To Trust a Thief Read online

  Min kept her attention on her hands while the doctor began to pick out pieces of rock from her torn skin. His hands were quick and gentle but Min still writhed when he dug out a well-embedded piece. Bryant’s gut twisted with the urge to fling the doctor away from her.

  “You did this falling in the garden?”

  “Yes, she did,” Bryant answered.

  This time Dr. Carmichael’s attention wasn’t so fleeting. His eyes narrowed with suspicion and something Bryant could swear was anger. The doctor’s gaze flicked to Lady Courtland, who was busy ushering curious students out of the room, before returning to Bryant.

  “It must have been a terrible fall indeed if it’s rendered Miss Sinclair incapable of speech,” he said, his voice pitched low enough only Bryant and Min could hear.

  “Arthur,” Min murmured. The doctor’s name on her lips sent another sharp stab to Bryant’s gut. His jaw clenched.

  “One of you had better tell me what really happened,” the doctor said, smoothing some sort of salve over the cuts in Min’s palms.

  “And what makes you think anything other than a simple spill in the gardens took place?” Bryant asked, earning himself a glare from Min.

  “For one thing, this,” the doctor said, holding up a piece of bloody rubble, “is not a rock. It’s a bit of masonry with the mortar still attached.” He dropped it back in the bowl holding the old bandages and other bits of debris. “And secondly, Miss Sinclair hasn’t spoken one word since she entered this room and that is entirely unlike her. I can always tell when she’s lying, and it’s even more apparent when she refuses to say anything at all. So, I’ll say again, someone had better tell me what really happened.”

  “Arthur, not now.” Min sat forward in her chair. “I’ll tell you toni—”

  Bryant clamped a hand onto her shoulder and pulled her back into the chair, cutting her off.

  “There is nothing else to tell.” Bryant’s eyes glared daggers at the man crouched at Min’s feet. If he could have found a reason to pummel the good doctor where he sat, he would have gladly done so. He vaguely recognized that he was overreacting, but he didn’t want Min alone with the doctor she addressed by his Christian name, telling him secrets that belonged to her and Bryant alone.

  The doctor stood and moved close enough that there was only a whisper of air between them. “Remove your hand from my fiancée, Mr. Westley. Now.”

  Fiancée? Bryant’s hand tightened on Min in a sudden surge of possessiveness and she gasped. He immediately let go, glancing down to be sure she was all right.

  She might have been unharmed physically, but the expression on her face had Bryant taking a step back before he caught himself. Min stood and looked between the two men.

  “That is enough out of both of you. Mr. Westley, I am perfectly capable of speaking for myself and I will thank you to stop trying to do it for me. Dr. Carmichael and I are betrothed and he has every right to know what happened. And you,” she said, turning on the doctor. “This is not the time nor place. I will speak to you later.”

  Before either man could answer, Lady Courtland approached them. “Oh, good. You look as though you are feeling much better, my dear. Excellent. However, I will excuse you from your classes for the rest of the day. I suggest you retire to your room and rest until supper.”

  “Yes, Aunt Laura.” With a little curtsy and a subtle glare for both Bryant and Dr. Carmichael Min turned and left the room.

  Bryant watched her go, a small grin tugging at his lips. She was definitely more than he’d expected. A spitfire of a girl who he admired more with each hour. A girl who was entirely unsuited for the staid doctor who fumed next to him. She’d be bored to tears inside of two months married to such a dullard. A girl like Minuette Sinclair needed to be with someone more…adventurous, more her equal. Someone like him.

  His amusement faded quickly with the realization that he and Min could never be together. He could never burden her with his life. She’d be safer and happier married to her country doctor. He needed to put an end to this ridiculous distraction and get back to business.

  Because her determination to beat him to the necklace had also made her a bigger threat than he’d anticipated. A threat he could ill afford.

  What a pity.

  Chapter Ten

  Min woke past midday the following Sunday. Her shoulder still ached and her hands were sore, but they were healing. She had never been so glad for the rather silly convention of always having one’s hands covered when out and about. At least the gloves kept her from having to lie to too many people. She had enough problems trying to evade Arthur’s attentions.

  Min knew she couldn’t avoid him forever, but she’d keep him, and his questions, at bay for as long as she could. Especially since she had plenty of her own questions about what had happened in the attic.

  There was no doubt Mr. Westley knew about her explorations. His warnings were less and less subtle. For a moment, she had truly feared he would harm her. Yet…

  He’d saved her.

  And…there had been a look in his eyes when he’d pulled her back on the roof. He’d held her so close…

  She needed some air. Min tossed her blankets aside, biting her lip at the latent throbbing in her injured palms, threw on her skirt and blouse, and left the room.

  Min loved to walk along the flower-lined paths of the estate grounds. Her favorite place was the enormous greenhouse at the back of the property. Even in winter, the gardeners made sure that something bloomed. As far as Min knew, she and Charlotte were the only ones who went there. The warm interior of the greenhouse provided an almost tropical hiding place, safe from the elements and prying eyes.

  It felt like home.

  The building sat where the wild acres of the estate began, beside a large pond where Min would often dip her toes if the weather was good and no one was about. Min sat on the stone bench that rested beneath the branches of a willow tree just at the water’s edge. She took a deep breath, welcoming the cold air as it hit her lungs.

  Min pulled her uncle’s latest letter from her pocket and went back over the already well-read pages. The words blurred into each other, a few standing out in glaring contrast to the white of the page.

  Your father’s condition is deteriorating…

  One of the witnesses has recanted…

  The family is demanding compensation…

  Min folded the letter and put it away. Reading it again wouldn’t help. Nothing would help except enough money to bribe her father’s way out of prison and onto a ship. She played with the chain around her neck. The locket was of no real use to them, only the map that was inside. The pearl at least would be worth something. She wondered how much she’d be able to get for it…and how much Arthur would hate her if she sold it. All she knew for certain was that time was running out.

  She jumped as a loud crash arose behind her. She stood, walking as quietly as she could until she approached the door of the greenhouse. The frosted glass made it impossible to see anything but vague shapes. A scraping sound came from inside, but she saw no hint of movement.

  She moved to the door and eased it open to peek inside. Seeing nothing suspicious, she entered, closing the door behind her. Another loud crash sounded from the back of the large, crowded space, followed by a muffled, “Oh, bloody hell!”

  Min slapped a hand over her mouth to keep in her shocked giggle. “Mr. Westley?” she finally asked, having recognized the voice. “Is everything all right?”

  “Miss Sinclair?” Mr. Westley appeared from behind the plant-laden tables in the back. He dusted himself off and hurried over to her, taking her hand in his. She started at the feel of his warm skin against her chilled fingers. She’d forgotten her gloves. As, apparently, had he. Her eyes flicked down, but he held his mangled hand behind his back. “Yes, I was just looking for something. I didn’t expect company. What brings you to this stuffy old place?”

  Min willed her fingers to remain still. She wanted to turn her hand, mol
d her skin to his. She looked up to find him staring at her and realized she hadn’t yet answered him.

  “Oh, I come here often, especially if the weather is cold outside. I love being surrounded by the plants.”

  Mr. Westley tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and Min tried to keep her expression neutral. “They are rather beautiful, aren’t they?” he asked, looking directly at her. “Shall we?” He bowed, holding his hand out to the aisle in front of them. They talked as they wandered around the greenhouse, stopping every so often to gaze at a particular plant. They came upon a small wrought-iron bench against the wall.

  “Please, Miss Sinclair,” he said, gesturing to the bench. Min sat stiffly, anticipation, nervousness, and a myriad of other emotions all tumbling together inside her. The tumult created a curious, though not unpleasant, sensation in the pit of her stomach. She thought it odd that Mr. Westley’s nearness made her want to both run away and throw herself at him at the same time. The thought of his arms as he’d held her sent a tremble through her and she bit her lip, trying to control her shocking thoughts.

  “Our conversation the other day intrigued me.” Mr. Westley sat beside to her.

  “Oh? How so?” Min tried to remember to which conversation he might be referring. Somehow, his mere presence managed to cease all her brain functions and breathing capabilities while simultaneously igniting parts of her she never dreamed existed.

  “Well, your thoughts on Shakespeare, for instance. Your view that his heroines were examples of the women of his age and your thoughts on their place in that world. I’m curious, what is your view of a woman’s place in our world?”

  “Our world?” Her voice hitched on the word our and she cringed at the telltale heat seeping into her cheeks. His lips twitched in amusement and his meaning finally sank in. “Oh! Our world, well, yes, I think, um, well, that our worlds are very similar in many respects,” she said, fumbling to regain her mental fortitude.

  “In which respects?”

  “Well,” Min began, keeping a careful eye on him for any adverse reactions, “just as in past years, women, at least upper-class women, of today are expected to marry and have children and do very little else. We may have taken more strides toward educating women and so forth, but women are still expected to marry the best social match they can find.”

  Min tried to rein herself in, but she couldn’t stem the flow of words once she’d unleashed it. “I don’t think a woman should have to wed because convention demands she must. I don’t want to be just an ornament, chosen only for my social status or dowry.”

  “Do you believe your marriage to the good doctor will be one such as you’ve described?” he asked with a slight frown. His voice held a curious note that Min could not quite place.

  Drat. She’d forgotten that little bit of fantasy for a moment. “Of course not! But Arthur knows and respects my views. He’s not like most men.”

  Mr. Westley smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. The familiar heat of embarrassment flickered along Min’s cheeks and she turned her gaze to the ground. “I’m merely saying that I believe people should marry for love, if at all possible.”

  Min risked a glance at him.

  He gazed at her, eyes wide with a skin-tingling mixture of surprise and tenderness. “I can’t imagine any man wanting you only for your money or family,” he said, his features sharpening into an expression that seared its way into her blood, making her heart pound, each beat screaming for him.

  She shook her head, trying to get ahold of herself. It had only been a matter of days since she’d thought him willing to kill her. One little near-death experience and here she sat mooning over him like some lovesick fool. Min made fun of girls who turned to mush in front of handsome men. She was not one of them.

  She cleared her throat. “Yes, well, it hardly matters in my case. My parents are penniless schoolteachers. So I’m afraid I’m a very poor catch indeed as I have neither money nor family.”

  “Dr. Carmichael seems happy with his choice. Or is he not aware of your circumstances?”

  “Of course he is aware. But as I said, he’s not like most men. Not that it matters. If he were to change his mind, I am perfectly capable of making my own way in the world. I don’t need a husband to do it for me.”

  “That is very forward thinking, Miss Sinclair.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so, Mr. Westley. I am certain women have been feeling this way for quite some time.”

  He laughed and Min’s heart lurched again. “Well, that is most likely true. Forward speaking, then.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “So, as a recently engaged young woman who previously had no wish to find a position somewhere and didn’t desire to entice the catch of the social season into marriage, why are you subjecting yourself to the horrors of being turned into a polished young lady?” he asked, his tone both amused and curious.

  “Ah. Well, I still have to live in the society to which I was born. And I have a very determined aunt.” She gave him a rueful smile. “After a few unfortunate incidents while visiting her, she declared me unfit for human society and insisted my sister and I move in with her so she could mold us into proper ladies. My sister took to the confines of society with relish and was married off almost instantly. My transformation has been a bit…less successful. So, here I am.”

  “Yes. Here you are. A wealth of…opportunities at your fingertips.”

  Min’s gaze locked onto Mr. Westley’s. Oh yes. He knew exactly what she was up to.

  “Yes. I was very fortunate Aunt Laura decided to take me in. I have no doubt I’ll find exactly what I’m looking for here.”

  Mr. Westley’s eyes burned into hers and she held her breath. “That remains to be seen, Miss Sinclair. Fate sometimes has a way of intervening in even our best laid plans.”

  Min ran through a thousand different responses to the thousand different meanings that statement might have before settling on the wisest course—silence.

  He broke eye contact first, looking away with a frown. “I, for one, never expected to find myself teaching dance lessons at a fledgling finishing school. But when the opportunity arose, I couldn’t turn it down.”

  Min glanced away, confused at the bitter expression on his face. Before she could comment, he spoke again.

  “It must have been hard for you to leave your home and family.”

  “Yes. But I did have my sister with me. Besides, though I hate to admit it, I really am in dreadful need of ‘polishing.’”

  Min stopped, not sure why she was telling him so much. Yet her lips twitched into a half smile of their own accord when Mr. Westley chuckled.

  “So you saw the error of your ways and agreed to become civilized with the rest of us, hmm?”

  Min’s slight smile turned into a full grin and she gave him a one-shouldered shrug. “My mother is from a very good family, though she, unlike Aunt Laura, made what they considered a very poor marriage. She tried to raise me to be a proper young lady, but I suppose I did spend rather too much time running wild with the plantation children.”

  “It must have been a grand way to live.”

  “Oh, it truly was.” She ducked her head to hide the homesick tears that pricked at her eyes.

  When she looked back up, the happy Mr. Westley of moments before had faded.

  The silence grew. Min searched for something to say. “What was your childhood like?”

  Mr. Westley’s face tightened. “My childhood?”

  Min licked her lips, afraid she might have inadvertently inserted her foot into her gaping mouth. Though he did start it. “If you’d rather not…”

  “No.” A quiver of fear laced through her at the cold expression on his face. “It’s fine. My childhood wasn’t as happy as yours. My father left when I was young and my mother struggled to care for my sister and me.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Min started but Mr. Westley shook his head.

  “No sympathy necessary, Miss Sinclair.” He gave her
a vague smile. “I took care of my mother and sister. They live quite comfortably now, and I’ll make sure they always will.”

  “They are lucky to have you,” she said.

  He didn’t respond.

  “Did you ever see your father again?”

  A look of terrifying satisfaction came over his face. “Once. Eleven years ago on my fourteenth birthday.”

  “What happened?” she asked, her voice hardly more than a whisper.

  He lifted his damaged hand. “This.” His hand dropped. “But it was the last time he ever hurt us.”

  Shock ran in icy waves down her spine. Sympathy for the boy he was and fear of the man he’d become warred inside her. Min bit her lip, knowing he wouldn’t welcome her pity. And she refused to show her fear. He stared at her, tensed as if for a blow, something he must have endured a thousand times over.

  She made a decision.

  Min took his hand. He jerked, but she didn’t let go. One heartbeat passed, two, before he relaxed in her grip. She gently trailed a finger along the scar that dissected his hand, feeling the strangely soft flesh beneath the hardened scar tissue. She traced from where it disappeared into his sleeve, down to the empty space where his ring finger had been. Then she wrapped his hand in hers.

  He took a deep, trembling breath, not moving, not speaking. Min wondered if anyone had touched his hand since the day it had happened. Somehow, she doubted it.

  They sat in silence, their hands loosely clasped, until the light outside the frosted panes began to fade.

  When he finally spoke, his voice was rough, barely audible. “I hope you find what you’re looking for, Miss Sinclair.”

  Min’s shoulders slumped, a bittersweet ache filling her heart. “I hope you do, too, Mr. Westley.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Min bolted up in bed, her heart thudding in terror. She strained to hear the noise that had awoken her. Glancing around the dark room, she saw nothing out of place.