I don’t know.” She raised a finger to point at the stones. “Perhaps you should ask him.”
Steadman turned his head to find nothing and let loose a slow laugh. “Well played. I shall retire from the field to prepare for nightfall, having been bested by a beardless boy.”
“And well you should. You know what they say about a woman scorned.”
When he cut his eyes at her, she inhaled a sharp breath.Why did I say that?For an instant, she had become lost in the glorious verbal battle and had forgotten that she was no longer a woman. Steadman continued to watch her.
“No. What do they say about a woman scorned?”
Morgan turned away to hide her alarm. “They… they say that if you can be bested by a beardless boy, then a woman scorned might destroy you.”
“Hmm. I have not heard that one. But, alas, I avoid scorning women, so I have nothing to fear.”
She pulled her baggage free of her horse and faced him again. “Rumors speak otherwise.”
He kneeled to lay out his bedroll. “All false, I assure you.”
“All?”
He peered up at her beneath a hooded brow as she placed her bag and bedroll in the soft grass several strides from his. “Just as I said. Why people invent such stories, I do not know. But I find that most folks would rather believe a salacious lie than a bland truth. We yearn for compelling stories, the more titillating the better, and fiction often fills that void in a way that truth cannot.”
Morgan considered her situation and nearly laughed. Her present fiction was as bland as milk, while the truth boggled her mind. “Wise words, Steadman. I shall remember them.”
He finished laying out his bed and motioned to her. “Put yours next to mine.”
“Why?” she said too sharply.
“I sense more rain and have a lean-to large enough to cover us both. As long as you are no farther away than here.” He patted the grass next to his bedroll. She inhaled a deep breath to quell mounting anxiety and moved her bed next to his.
“See.” He began assembling the covering. “You can be taught. Potential, as I claimed.”
She said nothing but fed him a forced smile. Whatever potential Steadman saw in her was reserved for young Mr. Brady, Bow Street protégé. If he knew the truth, he would likely ride away immediately and never look back.
By the time they tethered their horses and shared a cold meal, the sun had become a memory. Sweeps of stars burst through patchy rolling clouds to reveal the vault of the heavensfar beyond. Morgan settled onto her back in the lush grass near their beds to watch the celestial array claim the skies. Though she had been in smoke-filled London for only a brief time, she had forgotten how brightly the stars glittered in the country. She tore her gaze away to find Steadman reclining nearby, apparently engaged in the same activity. Fear and longing welled up inside her. She was seized by the sudden urge to confess everything, to challenge Steadman not to dismiss her as she feared he would. For a fleeting moment, she wanted more than anything to be Miss Brady and not a smooth-faced boy. She began rising to her elbow, but logic stopped her. Even if Steadman knew of her gender, what would he do? She was plain. He was a Nordic god come from Valhalla. Imagined visions of his cordial revulsion swept through her mind. She lowered herself back to the grass, now a little sadder. To shake away the visions, she broke the silence.
“Steadman?”
“Yes?”
“What do you see?”
She could sense his frown in the darkness. “What do I see?”
“In the stars. What do you see when you gaze upon them?”
He hummed softly. “Wonder. Mystery. The impossible.”
“Those things are good?”
“Of course.” He paused. “What is life devoid of wonder, mystery, and the impossible? Without them, we might as well be worms born in the dirt and dying in the dirt. Only aspiration lifts us above the muck.”
He rose up on his elbow to face her. “What doyousee when gazing at the night sky?”
She shrugged. Nobody had ever asked aboutheraspirations. About whatshewanted. “My father taught me that heaven is in the stars. But his constant critique and iron hand made heaven seem unattainable for the likes of me.” She hesitated to consider discretion but cast it aside. “When I view the stars, I see disappointment, falling short, a reminder of what I cannot be.”
Silence stretched between them for beat upon beat of her heart.
“Morgan Brady.” Steadman’s voice was low and gentle. “Listen to me.”
