Page 31 of The Meaning of Love
She pointed to the left, where the towpath meandered around a stand of trees. “Isn’t that the man from the theater? Peeking out from behind that tree?”
He spotted the dark-haired man.
The fellow stepped out, onto the path. He stood there, apparently debating whether or not to approach.
Julian inwardly swore and strode forward.
As if interpreting that as encouragement, the man started toward him.
Five young men, jostling each other and horsing around, came ambling along the path from Julian’s right; their noisy if lighthearted argument had him glancing their way.
Immediately, he looked back at the dark-haired man, only to discover he’d vanished.
Julian pulled up, swallowed a curse, then swung on his heel and retraced the few steps he’d taken.
As he reached Melissa, he met her eyes, grimaced, and shook his head.
She’d gathered up the rug. Clutching it to her chest, she stared after the man. “Why did he run?”
“Because of those idiots coming along.”
She frowned and transferred her gaze to him. “Why should that bother him?”
“That, indeed, is the question.” Gently, he took the rug from her, tucked it under his arm, then offered her his other arm.
She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Do you have any idea who he is?”
He cast one last glance at where the man had been. “I’ve never met him before.”
The sharp glance she threw him stated very clearly that she was aware he hadn’t actually answered her question. Briefly meeting her eyes, he admitted, “At this point, I honestly don’t know what to think.”
That, she accepted. With a nod, she matched her stride to his, and they made their way back to the inn.
There, they indulged in a scrumptious high tea. With the servers about, their conversation reverted to a light banter.
Afterward, Melissa waited with Julian in the inn’s stable yard while the smiling ostlers brought out his curricle and horses. The lads were transparently proud of the care they’d lavished on both. While bestowing suitable largesse on the pair, Julian added several words of praise, leaving the lads glowing.
She gave him her hand, and he helped her to the seat. She bided her time until they were out of Richmond proper and had crossed the bridge and were once more rolling steadily toward London before asking, “What was it that you actually did while in Ireland?”
She kept her gaze forward, but felt the glance—as sharp as any of hers—that he threw her. Then he, too, fixed his gaze ahead. She didn’t prompt, just waited.
Eventually, he replied, “I mentioned that I was a negotiator.” Without her having to press, he explained what that entailed, ending with, “Because the Irish hierarchy were willing to treat with me, I ended up being the one sent to discuss every little thing with them. Sometimes, I was merely a messenger, but most often, my role was to present our side of an issue and try to gauge their response.”
She frowned. “Even I know that must have been dangerous.”
He lifted one shoulder. “Potentially, yes. But as I said, for whatever reason, the Irishmen decided they could trust me, at least to the extent of using me as a conduit to get their point across to Dublin Castle.”
She knew that all parties involved referred to the British administration in Ireland as “Dublin Castle.”
He added, “That was why Gregory moved heaven and earth to keep me there for as long as he could. Initially, my appointment was only supposed to last two years.”
She spent several minutes wondering what might have happened had he not been so good at his job, so valuable to the administration in Ireland, but instead, had returned to London when he’d originally expected to… Then she set the past aside and refocused on the present. “So you were a trusted contact of the Irishmen. Did you acquire any enemies from that time?”
She was pleased that he considered the notion before slowly shaking his head.
“I’m not aware of any, and I know of no reason any Irishman would want me dead.”
“That man—he had curly black hair and a faintly swarthy complexion. He could be Irish.”
