So it was. It was her, and not her. This woman looked like a goddess. She was no goddess.
“It’s beautiful, miss, but, er—”
“Improper.” The fluttering inside made her dizzy. “I didn’t pose for this.”
She wished she had. Her body tingled the way it had done when he’d kissed her.
She eased in a breath. “And look. In truth, there’s more to me than he’s painted here. He didn’t allow for my stays squeezing me in tighter here.” She touched the painting. It was dry.
Jenny giggled.
“Perhaps I should pose for him. You won’t tell, will you, Jenny? And everyone who sees this will assume that I already did anyway. I’ll remove all of Fox’s illusions.” And refute all of his lies to her. She was tired of lies. Tired of being an interesting specimen for the men in her world to poke at.
“Oh, my lady,” Jenny’s voice held a smile.
That the girl wasn’t judging her eased some of her tension. She smiled back. “Oh, Jenny. What were you and MacEwen up to while we were outside?”
“Nothing,” the girl said, too quickly. “That is, he’s a terrible flirt.”
And Jenny liked it. And she liked him. She and Jenny might both have a chance for a romantic adventure. “Will he talk to you? I need to know what’s going on. I don’t want you to do anything you’re not willing to do, of course. You have a reputation to protect also.” She pulled the drape over the painting. “There. I’m decent again. Jenny, I will work on learning things from Fox, and you can work on MacEwen. I promise, hand to my heart, no matter what happens, I will look after you.”
“If you’re not yourself exiled to an island somewhere like Napoleon, my lady.” She laughed. “But, as you said, in for a penny, in for a pound. I’ll work on MacEwen.”
And enjoy doing it, her smile said.
In the shadowed cove,the four new men leaned against the rocks, all of them turned to the sea, watching the oars pushing against the surf.
“There,” Davy whispered, pointing inland.
Gaz pushed the hand down and shushed him. He and his cousin Davy sat apart from the others, thank goodness. Blasted Davy and his ghosts.
“No such thing as ghosts.” Gaz wrapped the other man’s cold hand around the flask. “Take a swig. ’Twill wash out your brain.”
Davy took a long hit and wiped his mouth. “I tell you, I saw her earlier, on the outcrop in front of the cottage. Come back to haunt us, she has. Scruggs—”
“Shut your face.” The other four men he didn’t know, not well anyway. They’d been brought in, part of a gang from somewheres further north. “The drink and your flappin’ jaws’ll get us both kilt.”
Davy handed him back the flask and then froze next to him. “Look, Gaz. You’ve got to look.”
He sighed and turned, tipping the bottle as he did.
