing the ring from his little finger, and took her left hand. Solemnly he slid the ring down her finger. But the sensation did not stop there. It traveled up her arm like the spark up a fuse in a fireworks display she had seen at Bath.
She looked at the heavy gold with the single bright stone and, withdrawing her hand from his, turned away. She did not wish him to see her burning cheeks.
“I know it is not what you would choose,” he said to her back. “I know you will accuse me of sophistry, but when Senhor Fregata sees you as my wife, he sees more nearly the truth than he could any other way. He sees a respectable young woman who deserves to be treated as a lady; and whatever your circumstances, Meg, you are a lady, and you have done nothing to merit his disrespect.”
“Yes, I have,” she said, momentarily reckless in her distress. “I have chosen the company of a thief and a traitor over the difficulties of escape.”
She meant the words as a self-reproach but saw in his bleak expression that he had taken her words as a further condemnation of himself. He was so still she thought for a moment that he had stopped breathing. Then he moved, settling himself with apparent casualness in a chair by the fire and stretching his legs out before him.
“I beg your pardon,” she whispered. “I promised not to call you such names.”
“Do not refine on it too much,” he advised. He stared at his boots, saying nothing, while Margaret wondered how to restore him to his customary teasing ways.
“Meg,” he said at last, “there will be less hypocrisy in playing my . . . wife tonight than you will meet with in a morning call in half the drawing rooms of London.” He paused. “But rest assured, I shall not ask you to deceive any more unsuspecting hosts. For the remainder of our journey we will make our beds where we can.”
“Thank you,” she said, puzzled that this victory over him should leave her feeling so dispirited. “Truly, I would prefer to be cold or hungry than to . . . lie again,” she finished.
At that he laughed. “I doubt we will be so very cold, and you cannot imagine that our large companion will ever allow our party to starve.”
“You mean Esau, I suppose, but he is not very nice in his choice of foods. I suspect he will eat things that you and I might find most unpalatable.”
“Esau?” he queried.
She blushed. “For Esau and Jacob,” she explained. “I have been calling them that in my mind because they remind me of the biblical brothers—the one, dominated by his appetites, and the other, calculating. They are always on the edge of a quarrel.” She was surprised at the end of this explanation to find him looking at her with every appearance of admiration.
“I know it is a bit of foolishness,” she confessed.
“No, it isn’t, Meg; it’s quite
“I am glad to hear you say it because very likely you will be cold and wet and hungry before we are through with this game.”
“Game? Is it a game to lie to the senhor? ”
He winced at her scorn as if she had caused him pain. “If I do think of our adventure as a game, an exercise of wits against a clever opponent, there is little I can lose in your estimation, is there?”
Margaret looked at the floor. Did he care then for her good opinion? And wasn’t the game what she herself had admitted she enjoyed? But she had not thought others could be hurt in it. To lie to Croisset and the brothers did not trouble her conscience as perhaps it should, but the senhor was so like her father. What would her parents think if they knew the disgraceful role she had to play while traveling with her thief?
“Did you have to say we were married?” she asked, looking up. “I do not even have a ring.”
“So,” he said, his expression quite unreadable, “it is the particular lie that bothers you.” He came toward her then, removing the ring from his little finger, and took her left hand. Solemnly he slid the ring down her finger. But the sensation did not stop there. It traveled up her arm like the spark up a fuse in a fireworks display she had seen at Bath.
She looked at the heavy gold with the single bright stone and, withdrawing her hand from his, turned away. She did not wish him to see her burning cheeks.
“I know it is not what you would choose,” he said to her back. “I know you will accuse me of sophistry, but when Senhor Fregata sees you as my wife, he sees more nearly the truth than he could any other way. He sees a respectable young woman who deserves to be treated as a lady; and whatever your circumstances, Meg, you are a lady, and you have done nothing to merit his disrespect.”
“Yes, I have,” she said, momentarily reckless in her distress. “I have chosen the company of a thief and a traitor over the difficulties of escape.”
She meant the words as a self-reproach but saw in his bleak expression that he had taken her words as a further condemnation of himself. He was so still she thought for a moment that he had stopped breathing. Then he moved, settling himself with apparent casualness in a chair by the fire and stretching his legs out before him.
“I beg your pardon,” she whispered. “I promised not to call you such names.”
“Do not refine on it too much,” he advised. He stared at his boots, saying nothing, while Margaret wondered how to restore him to his customary teasing ways.
“Meg,” he said at last, “there will be less hypocrisy in playing my . . . wife tonight than you will meet with in a morning call in half the drawing rooms of London.” He paused. “But rest assured, I shall not ask you to deceive any more unsuspecting hosts. For the remainder of our journey we will make our beds where we can.”
“Thank you,” she said, puzzled that this victory over him should leave her feeling so dispirited. “Truly, I would prefer to be cold or hungry than to . . . lie again,” she finished.
At that he laughed. “I doubt we will be so very cold, and you cannot imagine that our large companion will ever allow our party to starve.”
“You mean Esau, I suppose, but he is not very nice in his choice of foods. I suspect he will eat things that you and I might find most unpalatable.”
“Esau?” he queried.
She blushed. “For Esau and Jacob,” she explained. “I have been calling them that in my mind because they remind me of the biblical brothers—the one, dominated by his appetites, and the other, calculating. They are always on the edge of a quarrel.” She was surprised at the end of this explanation to find him looking at her with every appearance of admiration.
“I know it is a bit of foolishness,” she confessed.
“No, it isn’t, Meg; it’s quite
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