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Authors: To Kiss a Thief
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to keep her reserve and to be awake to any chance to recover the earl’s papers. She must not allow him to leave the port with them.
“Meg,” he said at her side, catching her by surprise in spite of her determination to be on guard. “Do you like this view of Oporto?” She turned to him, but did not answer. He was once more the dandy he had been for their meeting with Croisset, his greatcoat giving him an impressive breadth of shoulder. He had shaved, so that his face was boyishly smooth and fine. She looked away at once, repeating to herself the words that ought to condemn him. Thief, traitor . As if he sensed her reserve, he began to speak inconsequentially about their surroundings, pointing out ships and rigging, birds wheeling overhead and black-shawled women hunched on the beach.
“You have been here before?” she couldn’t help asking.
“Some years ago,” he replied in the guarded way he had when she asked for something of the truth from him.
Their vessel now passed between other larger ships in a long row and, at an opening among these, turned into the wind. With a sudden flutter the great sail went slack and came down, and the sailors scrambled to tie it to the boom, to drop the anchor and tie a line to another vessel. The captain accepted more of Croisset’s gold, ordered the dinghy lowered, and led his men over the side.
When they were alone, Drew took Margaret’s chin in his hand, turning her face to his. “Our escort will come for us now. Remember, you are Meg Summers, my mistress.” His eyes, deep blue in the twilight, were cold with command, with the haughty air he adopted with the dandy clothes. “Your life depends on it.”
“Of course, my lord,” she answered, meeting his gaze squarely.
***
In minutes they heard the splash of oars. Though it was now dusk, Margaret could see a curious contrast between the two men in the approaching boat. The first was a large man with a robust massiveness, like a sturdy oak, and a shaggy head of reddish brown hair and a beard to match. He pulled the oars as if they were mere sticks instead of great beams. He pulled himself up the rope ladder in a single swift movement and stood frowning down at them. As he spoke in the odd French Margaret had first heard the sailors use, the other man came up over the side of the boat. He was not small except in comparison to his companion, but as sleek as the other was shaggy, dark-skinned and dark-haired, not quite handsome, his eyes too quick-moving and his lower lip pushed against the upper in a way that suggested displeasure.
After very little talk, both men turned to her, and Margaret guessed that Drew was explaining her presence. She kept her head proudly lifted, her gaze steady. The shaggy man gave her a leer, the sleek one, a coldly assessing look. Then the two men turned to each other, the sleek one speaking rapidly and gesturing for emphasis, the shaggy one responding in grunts and nods. As strange as their language was to her, Margaret recognized their exchange as a dispute. A terrible knot of fear pressed against her chest so that she could not draw a deep breath. She did not like to imagine the danger she and Drew would be in if these two men knew the turn they had served Croisset. Drew slipped an arm about her waist and pulled her against him. Speaking with the same arrogant impatience with which he had addressed Croisset, he drew forth the purse that had so far smoothed their way.
“My lord,” she murmured into his chest, “are we to go ashore?”
The gold seemed to resolve the larger man, who stepped back, indicating that Drew and Margaret should pass to the ladder over the side. The smaller man said nothing.
Propelled by the large man’s mighty strokes, their dinghy soon reached the shore and shot far up on a strip of sand. There Margaret was handed down to dry land and for a moment stood uncertainly, still rocked by the sea’s motion. An open cart stood waiting, its driver apparently
“Meg,” he said at her side, catching her by surprise in spite of her determination to be on guard. “Do you like this view of Oporto?” She turned to him, but did not answer. He was once more the dandy he had been for their meeting with Croisset, his greatcoat giving him an impressive breadth of shoulder. He had shaved, so that his face was boyishly smooth and fine. She looked away at once, repeating to herself the words that ought to condemn him. Thief, traitor . As if he sensed her reserve, he began to speak inconsequentially about their surroundings, pointing out ships and rigging, birds wheeling overhead and black-shawled women hunched on the beach.
“You have been here before?” she couldn’t help asking.
“Some years ago,” he replied in the guarded way he had when she asked for something of the truth from him.
Their vessel now passed between other larger ships in a long row and, at an opening among these, turned into the wind. With a sudden flutter the great sail went slack and came down, and the sailors scrambled to tie it to the boom, to drop the anchor and tie a line to another vessel. The captain accepted more of Croisset’s gold, ordered the dinghy lowered, and led his men over the side.
When they were alone, Drew took Margaret’s chin in his hand, turning her face to his. “Our escort will come for us now. Remember, you are Meg Summers, my mistress.” His eyes, deep blue in the twilight, were cold with command, with the haughty air he adopted with the dandy clothes. “Your life depends on it.”
“Of course, my lord,” she answered, meeting his gaze squarely.
***
In minutes they heard the splash of oars. Though it was now dusk, Margaret could see a curious contrast between the two men in the approaching boat. The first was a large man with a robust massiveness, like a sturdy oak, and a shaggy head of reddish brown hair and a beard to match. He pulled the oars as if they were mere sticks instead of great beams. He pulled himself up the rope ladder in a single swift movement and stood frowning down at them. As he spoke in the odd French Margaret had first heard the sailors use, the other man came up over the side of the boat. He was not small except in comparison to his companion, but as sleek as the other was shaggy, dark-skinned and dark-haired, not quite handsome, his eyes too quick-moving and his lower lip pushed against the upper in a way that suggested displeasure.
After very little talk, both men turned to her, and Margaret guessed that Drew was explaining her presence. She kept her head proudly lifted, her gaze steady. The shaggy man gave her a leer, the sleek one, a coldly assessing look. Then the two men turned to each other, the sleek one speaking rapidly and gesturing for emphasis, the shaggy one responding in grunts and nods. As strange as their language was to her, Margaret recognized their exchange as a dispute. A terrible knot of fear pressed against her chest so that she could not draw a deep breath. She did not like to imagine the danger she and Drew would be in if these two men knew the turn they had served Croisset. Drew slipped an arm about her waist and pulled her against him. Speaking with the same arrogant impatience with which he had addressed Croisset, he drew forth the purse that had so far smoothed their way.
“My lord,” she murmured into his chest, “are we to go ashore?”
The gold seemed to resolve the larger man, who stepped back, indicating that Drew and Margaret should pass to the ladder over the side. The smaller man said nothing.
Propelled by the large man’s mighty strokes, their dinghy soon reached the shore and shot far up on a strip of sand. There Margaret was handed down to dry land and for a moment stood uncertainly, still rocked by the sea’s motion. An open cart stood waiting, its driver apparently
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