Page 72 of Not a Fine Gentleman
Chapter 19
Margaret touched Connor’s sleeve as he turned away from her, away from that moment of tenderness when he’d touched her face, away from the attraction growing between them. “Don’t go.”
For a moment, an uncharacteristic vulnerability appeared in his eyes that took her aback. Clearly, he felt something for her but continued to reject it. He could be motivated by a sense of honor—the walls between their classes were high—but something else seemed to drive him away from her each time. If she had any sense, she would avoid him and her burgeoning desire for him. Yet, he drew her, time and time again. She knew little about him, his family, his background, and yet, she knew his character.
He had no pretenses. He wore his honor like a badge, and sometimes like a shield. His confidence rivaled that of any member of the haut ton, emanating from him naturally. Most men drew their confidence from their self-importance. Connor’s confidence came from a deeper source—the knowledge of his value as a human being and his ability to contribute to society. He did the right things for the right reasons. A man of integrity. Men like that were rare.
Did it really matter to Connor that they came from different worlds? Or did he resist because he assumed it mattered to her? Or was there another reason?
And what, really, did she want from him? Her long-term loneliness had become so routine that she’d learned to live with it, like a person who learned to live with chronic pain, having little hope of relief. Connor’s attention, his little touches, revealed to her just how lonely she’d been—how starved for affection. She wouldn’t consider taking him—or anyone—as a lover. Nor did she dare risk marriage again. Which left her with what?
His vulnerability stepped back, and he became all business again. “Is there something I can do for you, my lady?” he asked when she failed to come up with a reason to call him back to her.
“I wanted you to know that I hold no malice toward you for Mr. Birnie’s interrogation. I’m sure you had nothing to do with that.”
“You’re right. Birnie’s my superior.” He seemed to choose his words with care. “I feared you must have thought that I had thrown you to the wolves.”
“I confess I did, at first.”
Connor spoke without looking at her. “He wouldn’t have done that if he thought you were guilty. His tactic was designed to prove your innocence.”
“Then… Grant was never really under suspicion.”
“No.”
She folded her hands together. “I understand. Don’t give it another thought.”
His explanation and his concern soothed sensibilities she’d hardly noticed had been wounded during Birnie’s verbal assault. Due to the constant barrage of emotional darts her late husband had thrown at her, she’d developed a habit of ignoring such hurts.
She peered into his face. “Do you really think the killer is still after me—even after all this time?”
“As long as you can identify him, you are at risk.”
She nodded unhappily. “I can’t stay cooped up all day inside. I’d hoped to ride to Richmond, where I can go for a good bruising ride out in the country.”
“Don’t go alone. Bring at least one of your brothers.”
Was that a request or a polite suggestion? “Do you ride?”
“On occasion.”
He likely rode out of necessity rather than for pleasure. Perhaps he would find it enjoyable to ride with her.
She took on a business tone. “Very well. I wish to hire you to be my guard while I go riding tomorrow. Although, I’m not sure it’s necessary. I’m an excellent shot.”
Grimly, he said, “Shooting at a human is different than shooting at a target or game. You might find it more difficult than you imagine.”
“Was it that way for you in the war?” she asked gently.
“I wish I could accept, my lady, but I am still searching for a killer.”
“Oh, dear. Here comes that obsequious Connor Jackson again. I thought we’d sent him away.”
One corner of his mouth curved. “Consider him gone.”
She put a hand over her abdomen. “I’m in need of refreshment. Have you eaten yet today?”
He lifted a brow at her odd invitation. “Not yet.”
