Mistaken Identity (Saved By Desire 4)

“I sometimes wish this bloody place would burn down,” Ben snapped suddenly. “Then you would have to leave it behind and move somewhere else. We could live in a house where we are not forced to pick up after useless lodgers.”

“Ben, we need their money,” she said fervently.

“I mean it, Jess. I wish this house would go to Hades.”

“Don’t say that,” she admonished. “Then what would we do? We would

have no money to use to buy somewhere else. We cannot sell it if it a pile of ash, can we? It will be worthless. Do you want to see me out on the streets, Ben? Because that is where it would put us.” She waved a hand toward the hanging birds. “It is no good expecting to survive getting your hands on stolen pheasants then. Not only will we not have a fire to cook them on, but we won’t need a house then. We will be behind bars, where you put us.”

“They feed us at the minute, Jess.” Ben’s voice was suddenly considerably younger than his one and twenty years, but Jess wasn’t about to be swayed.

“Just stop taking them.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a sudden series of knocks on the front door.

“It’s your turn,” Ben said.

He leaned his hips against the dresser behind him and folded his arms to show her that he had no intention of answering the door.

“Just hope it is not the magistrate,” she warned as she stalked out of the room, and slammed the door behind her.

When she saw who it was on the doorstep, her anger at her brother vanished in an instant and turned into something infinitely more protective.

“Hello, Miss Parkinson,” the magistrate, Lloyd, drawled arrogantly. “Might we come in for a minute?”

“Why, yes,” Jessica murmured reluctantly.

She tried to keep her face a mask of civility as she stepped back to let them in but, deep inside, carefully tucked away from the magistrate’s prying eyes, she was panicking. Her mind was in frantic turmoil while she tried to think of a way to warn Ben to hide the stolen pheasants.

She preceded the magistrate and his assistant, Carruthers, into the front sitting room, hoping that Ben had overheard the voices, and had realised who it was.

“This isn’t a courtesy call,” the magistrate warned as he moved to stand before the fireplace.

Jessica didn’t offer either man a seat, nor did she take one herself. They were not making a social call, and neither man was welcome. It was imperative she got both of them out of the house as quickly as possible. Preferably, before they asked to search the place.

She watched Carruthers wander aimlessly about the room inspecting various small vases of flowers dotted here and there. The way he stalked around had a somewhat predatory air about it; as though he was sizing the place up. It irked her to see the man’s arrogance and wished she was socially adept enough to issue him with a scathing put down. However, she knew both men had reputations for being devious and manipulative. Their arrogance was legendary, and their conduct more questioning than the criminals they attempted – and frequently failed - to capture. If she challenged them, they would be apt to make her life a lot harder than she needed it to be, and she couldn’t risk that.

“We have had reports from the gamekeeper at the Priory that someone has been poaching on the estate.”

“Oh?” Jessica’s heart thumped heavily in her chest.

“Yes. Have you heard about it?”

“Me? No. Why would I?” she asked blandly.

“Excuse me,” she snapped as Carruthers lifted the lid of a porcelain pot sitting beside the fireplace, and took a look inside.

Striding over to him, she yanked it out of his hand with a glare and put it back on the pot.

“I don’t think you will find whatever you are looking for in there,” she snapped pointedly.

“Take a seat, Carruthers,” the magistrate murmured as though he had every right to offer guests a chair in her house.

Rudely, Carruthers took a seat and settled back as though he intended to remain there until he got the truth. To her disbelief, Lloyd then sat down.

His gaze slid nonchalantly over Jessica. The slow, steady perusal was insulting; and held a particular hint of sleaze to it that made her shudder in disgust. However, she was determined not to allow the man to know just how much he upset her.

She threw him a filthy glare and lifted one snooty brow.