Chapter Nineteen
‘One hundred per cent no.’
‘OK. How about this?’ Lara asked, holding up a monk’s habit.
Flynn snorted. ‘I can’t see myself as a monk.’
‘Neither can I,’ Lara muttered. ‘OK. What about …’ She plucked another hanger from the rail in the costume storeroom. ‘This one?’
‘You’re joking, aren’t you?’ Flynn muttered from behind her. ‘I did say no jingly bells.’
Lara turned round to find him standing squarely, with his hands on his hips.
Since he’d arrived at the room used to store the fancy dress, she’d avoided looking at him too closely, because the slim-fit tracksuit bottoms and T-shirt he was wearing showed off a lean yet muscular physique, honed from doing physical work his whole life.
‘Actually, I wasn’t joking, but I can see you’re not keen.’ Lara hung the jester’s costume back on the rail with a secret smile. She’d guessed it was a long shot but it had been worth a try, and she’d wanted to see his face.
‘I know but …’ Half the costumes she’d selected had already been pushed to the end of the rail. So far, not one of them had even made it out of her hands. Flynn had scoffed, sworn, and laughed at all six.
‘Why don’t you come and have a look?’
‘I have. There doesn’t seem to be much choice.’
‘These are the only ones I thought were remotely suitable. Half are female costumes, and while you’re very welcome to wear one of those, they’re almost certainly too small. There’s also a bear, which I did think was very appropriate, but that you wouldn’t even consider.’
His eyebrows knitted together. ‘Are you trying to say I’m grumpy and scary?’
‘Well, you’re definitely not cuddly.’
He let out a growl and made a clawing motion. ‘Grrrr.’
‘And three of the others that might have done have codpieces,’ she said, stifling her giggles.
Flynn curled his lip in contempt like a pirate – Blackbeard, say.
Lara felt a lightbulb go off in her head and broke into a grin.
‘What?’ Flynn asked, unearthing a pair of curly-toed slippers from a box on the floor and pulling a face.
‘Just an idea. I’m not sure it would work, though …’
He dropped the slippers back in the box.
‘There is something else I found in the costume cupboard but I didn’t bring it out.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, I thought it was a bit of a cliché, but the main thing is, it’s almost certainly too small. I suppose we could do something about that if we’re desperate.’
‘If it’s not a wild animal and doesn’t come with breeches or jingly bells, I’m willing to try it.’
‘Well, it does have breeches, technically.’
Flynn opened his mouth to object, but Lara held up her hand.
‘Please can you keep an open mind? I’ll fetch it. Otherwise, I’m out of ideas and I’m afraid you’re going to have to resort to the fancy-dress shop. And at this late stage, good luck with that.’
‘So, what do you think?’ Lara asked the question as nonchalantly as she could, because Flynn had actually taken the costume out of her hands and was examining it. So far he’d refused to even touch anything, so this was progress.
After a few seconds, he uttered the momentous words. ‘It’s – er – I suppose it’s not quite as bad as the others.’
With an inner punch of the air, Lara carried on casually. ‘It’s more a bit of fun than historical. I don’t really know why it’s here, because I’ve never seen any of the guides wearing it.’
‘Wasn’t Dick Turpin a historical figure?’ Flynn asked, slipping the eighteenth-century-style frock coat off the hanger. ‘Or was he made up?’
The black coat, made of wool felt, had a short cape attached. Lara had kept back a fabric bag containing the accessories. He needed time to come to terms with the coat first.
‘Oh, Turpin was real enough. He was a horse thief and a burglar and, unfortunately, he killed at least one man, although his exploits have been wildly romanticised since.’
Flynn didn’t seem put off and inserted his arm through the sleeve. This was progress.
‘You see, I wondered if you really wanted to be associated with a highwayman. And Turpin has nothing to do with Ravendale. You could just be a general highwayman, the kind that probably did lurk up on the fells waiting to ambush travellers in the eighteenth century.’
Flynn grunted a reply, busy trying to put his other arm through the other sleeve. He managed to get the coat on but it was obviously too tight across the shoulders.
‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘Bit snug.’
‘I knew it would be too small, but maybe … I can get someone to add a panel in the back.’
‘That sounds like a lot of trouble,’ he said.
‘Well, a local seamstress is making a costume for me, so I could ask her to do it at the same time as she makes my costume.’ She didn’t mention that Henry and Fiona had commissioned Tessa or else Flynn would definitely have felt too guilty to agree.
He was still wearing the coat, and not looking too embarrassed, which Lara considered a huge leap forward.
She held up the bag.
‘You don’t have to wear the breeches that come with the costume. You could just wear some black trousers or jeans, I guess, and there are some boots that would do from one of the other costumes. So you won’t have to wear white stockings and add the buckles to a pair of smart black shoes.’
He laughed. ‘I don’t own those types of shoes and there’s no way I’m wearing breeches and stockings, so I would rather wear the boots.
’ He’d moved to the full-length mirror, turning this way and that and twisting his lips as he scrutinised himself.
Lara was slightly worried the back of the coat would rip under the strain of his broad shoulders.
‘It comes with a shirt that’s quite roomy, but it does have a jabot – that’s the lacy neck part. And, of course, there’s a tricorne and a mask.’
‘What?’ He snapped round.
She pulled the shirt from the bag and handed it to Flynn. ‘It needs a wash and iron.’
‘I can do that,’ he said, shaking out the crumpled cotton shirt with its lacy neck.
Lara took the offer as another positive sign.
‘Can I try it with the coat?’
She shrugged as if watching Flynn strip off in front of her was all in a day’s work. ‘Be my guest.’
Seconds later, he’d slipped off the coat and was pulling his T-shirt over his head. Lara wasn’t sure where to look, even though she wanted very badly to look at him.
He didn’t seem bothered by her being there in the slightest and casually slipped the shirt over his head.
Even so, she’d had more than enough time to drink in the sight of his broad shoulders and toned stomach.
She clutched the bag with the hat and mask to her, digging her fingers into the cloth bag while attempting to look cool and professional.
Not that she supposed it was at all professional to ask a colleague to try on a highwayman’s outfit in front of you.
‘I suppose it’s OK,’ he said, tugging at the jabot while the shirt brushed midway down his backside. He still had the tracksuit bottoms on, so it looked slightly strange until he donned the coat as well. With the shirt underneath, it really was a very tight fit.
She pulled the hat and mask from the bag and offered them to him.
‘Thanks,’ he said, but didn’t attempt to put them on. ‘Do I really need to wear these?’
‘Yes, or you won’t look like a highwayman, just a bloke in a funny shirt and coat.’
He smiled briefly then grimaced as he tried to put the mask over his head. Instantly he was transformed into a rakish rogue and Lara’s stomach flipped. Was it wrong to feel lust at the sight of Flynn dressed as such a disreputable figure?
He lifted the hat, muttering, ‘I’m not sure how this goes …’
‘The usual way is with one point facing forwards but you can wear it different ways,’ Lara explained. ‘Sailors often wore the point at the back for a better view of the sea, but soldiers liked to have the tricorne pointed to the left so they could rest a musket on their right shoulder.’
‘I’m not a soldier or a sailor …’ he said, adjusting the tricorne hat so the point was forward.
When he was satisfied, he stood back while he looked at himself in the mirror.
‘I look ridiculous, don’t I?’ he growled.
‘I wouldn’t say that,’ Lara murmured, stifling her laughter. ‘Though with a scowl like that on your face, you do look pretty mean. I wouldn’t like to bump into you on a dark night, that’s for sure.’
Flynn turned back to her with a roguish grin. ‘I wouldn’t mind bumping into you.’
Heat flooded her cheeks. ‘I can see you’re getting into character.’
He swished the coat and declared, ‘Stand and deliver!’
Lara’s pulse spiked but she managed to roll her eyes and say coolly, ‘I’m sure highwaymen only ever said that in old black-and-white movies.’
‘How disappointing …’ Flynn replied silkily. ‘What about, “Your money or your life”?’
‘I doubt it. They were probably thugs, not the romantic gentlemen thieves they’re made out to be.’
Flynn stepped closer, his eyes gleaming behind the mask and a tantalising half-smile on his lips. ‘Yes, but I could be the exception that proves the rule.’
Lara didn’t flinch and met his gaze full on, even though she was finding it hard to stop herself from jumping on him.
‘Why don’t you come to the highwayman’s lair for a drink?’ he said, looking down into her eyes.
‘I don’t think that would be a good idea,’ she murmured.
‘Why not? Don’t you dare?’ he said, challenging her.
Lara forced herself to laugh. ‘Of course I dare.’
‘Then come over to the cottage for a glass of wine. What else are you going to do on a Sunday night?’
Lara couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Watching a box set with a glass of wine on her own could hardly match up to spending the evening with a handsome colleague, even if it was a hundred times safer.
‘Maybe just a quick drink then. But I won’t stay long.’
Flynn whipped off the hat and bowed with a flourish. ‘I’ll look forward to it, and I promise to behave like the perfect gentleman.’