Unraveled (Turner, #3)

“Why does a constable want to meet me at six in the morning? He doesn’t even know who I am.”


But as soon as she said the words, she knew the answer. Robbie turned to her, his eyes wide and innocent. “Didn’t I say? It was that man—the one I hit over the head.”





Chapter Ten




SMITE WAS NOT USED to indecision, but when the next morning dawned, he still had not determined whether he actually wanted to see Miss Darling again. He’d asked Robbie to convey the invitation on impulse—if one could call the product of long nights spent wanting an impulse. He crossed over to the green surrounding the old churchyard with Ghost tugging at the lead.

There was no question what he should do. He shouldn’t want her at all. It had been foolish to ask, and even more foolish to pursue the…could he call what he’d planned an acquaintance?

He came to the stone walls of St. Philip’s Church and slowly turned about. He was alone. She hadn’t come.

Damn. The mist twined about the walls, turning the dawn to grayness. Regret was bitter.

Smite didn’t believe in regret. He didn’t need her. He’d only wanted her.

He stared into the slowly dissipating fog and willed it to show her form. But there was nobody about.

Apparently, he was lacking in all good sense. He slipped the lead from around Ghost’s neck and gave him a pat. The animal darted off through the fog, in search of pigeons to chase.

The city was just coming to life. The brewery across the harbor had begun to belch smoke into the sky. Ghost came barreling back through the mist, a stick in his mouth. He tossed it on the ground before Smite and danced back, eagerly waiting.

“Very well, you wretched animal,” Smite said. He picked it up and hurled it as far as it would go.

He was watching his dog run in great bounding leaps, when he heard a delighted laugh beside him.

“He led me to you, you know.”

He turned.

Miranda Darling was standing behind him, one hand on the ruined stone wall. She was smiling at him.

“By Robbie’s message, I thought you meant us to meet more by the bridge. Whatever you intended to say came somewhat garbled from the messenger.” She gestured. “I was quite put out at having got up so early, only to be snubbed.”

It was too early for sun, but her hair under her bonnet was as brilliant as a summer sunrise. She probably wasn’t pretty, at least not in the classical sense of pristine English beauty. Her mouth was too wide; her nose too snub. And there was that profusion of freckles that covered her nose.

Classical English beauty could go hang, for all Smite cared. His mouth dried.

“And then I saw your dog bounding up out of the mist,” she continued.

A ways off, Ghost pounced on the stick and shook it vigorously. “Good dog,” Smite said approvingly.

“Robbie told me what you did for him. Thank—”

He cut her off with a decisive chop of his hand. “Don’t thank me.”

“But I must. It may have meant very little to you, but to me, to Robbie, it means everything.” Her gown was tied with a simple fabric sash. She rubbed the ends between her fingers, not meeting his eyes.

“That was not a selfish attempt to coerce you into singing my praises. I shouldn’t have done it. It was wrong for me to act in my capacity as magistrate when I knew my decision could be biased by personal inclination. I will not do it again.”

“Oh,” she said. “Then…I’m sorry?”

He leaned down, retrieved Ghost’s stick, and threw it once more. “Don’t apologize, either. I don’t make a habit of fostering regrets.”

She appeared to be only mildly taken aback, which seemed quite promising. His heart was laboring. His pulse beat heavily. There was no right way to proceed, and it seemed suddenly insupportable that this conversation would end any other way than what he’d envisioned last night.

“I surmised, based on our prior conversation, that Robbie might profit from an apprenticeship to a shipwright.”

“I know. But the expense…”

“Is nothing. I’ve taken care of it.”

She didn’t burst into raptures, thank God. Instead, she stared at him suspiciously. “Why would you do that?” she asked. “I’m a little wary of accepting such a favor when I don’t know how it can ever be repaid.”

“This isn’t commerce. I don’t require payment, and I certainly don’t expect it of you.”

But she simply tapped her foot and glowered. “If you didn’t expect anything of me, you’d have done it anonymously. You’d not have asked me to meet you. You expect something. What is it?”

He was a magistrate, and what’s more, he had all the money. No wonder she was nervous.

He met her eyes once more. “If you insist on repaying me, I ask only that you hear my next proposition in its entirety before you slap my face.”

She drew in a breath. “Am I going to want to slap your face?”

He rather hoped not. There had to be some way to put her at ease, but he didn’t know it. Instead he shrugged.