Page 32 of The Swindler’s Daughter

“Of course. Fun is rare, which is why it must be seized when the opportunity arises,” he said, giving my side a squeeze when he said “seized.”

The evening passed in a beautiful blur of laughter and music. Rowan’s parents stopped in to take a turn about the floor. And even Beatrice graced us with her reluctant presence, only to leave shortly after Oliver coaxed her into a dance. I laughed at the way she tried to give us a disapproving glance, even as her eyes danced with gaiety. She wanted to be so proper, but she was still the woman who had stooped to subterfuge to help Marilee when Her Highness lived under the oppression of her first husband.

Nellie got her wish. Not only did she dance with Johnny twice, but Oliver coaxed her into dancing with him three times, and she took turns spinning around the barn with several other men. As did I. The quarters were cramped, but everyone was eager to take part in the fun, no matter their age.

I danced with Rowan a total of five times. Five opportunities to graze hands and lock eyes and have his hands wrap around me. They were moments that seared me with aching want, filling my head with euphoria and confusion long after I’d climbed into bed.

***

I showed up for my lesson, determined to focus on my bow and arrow and nothing else. If I strayed into other topics, I would want to talk about dancing last night and the way it made me think that Rowan and I could have something together. But if I broached that subject, we would have to talk about Isabel. Was he still in love with her? And if we were going to discuss serious things like attractive young men still being in love with their dead wives, then I would inevitably want to talk about his thieving. If he was determined to be the one thing I refused to become, then how could we possibly proceed? It was foolish to think I could ever be at peace with a man I knew was operating outside the law.

His reasons were just so good, though, and as much as I wanted to see the world in black and white, I knew it wasn’t. Rowan was helping people. The constables weren’t.

When I knocked on the Lockleys’ cottage door, it was Mrs. Lockley who opened it. She gave me an easy smile. “Hello, Miriam.”

“Afternoon, Mrs. Lockley. Is Rowan about?”

“Should be back any minute now. He was out helping his father.” She leaned out the doorway to look past me, but neither of us saw either of the Lockley men coming this way.

“I’ll go to the range. Will you let him know I’m waiting there for him?”

“Of course.”

I thanked her and circled the house, going past the herb garden and deeper into the woods. I was grateful I’d brought my small collection of arrows, since Hunter wasn’t around to lend me a quiver of his. I took up my spot a little farther from the target than usual, wanting a bit of a challenge. All four arrows landed low on the target but none missed, and the consistency was gratifying. I slung my bow over my shoulder and trekked over to the target to retrieve my arrows. As I pulled the second one from the straw, a whistled tune caught my attention. I looked past the target to see Rowan meandering toward his cottage, a dead rabbit swinging from one hand.

“Hello, Rowan,” I called out.

His whistling cut off abruptly and he stopped in his tracks. “Miriam. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize how late it was. I’ll be right back.” He headed toward the cottage and I pulled my other arrows from the target.

I was back in position, trying to relax my shoulders, when a thought hit me.

Hunter had told me that poachers were targeting Bridgefield land again. The traps that had been set had been done with skill. And Rowan had just returned from the direction of Bridgefield with a dead rabbit in hand.

Who better to set a trap than the son of a gamekeeper?

My mind churned over itself. When the wind picked up, pushing my hair into my face and tugging at my cloak, I pushed my curls aside absentmindedly, too distracted by the possibility that Rowan could be involved in poaching.

I hated that I even thought it was a possibility. And yet, if he could justify thievery in the name of justice for those less fortunate, why could he not justify poaching as well?

Oh, how I hoped I was wrong.

“Sorry about that,” Rowan said as he jogged over to me, his bow in hand and a smile on his face. The smile fell when he noticed my own expression, which I could only imagine was one of dismay. “Are you all right?” he asked with real curiosity.

I shook my head, not knowing how to answer or how to ask the question that I knew I must ask.

“Did something happen?” he asked, all concern, which only served to confuse me further.

Had something happened? I didn’t know yet. I searched his face, wanting to see his reaction when I told him what I knew. “My brother. He said there has been more poaching of late…”

His gaze immediately fled from mine and he cleared his throat. “Yes, I had heard.” His weight shifted from one foot to the other.

The way he avoided eye contact made my heart drop. “Rowan, where did that rabbit come from?” I asked, fearing I already knew the answer.

He let out a small sigh and kicked at the ground before raising his head. When his gaze met mine, he gave a sad smile. “I think you know where it came from, Miriam.”

My hope sank into the ground. “You’re the poacher?” I asked in a whisper.

“Yes,” he said, reaching out to me, but I pulled away. Hurt flashed across his face and his hand dropped back to his side. “But it’s not what you think. It was Mr. Kenton’s idea.”