He tilted his head back against the pillar.
"He was sadly mistaken, but I go by the honorable English name of Maitland
anyway."
She wiped her fingers on the napkin. "I think you put your Englishness on for
me. Like a cloak."
"It's just another language." He massaged the back of his neck. "I don't
belong anywhere particularly. My mother never went back to England. We moved
about." He closed his eyes. "Venice, Paris, Toulouse, Rome . . . wherever she
could find an English gentleman to provide the suitably desperate romantic
entanglement." He paused. "He must be English, you see, so that I should be
brought up a proper little country squire. I can be French or Italianor as
beefsteak as John Bull. Whatever you like."
"It sounds an unsteady life," she said.
Cushioning his head with his arm, he leaned against the stone column. "It was
rather a lark. Maitland sent money for the fencing and equitation and regular
letters about what a devilish mortification we both were to him, and my mother
lived off her lovers. 'Twas she who charmed Tiepolo for my place." He smiled
into the dark. "We rubbed along well enough,
maman
and I."
He turned and caught her staring at him. Abruptly she drained the silver cup
and gathered up the scraps of her meal in her lap. "Should I feed these to the
wolf?"
"Aye. Save one of the capons for morning. Throw Nemo the other. He won't come
close enough to take it from your hand."
Nemo lifted his head, pounced on the meat that landed in the grass a foot
away, and carried it behind S.T. to eat.
"Why are you here?" she asked.
"Here?" He was deliberately slow to understand. "I came to rescue you."
"Here in hiding. Why did you run
away
! Why are you not in England
still?"
"I didn't 'run away,' " he said indignantly. "I merely . . . emigrated."
"You've a price on your head."
"What of it? I'd a price on my head for thirteen years. 'Robbed on the Monday
last, by a man wearing a black and white mask, with polite manner, speaking
sometime French and riding a tall horse, all black or dark brown.' " He snorted.
"I ask you, where's the awful danger in that? If England rejoiced in a secret
police and a standing army as France does, we gentlemen of the highroad wouldn't
have it so fine, I vow." He looked over his shoulder at her. " 'Tis our great
good fortune that no freeborn Englishman will stomach such a womanish tyranny as
effective law enforcement. A parcel of country magistrates aren't particularly
menacing, provided a man's discreet. Which you may be assured that I am."
"Are you indeed," she murmured dryly.
He crossed his arms. "The real threat's from the thief-takers and fences, and
they're no better than thieves themselves. One had better know how to deal with
them, or be sorry for it. And sometimes from Bow Street, round and about London.
And then, too'ware the statute of hue and cry. 'Tis raised on occasion, in the
county Hundred where the robbery took place." He tilted his head and winked at
her. "But it wouldn't be half so diverting if it were too easy, would it?"
"Easy no longer, perhaps. They have your description now."
"Oh, aye," he said savagely, "because a plump and pretty little black-eyed
pigeon saw fit to inform upon me." His mouth curbed. "Miss Elizabeth Burford."
He shook his head. "God, I must have been bewitchedI let her meet me where I
was hiding out... I let her take off my mask for sport." He sighed. "I'd never
done that before. I don't know why I did it then, save that..."
Leigh didn't speak into his pause.
S.T. took a deep breath. "Save that it all seemed a shade too tame to be
amusing, at the time."
"So she laid your description with a justice? And you fled to France?"
"Certainly not. Must you have it that I bolted like a frightened hare? No one
knew my name; I may have been somewhat beguiled, but I wasn't that caper witted.
A description's nothing if you move along posthaste and have a persuasive way
with your fabrications. No one's
"He was sadly mistaken, but I go by the honorable English name of Maitland
anyway."
She wiped her fingers on the napkin. "I think you put your Englishness on for
me. Like a cloak."
"It's just another language." He massaged the back of his neck. "I don't
belong anywhere particularly. My mother never went back to England. We moved
about." He closed his eyes. "Venice, Paris, Toulouse, Rome . . . wherever she
could find an English gentleman to provide the suitably desperate romantic
entanglement." He paused. "He must be English, you see, so that I should be
brought up a proper little country squire. I can be French or Italianor as
beefsteak as John Bull. Whatever you like."
"It sounds an unsteady life," she said.
Cushioning his head with his arm, he leaned against the stone column. "It was
rather a lark. Maitland sent money for the fencing and equitation and regular
letters about what a devilish mortification we both were to him, and my mother
lived off her lovers. 'Twas she who charmed Tiepolo for my place." He smiled
into the dark. "We rubbed along well enough,
maman
and I."
He turned and caught her staring at him. Abruptly she drained the silver cup
and gathered up the scraps of her meal in her lap. "Should I feed these to the
wolf?"
"Aye. Save one of the capons for morning. Throw Nemo the other. He won't come
close enough to take it from your hand."
Nemo lifted his head, pounced on the meat that landed in the grass a foot
away, and carried it behind S.T. to eat.
"Why are you here?" she asked.
"Here?" He was deliberately slow to understand. "I came to rescue you."
"Here in hiding. Why did you run
away
! Why are you not in England
still?"
"I didn't 'run away,' " he said indignantly. "I merely . . . emigrated."
"You've a price on your head."
"What of it? I'd a price on my head for thirteen years. 'Robbed on the Monday
last, by a man wearing a black and white mask, with polite manner, speaking
sometime French and riding a tall horse, all black or dark brown.' " He snorted.
"I ask you, where's the awful danger in that? If England rejoiced in a secret
police and a standing army as France does, we gentlemen of the highroad wouldn't
have it so fine, I vow." He looked over his shoulder at her. " 'Tis our great
good fortune that no freeborn Englishman will stomach such a womanish tyranny as
effective law enforcement. A parcel of country magistrates aren't particularly
menacing, provided a man's discreet. Which you may be assured that I am."
"Are you indeed," she murmured dryly.
He crossed his arms. "The real threat's from the thief-takers and fences, and
they're no better than thieves themselves. One had better know how to deal with
them, or be sorry for it. And sometimes from Bow Street, round and about London.
And then, too'ware the statute of hue and cry. 'Tis raised on occasion, in the
county Hundred where the robbery took place." He tilted his head and winked at
her. "But it wouldn't be half so diverting if it were too easy, would it?"
"Easy no longer, perhaps. They have your description now."
"Oh, aye," he said savagely, "because a plump and pretty little black-eyed
pigeon saw fit to inform upon me." His mouth curbed. "Miss Elizabeth Burford."
He shook his head. "God, I must have been bewitchedI let her meet me where I
was hiding out... I let her take off my mask for sport." He sighed. "I'd never
done that before. I don't know why I did it then, save that..."
Leigh didn't speak into his pause.
S.T. took a deep breath. "Save that it all seemed a shade too tame to be
amusing, at the time."
"So she laid your description with a justice? And you fled to France?"
"Certainly not. Must you have it that I bolted like a frightened hare? No one
knew my name; I may have been somewhat beguiled, but I wasn't that caper witted.
A description's nothing if you move along posthaste and have a persuasive way
with your fabrications. No one's
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