Page 69 of Beauty and the Thief

Chapter Fourteen

“Can you not stay a few more days?” Cal asked Donnelly two days later.

Donnelly shook his head. It was late morning, and the pub was not yet open. Donnelly and Cal were alone but for Mrs. Gallagher in the back loudly beheading some poor vegetable or other. “I shouldn’t have stayed as long as I have. And anyway, now you’re making progress, I should get out of your way.”

He was referring to Innishfree, who had finally invited Cal to sit down at their table and have a pint the night before. Cal hadn’t drunk the pint, but he’d charmed them all with stories of his childhood in London and his near escapes from the gallows.

Bridget had joined them after a time, and the women had seemed comfortable speaking with her. No one had mentioned Innishfree or any violent plot, but rule number three in any swindle was let the mark think he had all the power. Cal would have to wait until the leader of the group—a black-haired man everyone called by his full name, Sean MacDonald—decided to confide in Cal or had one of the women do the same for Bridget.

“I’d rather you stay,” Cal said, though he already knew it was a lost cause. Donnelly was already gone. Cal might as well be speaking to his shadow.

“Take care of yourself,” Donnelly said.

“I know the danger.”

Donnelly shook his head. “No, I don’t think you do.” And then he was gone. Cal heard him speak to someone as he went out the back, and then Bridget walked in.

“Where did Mr. Donnelly go?”

Cal allowed himself just a moment to admire her in her dark green dress and bonnet. She removed the bonnet, showing her shiny hair, carefully parted and caught at her nape. He didn’t give himself leave to look any lower than her chin. Now that he knew what was under that tight bodice, he didn’t want the temptation. It was hard enough not picturing his hands cupping her pale overflowing flesh or remembering the velvet feel of her nipple between his lips.

“He had to go,” he said, turning away from her. Since they’d—what to call it—kissed that night at the pub, they’d tiptoed around each other as though they feared the other might unleash an army of snakes. Cal avoided her because not avoiding her would mean ripping her bodice off again and taking his fill of her soft flesh. He didn’t know why she avoided him. Perhaps she was embarrassed at her behavior—though what she had to be embarrassed about he couldn’t think.

Or perhaps she, like he, was afraid of what would happen next if she lowered her guard.

“Go where?” she asked, hanging the coat she had draped over her arm and the bonnet in her hands on the rack.

“He didn’t say, but I don’t think he’ll be back. We’re on our own, lass.”

He glanced at her, and she’d stilled. “What do you mean?”

“He said it’s too dangerous to stay. We’re on our own, and I don’t mind saying I think we made progress last night.”

She moved closer to him, keeping a table between them. “Not enough progress. What if we have questions? How do we even contact Baron? The only missive I’ve received from him came from Donnelly. We’re to send correspondence through him.”

“We don’t need Donnelly to write to Baron.” He moved behind the bar, arranging glasses and bottles in preparation for the first customers.

“But it’s safer.”

“Sure and we don’t write unless we have something important to say. Besides, you can code it so anyone who takes a wee peek thinks it’s about the weather or seals.”

“I don’t like it.” And she swept into the kitchen to take her own anger out of unsuspecting produce.

Cal didn’t like it either.

He liked it even less when, that night, Sean MacDonald asked him to play cards. “Vingt-et-un,” he’d said. “Aoife can deal.”

“I don’t play vingt-et-un,” Cal had said. He’d wanted to stand up, to run as far as he could, but Bridget put a hand on his shoulder as she came to stand behind him.

“It’s just a friendly game,” MacDonald had said. “The pub is mostly empty. Sure and you can spare a few minutes. You’ll take over, won’t you, missus?” He winked at Bridget.

“Of course,” she said, her hand closing on his shoulder.

He didn’t want to play, if only because the thought of it made his heart race and his breathing come short. If he began, he didn’t know if he’d be able to stop. And if he didn’t play, this might be the last time Sean MacDonald invited him to sit with them. Cal had been careful to give no indication he knew who the group was, but they’d spoken more and more freely around him, and he’d hinted he might have services they could use.

If he walked away now, he might not get another chance.

Bridget squeezed his shoulder, and he looked up at her. Her gaze was calm, but he could read in it unwavering support. If he played, she’d stand by him. If he walked away, she would follow.

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