Page 41 of A Treacherous Treasure

“What are neighbors for if not to help each other?”

“But you seem to be doing all the helping, and I all the receiving.” Her heart swelled as she gazed up at him, but not only because he was so handsome. Arthur had treated this gentleman so badly, and yet Thomas Westbrook had been nothing but kind to her, this man who could be attending balls in London or Bath, receiving the attentions of every eligible maiden in fashionable society. Or he could be enjoying the quiet life of a country gentleman, shooting, smoking, and calling on friends, not trying to ensure his widowed neighbor was not being murdered for a fortune in buried doubloons.

The entire situation was ludicrous. Killed over pirate treasure, indeed! This was the nineteenth century, for heaven’s sake.

But it was not a sensational novel by Mrs. Radcliffe, it was her life. And if not for Thomas Westbrook . . .

“I am very grateful to you,” she said, as he carried the guns to her bedroom.

“I don’t want to intrude,” he said, stopping in the doorway and letting her have the guns one at a time.

She placed the pistol in the drawer of the table beside her bed. Then she took the rifle and laid it on the floor, also by her bed, but where she wouldn’t trip over it.

“I shall be quite safe now.” She smiled, trying to make light of the situation.

“You may send a servant for me any time, day or night.”

The way he was looking down at her, not moving, just staring into her eyes, made her catch her breath. Could there be a better man in England than this one? And did she dare hope . . . that he might be developing feelings for her?

What was she thinking? Marriage hadn’t exactly worked out the first time. What if she made another mistake? But Thomas Westbrook was nothing like Arthur. He would make a wonderful husband.

Oh dear. Could she be falling in love with him? Her heart skipped and thumped wildly, but more from fear than anything else.

Chapter Twelve

Thomas stared so long into Rebecca Heywood’s eyes, he must be frightening her, for she looked like a scared rabbit all of a sudden.

How could he be thinking of Rebecca Heywood as a woman and not as Arthur Heywood’s widow? He must remind himself of his vow to have nothing to do with Arthur or any woman who would fall in love with him. Ever again. Had he lost all pride? Had he forgotten how he swore never to have any sort of relationship with Arthur Heywood’s widow?

But she was so lovely and gentle, so appreciative of his help, which he would have given if she had been any woman, whether old or young, with no expectations at all. It was his duty, after all, to help his neighbor, especially a widow who lived wholly unprotected, except for servants who might be easily bribed by Fogg or Strader.

He had to get hold of himself. Staring into her blue eyes, glancing at her perfect lips . . . He was going mad, surely, because he wondered how it would feel, and how she would react, if he kissed her.

He couldn’t seem to help himself.

He reminded her, “You may send for me any time, day or night.”

“Thank you. You are very kind.” Her voice sounded as if she was losing her breath.

She leaned away from him, which somehow broke the spell that was holding him in place. He stepped out of the doorway to let her pass.

She wasn’t interested in him either. They were simply two disinterested neighbors. Rebecca Heywood was his sister’s and his mother’s friend, nothing more.

And he was sure now that his brother, who was at least four years her junior, held atendrefor her. Another good reason he should not entertain any thoughts of his own for her.

She led the way to the front door, while he told himself sternly,You’re only falling for her because she’s the damsel in distress of the knights’ tales you read as a boy. Stop being so easily manipulated by your fantasies of rescuing the frightened maiden. You’re no knight, and she’s no maiden.

It was unkind, perhaps, but he needed to get his feelings under control.

“Good day, Mrs. Heywood.”

He hurried away, praying for wisdom about how to tell his family that their local officials were all corrupt and not to be trusted.

~ ~ ~

The next day, Rebecca looked out the window and saw her mother and sister being helped from the carriage by the footman.

She ran down the stairs and out the front door before they had even made their way up the steps.