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Her path gave her intermittent glimpses of the house. There were at least two people living in the substantial dwelling, and she’d never gone too close for fear of being seen. She didn’t wish to be questioned.
She had completed most of her usual circuit when she rounded a clump of oaks and came face-to-face with a stranger. Broad-shouldered, powerful-looking, with brown hair and alert, dark eyes, the man looked as surprised as she. His clothes were worn and had a foreign feel. Though of good quality, they certainly were not the product of a fine London tailor. She’d seen enough of those garments to know. He didn’t look as if he belonged here. But then, she was out of place herself. She backed up a few steps.
“Who are you?” they said at the same moment.
Neither answered the question. Instead, once again they echoed each other, asking, “Do you live here?”
Harriet shook her head. The man gave a kind of half shrug that she took as a negative. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Taking a look at the house,” he replied.
He had an odd accent. Harriet couldn’t pin down its origins. It was not that of the local countrymen. He must have come from the Travelers’ camp, she realized, and thus should not be within these walls. Perhaps what people said about the Travelers was true. Ignoring the fact that she had no right to be here either, she said, “So you could rob it?”
“What? No, why would you… Ah, you saw the Travelers, did you? And you think them thieves.”
“Aren’t you?”
“I am not. Nor are they, mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“Well, if a thing is left entirely unattended, perhaps forgotten, it might walk off now and then,” he replied with a glint in his dark eyes.
He wasn’t handsome as most would define it. His features were too rough-hewn. Yet he was undeniably attractive. Perhaps it was that glint, which hinted at antic humor and something…more like a wild creature than tamed. “You condone robbery?” Harriet asked.
“I didn’t say that now.”
She caught an echo of Ireland in his voice. But only a trace; she didn’t think he was Irish. “You’re trespassing.”
“And you are not?”
“I beg your pardon?”
***
“You said you don’t live here,” Jack pointed out to one of the prettiest girls he’d ever seen. She had hair as red as his mother’s and a face like a fairy-tale sprite. Her dress and way of speaking did suggest she was part of his great-grandmother’s capital-S society. Particularly the parasol. That was a drawback, but still, he couldn’t resist. “You could come along and watch me if you’re worried about my intentions.”
“Watch you what?”
“Look at the house.”
“No.” She didn’t walk away though. She seemed curious, as if she might be tempted.
Thinking he would very much like to tempt her, Jack said, “Shouldn’t you make certain I don’t break in and ravage the place?”
She blinked at him. Those green eyes were stunners. She hesitated, definitely wavering. “Someone will see us. There are people in the house.”
Jack almost laughed. He’d nearly lured her in. He could feel the tug on his invisible line. “Not just now. The old couple who watches over the place have gone off in a gig.”
“How do you know that?”
“I observed it.”
The phrase seemed to startle and interest her. “You mean you’ve been snooping.”
“If you care to put it that way. I might have saidreconnoitering.”
“Why? You said you weren’t a thief.”
