Chapter 6 #2
“It’s only a morsel,” he said dismissively, setting a good-sized slice upon her plate.
“Your idea of a morsel and mine are not at all the same thing,” she said with a laugh.
He grinned, reaching for his wine. “It is good to see you smile, Miss Baxter. You spend far too much of the day looking as if you have the weight of the world upon your shoulders. I would be glad to bear some of that weight if you would allow it.”
And he certainly had the shoulders to do it, Angel thought wistfully before giving herself a mental shake.
“I assure you, there is nothing to concern yourself over. My worries are only those of a woman travelling without a man to protect her, but as you have kindly offered your services until we reach Eynsford, I have nothing at all to fret over.”
Angel spoke firmly, doing her best to meet his too knowing gaze and reassure him she spoke true. He looked unconvinced.
Taking a sip of his wine, he set down the glass and upended the remainder of the beef and mushrooms onto his plate.
Angel watched, fascinated, as he ate. He had already demolished a good portion of the pie, a great deal of roast meat, and mountains of vegetables.
Still, he was a large fellow who clearly needed a great deal of fuel to sustain him.
“And what happens at Eynsford?” he asked casually.
She was so caught up in watching him inhale his dinner, Angel was less on her guard than she ought to have been. “I must find—” she began and then caught herself.
“Find?” he repeated. “Who is it you are looking for?”
Angel turned away, reaching for the glass of Madeira he had poured her earlier.
He sighed, shaking his head at her reluctance to confide in him. “Come now, Miss Baxter, surely you can see how I might be of help to you? I do only wish to help, you know.”
Angel found herself lost in soulful eyes that brimmed with sincerity. “Stop that,” she chided him crossly.
“Stop what?” he asked, all innocence.
She forced herself to look away from him, trying to muster indignation at the way he tried to manipulate her into trusting him.
“Stop trying to turn me up sweet. I’m not a fool, Mr Cleaver.
I don’t doubt you are used to ladies falling at your feet the moment you turn your handsome face their way.
If you give them a look like that, I don’t doubt they melt into a puddle, but I am made of sterner stuff. ”
Angel was rather pleased with the severity of her words and hoped she had put him in his place, though she avoided turning to look at him in case he appeared hurt.
The soulful look had been hard enough to endure.
Injured puppy dog eyes would be her undoing.
Belatedly she wondered if the scolding might have been better aimed at herself, for if she really wanted to get rid of him or to stop him interfering, she would have done so by now.
There was a brief pause.
“You think I’m handsome?”
Exasperated, Angel turned back to him, trying not to find the delighted glitter in his eyes the least bit endearing.
It was a forlorn hope. “Mr Cleaver,” she said, holding onto her patience by a thread.
“There is not a woman in England who does not think you handsome, as I don’t doubt you are well aware.
That does not mean, however, that every woman you meet will swoon the moment you turn on the charm. ”
It was uphill work, though, she thought with a sigh, having to force herself not to laugh as he tried to appear chastised, like she had put him firmly in his place.
It was all too clear he didn’t care a jot for her scoldings.
Indeed, she thought he rather enjoyed them.
She wondered if she ought to be annoyed by this but found she was in a sorry way indeed, for she couldn’t muster a shred of indignation.
They fell silent for a while as the servants cleared the plates, replacing them with dishes of fruit and nuts, a platter of cheese, an apple tart, and dishes of flavoured creams.
“Oh, my,” Milly said happily, reaching for the apple tart. She cut a massive slice, which she handed to Mr Cleaver. “Here you go, sir.”
“Thank you, Mrs Pettigrew,” he replied with excessive politeness, as if to say ‘See? She likes me.’
They finished the splendid meal with a glass of port, which Milly thought the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted, before Mr Cleaver insisted on escorting them to their room.
“Actually, I think I’ll pop downstairs and check on Toby,” Milly said, sending Angel an apologetic glance. “I’ll not be a moment.”
Oh, marvellous. Angel glared at Milly. Now she had to bid him goodnight alone. Already images were filling her mind of his large, powerful frame standing before her bedroom door in the shadowy corridor, his big hands snaking about her waist and— Stop it, stop it, stop it!
Angel made her way up the stairs, rivetingly aware of him following behind her. She wondered if he was watching her derriere sway as she climbed and laughed inwardly. Well, he was male and had made no secret of his interest in her, so that answered that.
Still, there was no harm in looking, as she had told Milly, and as he made no move to take a liberty, she could scold him for nothing else. The niggling suspicion that she would be disappointed if he didn’t attempt to take a tiny liberty at least, was rather disheartening.
But when they reached her room, that was the last thing on her mind. She gazed at the door she had so carefully locked earlier, which was now slightly ajar.
Mr Cleaver looked from the key in her hand to the door and did not need an explanation. “Stay there,” he ordered, and slowly pushed the door open. Never one to do what she’d been told, Angel followed him in and gasped at the disorder that met her eyes.
The bed had been turned upside down, the linen thrown any which way, and the contents of her bag littered the floor.
It was a small room, and easy enough to reveal the fact that whoever had done this was long gone.
Mr Cleaver regarded the mess with a frown before looking up and crossing his muscular arms over his chest.
“I would like to pretend that I’m surprised,” he said dryly, one dark eyebrow lifting. “But it’s no more than I expected.”
Angel stared at him, mirroring his posture and putting up her chin. “Well, it may be no surprise to you, but I assure you it is to me!”
To her mortification her voice trembled a little, but the idea of strangers, perhaps someone who wished her harm, poking about in her things was appalling. His expression softened, and he took a step closer.
“No!” Angel put up her hands, forcing him to keep his distance. The temptation to fall into his muscular arms was almost too much to bear. “Don’t be nice to me. I’m… I’m perfectly fine.”
She drew in a deep breath and let it out again slowly.
“Don’t swoon,” he commanded.
Angel returned a scathing look. “I never swoon.” Sighing, she looked at the mess with a frown. “It can’t be unusual for rooms to be robbed while the guests are at dinner. I doubt this is anything other than that.”
“This is a respectable inn,” he reminded her. “They were clearly looking for something specific. For the moment, I shall forebear to ask you what that might be. You’d better check nothing is missing. Did you leave any money in the room?”
“Of course not! I would never do such a stupid thing,” she replied scornfully as she set about checking if anything had been taken. She did not wish to check if her pistol and dagger were still hidden whilst he was watching so closely, however.
He nodded, regarding her thoughtfully. Angel did not like it when he got that look. For all he acted the amiable fool, he was nothing of the sort.
“Heaven preserve us!” Milly yelped, coming in and discovering the scene. She stood with her hand covering her mouth, eyes wide.
“It’s all right, Mrs Pettigrew, whoever did this is long gone,” Mr Cleaver said, his tone reassuring.
Whilst his attention was upon Milly, Angel quickly flung back the rug and checked the loose board. Grasping the bundle that was mercifully still there, she shoved it into her carpetbag and tucked it under her clean chemise and spare stockings.
Relieved that hurdle had been cleared, Angel turned back to Mr Cleaver. She could not deny he was a reassuringly solid presence as he stood regarding their ruined room.
His expression was grave as he met her eyes.
“I think it best that you ladies take my room tonight and I’ll sleep here.
I’ll get Mr Kimble to deal with it. I’m certain he’ll be all eagerness to smooth ruffled feathers after such an event upon his premises.
Why don’t you come back downstairs and have a glass of brandy? It will settle your nerves.”
“There isn’t a thing wrong with my nerves,” Angel told him, aware that was not entirely true.
Though she felt certain no one knew what she was doing, she could not entirely squash the niggling uncertainty that someone else knew about Black Jack’s treasure.
The stories about her pops were legion, what if someone had learned about the treasure he had hidden and talked about it?
She wrapped her arms about herself, suddenly chilled.
If that was true, they were in a good deal of trouble.
Swallowing, she met Mr Cleaver’s troubled eyes.
“Though I-I would welcome a glass of brandy.”
At this rate, it was the only way she would get a moment’s rest.
He nodded, gesturing to the door. Milly had already hurried out, eager to remove herself from the scene.
“Unless,” he said, lowering his voice until it was more of a growl. “You would prefer I sleep in your room. I could curl up at the foot of your bed like a good little guard dog.”
Angel’s breath caught.
The words, naughty as they were, slid under her skin and went directly to all the wicked places her mama would never even name, let alone refer to.
Heat bloomed low in her belly as an image immediately conjured itself.
Mr Cleaver, his powerful body lounging, not at the end of her bed, but upon it. Naked.
Angel’s mouth was suddenly dry. This was the inconvenient part of pirate blood, she reflected sadly. It was impossible to be entirely good. She had an immoral streak, a desire to be bad, to take the easy road instead of the hard one, to give in to desire instead of fighting it.
“Are you coming, miss?”
Angel jumped, wrenched from her lewd imaginings as Milly’s impatient voice took her attention. Forcing herself to behave as she ought, Angel turned to meet Mr Cleaver’s laughing eyes.
“I thank you for the kind offer, but no. An exchange of rooms will suffice. I’m coming, Milly,” she said, and left the room with all the dignity she could muster.