Page 23 of Barely a Woman (Bow Street Beaus #1)

“Indeed, it has. Farmers are delaying repairs and shoeing. Folks are hoarding what they have rather than commissioning new candlesticks.”

“I am sorry to hear of your duress.”

“So, we wonder, then,” said Morgan, “If you might be interested in earning some extra coin.”

The faces of smith and his apprentices brightened further. “We would,” said the blacksmith. “What is the task?”

“Simple, really, for men of your physical stature.” Morgan’s warm smile threatened to melt the men, Steadman included.

She explained how they would move bags of grain from barn to wagon to barn, with a short ride in between.

The smiths agreed enthusiastically, clearly taken with Morgan.

Steadman could not help but notice the appeal.

She was forthright yet gentle, enthusiastic yet restrained, engaging yet authentic. He shook his head with wonder.

“Tomorrow night, then,” said Steadman as they bid the smiths farewell. “We will assemble a pair of rigs and meet you here at dusk.”

“And find four or five more strapping lads to help,” Morgan added, “They will be paid equally.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the men said in unison, bowing to her as if she were nobility. Steadman smiled at the glaring irony. In her own way, she was far more noble than those who claimed titles. They had left the smithy well behind when he finally mustered the gumption to tease her.

“As I predicted, those lads were utterly bewitched by your feminine charms.”

She cut him a skeptical glance. “I think not. In fact, I believe they were rather taken with your legs.”

“My legs?”

“Do not pretend you are not proud of your thighs, what with the tightness of your breeches. I wonder how you manage to wedge into them each morning.”

He grew a sly smile, pleased with Morgan’s feisty response. “I could show you if you like. Here in the road, if it suits you.”

Her cheeks reddened and she looked away. “Oh, I think not. I would not wish anyone to take you for a corpse and proceed to bury you.”

“Why would anyone take me for a corpse?”

“Because I would strike you down if you removed your breeches in the road.”

His smile widened to stretch his cheeks. “Strike me down? Really. What weapon could you possibly wield against me, given that we left the pistols at the inn.”

She looked his way again and rolled her wondrous eyes. “See, that is the problem with men. They think forever in terms of blunt force and raw power.”

“And women are much wiser, I suppose?”

“Naturally.”

“Explain, please.”

She circled her hand in the air. “While men chase the herds, women carry literally the entire household behind them, stopping only to birth children and fend off the wolves. Out of necessity, we have opted for sophistication over brute strength.”

“I see. How would sophistication kill me, then? Force me to attend ballroom dances until I died of boredom?”

She laughed musically. “No, sir. Too obvious. I would likely poison your brandy. Clean and quite unexpected.”

“But now you have warned me. I will watch my brandy carefully.”

“Your plan has two fatal flaws.”

“Enlighten me.”

“You underestimate my patience and overestimate your diligence. I would simply outlast you.”

The rollicking if morose conversation continued unabated all the way to the inn.

On arriving, they were both wiping tears from bouts of laughter.

And for the hundredth time in days, Steadman marveled that he could have such camaraderie with a woman.

In a life of the unforeseen, Morgan was becoming the most astonishing surprise of all.

Given his bewildering surrogate fatherhood of Lucy, that fact was hard to admit.

Steadman opened the inn door for Morgan with a flourishing bow. She crossed the threshold and froze. “Steadman.”

Her ominous tone drew him immediately inside to find Three-Finger Jack lounging against a wall. The big man uncurled his frame. “Out for a walk with the misses?”

“She’s not my misses, but yes.”

The man leered at Morgan. “I would not let her stray too far. Might attract amorous attention.”

The hackles rose on Steadman’s neck, but he reminded himself to pummel the man later. “Can I do something for you, sir?”

“Glad you asked.” The giant placed a paw and Steadman’s shoulder. “We’ve another job tonight and I need your muscle. Meet us again at the tavern.”

Something about the invitation struck Steadman as disingenuous, but he could not refuse. He had come too far to lose his nerve. “Of course. One round on me.”

“Perfect.” Jack squeezed past him and Morgan as he lumbered out the door. “Don’t be late.”

Steadman frowned, ready to dismiss his instinct.

“It’s a trap.”

He blinked surprise at Morgan’s assessment. “What makes you think so?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. Just a feeling. You said you could recognize a liar. Well, I can recognize when a man is preparing to humiliate or hurt someone. I have experienced it far too often. He seems prepared to do both.”

Steadman considered lying to her, sweeping aside her notion. However, that would be disrespectful of her good sense. “I agree. It is likely a trap.”

She sighed in relief. “Good. Then you will not attend.”

“I must. And you know why. We’ve no choice.”

Morgan appeared ready to disagree before surprising him yet again. “Then I will go with you. Two officers, two pistols.”

Her willingness to walk with him into danger for his protection nearly unmoored him. Who would do that for anyone, especially for a scoundrel like him? He gathered his scattering wits. “No. And no pistols.”

“Because I am just a woman?”

“Because I would never forgive myself if any harm came to you. Because I protect those whom I care for most.”

Her eyes went impossibly wide. “You care for me… most?”

He knew the next words from his mouth could undo them both and imperil his mission. In a moment of panic, he slipped out the door while beckoning Morgan. “We should take a walk to clear our heads.”

***

Morgan trailed Steadman from the inn, intent on understanding if he meant what he had just said. However, he thoroughly changed the subject before she could utter so much as a word.

“Are you weary yet of wearing your dead uncle’s suit?”

She frowned at his blatant attempt to avoid meaningful conversation, but decided pithy banter was better than silence.

“Yes, but it is necessary for the job. I do enjoy the freedom of riding without a sidesaddle and avoid constantly soaking my hem in the mud. But it does itch and is three sizes too large.”

“So, are you saying you prefer the suit to the dress?”

“No, Steadman. Pay attention to what I mean, not the words I say. I much prefer the dress. I am far more accustomed to it and at least it fits properly.”

“It does fit you…nicely.” When she glanced at him with a start, he tore his eyes away from…whatever he had been watching. “I prefer the dress as well.”

As Morgan’s cheeks grew warm, she hoped he would not notice the blush climbing her neck and cheeks. When he reengaged her, his eyes had lit with idea. “Since you went to the trouble of wearing it, what say you if we take a meal together as you are.”

Alarm bells rang in Morgan’s head. What was he up to?

Surely, such a meal would stretch propriety while she was firmly inhabiting a feminine role.

What had become of Steadman’s concern for his reputation?

Before she could express her qualms, Steadman stopped dead in his tracks and stared ahead with dawning distress.

She followed his eyes to find a woman standing perhaps thirty feet away, having just emerged from a shop.

She looked barely older than Morgan, finely outfitted and gorgeous.

Without glancing at Morgan, Steadman said, “Remain here, Miss Brady.”

She furrowed her brow, but he was already approaching the stranger. The woman’s face dripped indignation. When he drew within a few feet of her, she put one hand on her hip and lifted a finger to his nose. “Where have you been? And why have you returned?”

Steadman stepped nearer to touch her shoulder and seemingly urged more discretion.

Morgan watched mortified as the two whispered furiously to each another, their lips inches apart.

A dire notion struck her. Was this his first love?

An old flame he had jilted when he left town?

She seemed of the proper class, given her stately bearing and well-tailored dress and pelisse.

A remarkable surge of jealousy rose within Morgan but quickly gave way to a deep sense of inadequacy.

How could she compare to such a woman? She could not tear her attention away from the passionate but unheard conversation even though she wished to escape to her room at the inn.

It came as a surprise, then, when the woman slapped Steadman’s face and stormed toward Morgan.

Though in a state of shock, Morgan set her feet and balled her fists for a coming tussle, like any country girl would.

However, the stranger stepped past her, but not without a warning.

“Stay away from that one,” she said to Morgan, “If you know what’s good for you.”

Morgan watched the woman cross the road and enter a carriage with a coat of arms festooning the door.

She had not noticed the rig before. Only when the carriage pulled away did Morgan look up to find Steadman at her side, a red handprint marking his cheek.

His expression was a chaotic blend of anger, confusion, and haunt.

“You must dine without me,” he said.

Stung, she failed to hold her tongue. “Who was that woman? A spurned lover?”

“If only,” He shook his head. “That was my sister, and she was quite displeased to see me.”

His sister Evelyn? Here in Broad Chalke? As if oblivious to her turmoil, Steadman began striding toward the inn. She hurried after him as annoyance began pushing aside bewilderment. “Where are you going?”

“That most unpleasant meeting has reminded me that I must ride for Longford Castle immediately.”

“Why?” She hoped he would finally speak of his family. However, he remained coy.

“I have business with Lord Radnor, if he will see me.”

Without another word, he opened the gap between them, leaving Morgan to return alone to the inn, baffled and hurt.