by my former regimental officers so they could place bets on me.”
“What sort of exhibitions?”
“Shooting ones, mostly.”
“Shooting ones? Why?”
He gave her the short answer. “Because I was a rifleman in corps.”
Her eyes narrowed to slits as she tilted her delicate chin in assessment. “You must have been a rather incredible rifleman if you were asked to compete in exhibitions.”
“Tolerably good.”
“Oh come now, you’d have to be more than tolerable if they—”
“They called me Deadeye. It doesn’t matter.” He felt his neck heating again as he rushed past to avoid her comments or questions. “At one such event, I overheard my Captain discussing an investment scheme with an American by the name of Elijah Wolfe, a ruthless and unscrupulous miner who was drumming up funds to reopen his dying town’s defunct iron mines. He was able to find no support whatsoever and I could smell his desperation. But despite all that, there was something about him…”
“Did you save a grateful noble from being fleeced by this unscrupulous American Wolfe?” she guessed.
He emitted a low sound of amusement. “I gave Eli everything I’d won on the exhibitions for a ten percent share. It was barely enough to keep his mine open for a month, let alone pay the workers.”
Her eyes went round as saucers. “You made your fortune in iron?”
“No,” he said wryly. “The mine is still defunct, as it only took a month to exhaust it. However, another mineral often resides where iron is found. A great deal less of it, worth a great deal more.”
“Really?” she asked. “What is that?”
He caught her hand and gently squeezed the tip of her glove from the long middle finger, sliding the garment from her creamy skin. Holding up her knuckles, he kissed the ring on her finger.
“Gold.”
Chapter 15
Prudence barely tasted her pasta. Instead she chewed on a puzzle, determined to uncover just what secret her husband was keeping from her.
She studied him across a private garden table behind what was possibly the most charming Italian café in the city, and contemplated everything he’d been in his exceptional life.
An urchin, a thief, a crack shot rifleman, an exhibitionist, a knighted war hero, an officer of the law, a vigilante, and a venture capitalist with interest in an American gold mine worth a fortune.
And, quite possibly, a liar.
Not about the gold, which was both startling, fascinating, and wonderful. But about what came before.
His childhood.
He’d left something out of that story, she was certain of it. As he’d spoken of his time at St. Dismas, she could feel him jumping over the graves of long-buried emotions, ripping up their headstones to pretend they’d never existed at all.
What a complicated man she’d married. Possessed of dichotomy between a heart capable of such unequaled valor, gallantry, and courage tied to a mind bedeviled by skepticism, enigma, and for lack of a gentler word, fear.
It was a word he would toss away and spit upon if she accused him of it. But if she boiled the amalgamation of his wariness, mysteriousness, and protectiveness down to a reduction as thick as the wonderful sauce anointing her pasta. She was certain she would find fear the main ingredient.
Not a fear of death or danger. His nocturnal vocation was evidence of uncommon bravery in the face of death.
So, what terrified this bold and daring knight? What drove him to hide himself, his past, in the shadows?
What had been done to him?
Or…what had he done?
“You’re not eating,” he prompted over a sip of his coffee. “If it’s not to your taste, we can go elsewhere.”
Jostled from her thoughts, Prudence picked up her utensils again and crafted herself an especially delicious bite. “No, it’s marvelous. I was just lost in thought.”
“Oh? About what?” He ate like he did everything else, she noticed, with correct and decisive efficiency. He’d been served a dish of pasta stuffed with meats, cheeses, and savory herbs in a voluminous red sauce, whereas she’d instantly selected the butter and white wine reduction over Capelli d’Angelo.
“I was thinking you’re the one who needs to eat more,” she said.
“I’m consuming a veritable mountain of food right now.” He gestured to his plate. “In fact, if we keep this up, I’ll need to have my trousers refitted.”
Hardly. He was filling out a little, but the extra portions seemed to simply fuel the production of muscle rather than storing anywhere unsightly. “Yes, but, before I started prevailing upon you to take me to all these wondrous places, it was the perception around the house