morsel of meat off the bone, licking his fingers with a sound of enjoyment. “Just making a bit of friendly conversation.” He tossed the bone aside.
He was definitely not making friendly conversation. If she was a petty criminal, she could sit here and rot until the assizes for all he cared.
But if the charges against her were more serious—and the reward high enough—they might transport her to London tomorrow. With him. Which might mean going by coach or cart.
She could, in short, cause him trouble.
And more trouble was the last thing he needed at the moment.
“Friendly conversation?” She arched one tawny brow. “I am not interested in being friendly.” The locket still clutched in one hand, she added under her breath, “Especially not with one of your kind.”
Tucking the ribbon and its attached bit of metal safely back into her bodice, she looked around, evaluating her surroundings much as he had earlier. She stood up, dusted herself off, and investigated the lock on her cell door, rattling it, studying it for several long moments before she gave up and checked the wooden wall at the back.
“No use,” he advised. “Locked up tight. Looks like you’re stuck here until the winter assizes... unless, of course, you’re charged with some serious offense.”
She slanted him an irritated glance. “Picking pockets,” she mumbled.
Not serious, Nicholas decided with relief.
“Forgery,” she added after a moment.
His relief faded a bit.
She sighed wearily. “And burglary.”
His mood was worsening by the minute.
She slumped against the back wall of her cell, her voice so soft he had to strain to hear it. “And attempted murder.”
He gazed up at her in astonishment and disbelief. “Let me guess, your ladyship—it’s all a terrible mistake and you’re completely innocent?”
She laughed, a humorless rasp that sounded harsh enough to hurt her throat. “Innocent?” She closed her eyes and repeated it, as if it were a foreign word beyond her understanding. “Innocent.” She shook her head, whispering, “No, I’m not innocent.”
The expression on her face held an odd mixture of bitterness and wistfulness.
She hung her head. “And they said something about not waiting for the assizes. There’s a rather large reward out on me.”
Nicholas exhaled a curse. “Lady,” he ground out, “you picked one hell of a rotten time to get yourself arrested.”
“Well, pardon me,” she snapped, her head coming up. “It’s not as if I planned this. So sorry if it’s some sort of inconvenience to you.”
“Oh, no inconvenience. We’ll just be sharing a trip to London tomorrow, in a bloody secure cart—”
“London?”
“That’s where the judges are this time of year. Where did you think they would be taking you? To the fair?”
“Manchester. Or... or Nottingham. It can’t be London! You must be mistaken—”
“No mistake. You and I are going to London tomorrow.”
She paled, looking as if she might truly faint. “Oh, God. Oh, no.”
Sinking to the floor, she wrapped her arms around her raised knees and pressed her forehead against them with a small moan.
“Such is the high cost of having a high price on your head,” he muttered, wondering despite himself what made her so terrified of London.
“And what about you?” she retorted, lifting her head, her tone mocking. “I suppose you were arrested by mistake and you’re innocent of the charges against you?”
“As a matter of fact,” he said dryly, “I was and I am.”
She cast a dubious glance over every battered inch of him. “Certainly.” Her voice held both sarcasm and that annoying haughtiness.
“Completely innocent. They jumped me near the stables when I was trying to hire a horse. They think I’m some local footpad they’ve been hunting for weeks.”
She blinked and studied him more closely. Then her eyes widened. “They think you’re Jasper Norwell,” she declared. “He’s the one they’ve been after. He’s very tall and dark and he has a beard...” Suddenly she started to laugh. “You’re telling the truth, aren’t you? It was a mistake. You really are innocent.”
“I’m so glad you find it funny.”
She was laughing herself silly. “You’re innocent and I’m not. I can’t tell you how funny that is.” Just as abruptly, she sobered. Her expression turned serious... then oddly thoughtful. “Actually, you’re right,” she said quietly. “It isn’t funny. Not at all.” She stood and went to the door of her cell. “Bickford!”
“What the devil are you doing?”
“Bickford!” she shouted again. “I demand to talk to someone! A terrible mistake has been made!”
Nicholas couldn’t believe his ears—but he wasn’t about to stop her. If she wanted to declare his innocence, so be it.
Reason,