Strike at Midnight(34)

“Fine,” I snapped, taking the bundle with the slipper in it out of his hands. “But you have to know I live over an inn. You can’t go in dressed like that.”

The jacket that held the slipper looked to be about two sizes too small when I shook it out. But it would have to do.

“Squeeze into this,” I said after securing the glass slipper on the wagon and handing him the jacket, “it will cover the shirt.” One of the drivers had been wearing a cap, and I don’t think he had it on him when they had run off. A jog over in the direction where the one had landed proved fruitful, and I picked up the cap and dusted it off.

“There,” I said, squeezing it onto his head, and I had to clamp down on a snigger, as the jacket was so small that his arms stuck out at the sides. “Give me a moment.”

His eyes widened as I put my hands into my breeches to retrieve one of my daggers, and then he turned his head away with a slight blush on his cheeks.

“It’s okay,” I said, unable to help my own smile this time. “I just need to cut the sleeves a little bit.”

“Of course,” he said, giving me his arms so I could do just that. It looked a mess when I had finished, but that would help with the disguise.

“That’s better,” I said, but I needed to adjust the hat so the peak shadowed his eyes. I reached up to do so and he grabbed my wrists once I had finished my task. He held them gently as he rubbed one of them with his thumb. Him and his damn thumbs.

His eyes never left mine, as if he also felt the pull between us, and my skin tingled beneath his touch. I snatched my wrists away and said, “We need to go.”

“Sorry,” he said softly, and he dropped his hands to his sides as if to try and gain control over them. “There was no excuse…”

“It’s fine,” I said, waving him off. “Can you ride a horse?”

“Yes, I can.”

“Good,” I said, pointing towards Ginger. “You can ride back on her and I’ll navigate the carriage. Keep heading north on the road and I’ll shout out when to turn.”

“Thank you, Cinderella,” he said, and there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes. I should squash it. I really should.

“Call me Rella,” I said, then I gave him my back as I walked off to mount the wagon.





*



The ride back to Melodies was proving way too comfortable for my liking.

The guy had such a sweet vibe about him—one where you couldn’t help but relax in his presence—and that was dangerous.

When we came to a wider part of the road, he gently coerced Ginger into slowing to a trot beside us.

“How long have you been a renegade hunter?” he asked, and I couldn’t believe he wanted this conversation right now. He had just been kidnapped, thrown about in a wagon, and he wanted to talk about me. Seriously.

“Since I was fourteen,” I said, and I couldn’t help but smile at the look of surprise on his face.

“You were just a child.”

“There are many children who have worse professions than I did at that age.” Like being an abused servant. But he didn’t need to know that.

“Really?” he asked me, and I looked at him in disbelief.

“Really,” I said. “There is more to this kingdom than what you see in your ballrooms and pretty homes. And maybe you should have thought about that before venturing away from the ignorance of your kind.”

“I’m sorry if I have offended you,” he said, and that was unexpected.

“You haven’t offended me,” I said eventually. It was hard making someone feel guilty for something they would most likely agree with you on. “It’s not your fault that those born to wealth benefit more than those who don’t. They’re just different worlds.”

“I suppose they are,” he said, and he gave me a gentle smile that I couldn’t help but cherish in the moonlight.

“Do you agree with everything people say to you?” I asked. “Even if it is offensive?”

“I can’t be offended by the truth. That would be ridiculous.”

“And how do you know I’m telling you the truth? You don’t even know me.”

“Of course you would tell the truth. You’re a lady.”

A chuckle escaped my lips before I could stop it.

“I’m not a lady,” I said, nodding down towards the clothes I was wearing. “Look at me.”

“I am looking,” he said, but the warm intensity in his voice wrapped around me like a cloak on a winter’s day.

“You really aren’t,” I said once I had found my voice. “But thank you for considering it. You’re very polite.”

“I wasn’t being polite. I was being truthful.”

His words threw me, but I also realized for the first time that I wasn’t feeling suspicious or uncomfortable with getting a compliment from someone. There was no lie or deceit in his voice when he said those words, and the expression on his face looked like he would stand against anyone who even tried to disagree with his own statement. I was starting to enjoy myself and said, “I have no title. So I can’t be a lady.”

“Being a lady doesn’t always mean having a title,” he said.