The Harlot (Taskill Witches 1)

He did care. He was possessive of her. But this mood of his was not good. It was as if he was done with her. Her chest ached. Her goal had been to make him react. She’d wanted to feel his attention focused on her before it was too late. She had taken a risk to have him claim her, and he surely had done so, but this was making her hurt. He had put even more distance between them. Her heart sank. She had stirred up bad feelings in him. She could see it in his eyes. That haunted look spoke of pain and betrayal.

“Forgive me for my foolishness,” she whispered, and dropped a kiss on his cheek, close to the corner of his mouth. She paused, hoping he would turn his mouth to hers, but he did not.

The flames from the fire reflected in his eyes as he stared blindly at it. “I am your employer. I should have kept it that way. That would have served us both better.”

Wretched to the core, Jessie swallowed hard. She had imagined more between them because they had shared so much of their history, but he regretted what had happened. Regretted that they had shared his bed and whispered across the pillow as they grew closer.

Still she wanted to reach out for him with all her heart and soul—reach out as the woman he had put his faith in, even if he did not care for her in any other way. “Yes, you are my employer, and I will not let you down, I promise.”

He glanced at her then, but it was brief. “Be ready to leave for Balfour Hall in the morning.”

Lowering her head, she nodded and turned away.

SEVENTEEN

THE FOLLOWING MORNING GREGOR REMAINED subdued, but he began to speak with her about matters at Balfour Hall as they breakfasted. He repeated the plans they had forged over the past week, reminding her she was to listen for any talk of sales or business. Jessie quickly showed him that she remembered, and that she was thinking about her task.

By midmorning he seemed satisfied. When he went about putting on his boots and coat, she realized they were done, and went to her room to prepare.

When she emerged, he turned and stared at her. “Are you ready?”

It was the first time he had inquired after her. Jessie met his gaze and forced herself to nod. She didn’t trust herself to say more.

As they descended the stairs together, she stepped close behind him gratefully. Out in the stable yard Gregor reached out to squeeze her upper arm. “I know you dislike horses, so I requested a pony and cart for us so that you do not have to ride.”

Jessie pressed her lips together. It was not horses she disliked, but heights. He did not wish to understand her, but it was touching that he had made an effort. Was it guilt that drove him to it? Guilt after the way he had treated her the day before? Or was it simply that he was trying to win back her loyalty?

Staring up at his handsome face, she longed to see his frown soften. That haunted look she saw in his eyes from time to time was something she now understood. His pain over what had happened to his father had made him harsh and bitter, and his need for justice ruled him. There was no denying that he could be affectionate when he wanted her service, but underneath it all he was fixed on his revenge. She was just a weapon to be used in his task.

It shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t make her melancholy, but it did. She had come to care for him, and that was a mistake. She pulled free of his hand, tied her shawl at her bosom and then put her bundle on the cart. It contained only the spare day dress and the comb he had given her.

At first the journey made her ill. The cart jolted and swayed. It was far worse than being on a horse, she decided. It took all her will and a little magic to quell the urge to beg him to halt and let her climb down.

Then she noticed how well Gregor handled the pony, how masterful he was as he directed its path with his hands on the reins. His brows were drawn low, his mouth set determinedly as he concentrated on his task. She could not help wondering if this was how he might look at the helm of his ship. The notion made her wistful. She would never know. She would never even have been part of his life had he not needed her for his revenge. It was a strange pact they’d made, but she didn’t regret it, not even after the bad feeling that had passed between them the day before. She shouldn’t have taunted him, not when he was distressed.

The sidelong glances she took lingered. He was a fine man, and it pained her deeply to think of how wounded he must have been as a young lad, finding his father that way. How good it would be to remove that shadow from his eyes. Would his quest for revenge bring him the relief he sought? She hoped so. Ivor Wallace was a despicable man to have ruined his neighbor that way. The more she thought on it, the more she vowed to bring Gregor peace on the matter.

Once they entered the forest, Gregor secured the pony and cart and they went on by foot. The walk passed in silence and it was only when they got to the brow of the hill overlooking Balfour Hall that he paused and spoke to her.

“I will come back tomorrow, at midnight. Meet me in the grounds where the flower beds flank the path.”

“I’ll be there.” The reason was obvious. He wanted to know of her progress. Nevertheless, Jessie’s spirits lifted. Fool. I must rid myself of this attachment to him.

Sleeping with his enemy would no doubt take care of that, she thought with no small amount of self-mockery.

It was with determination that she turned away from him and walked down the hill toward Balfour Hall. She knew he watched, for she felt his eyes on her, but would not allow herself to look back. Instead she thought only of the task ahead. Her goal was now twofold. For herself, the purse and her journey north. For Gregor, the retribution he needed to lift the dark cloud that hovered over him and made him so ill-tempered. She wanted to ease his troubled soul.

It would be most uplifting to see him in a better humor before they said goodbye to one another. The ache that rose in her chest when she thought about saying goodbye forever was quickly pushed down, lest she get upset.

Jessie went over the immediate plan as she closed on the house. She knew where the servants’ entrance was, but she was to go to the main entrance, as if she had no knowledge of the grounds. Skirting the gardens, she crossed to the lane that ran up to Balfour Hall from a nearby village, and joined it.

> The mansion looked more imposing when approached from this direction. The gray stone and gaunt windows seemed ominous. Peering up at the attic rooms, where the servants’ quarters would be located, she swallowed down the thought of the stairs, and willed herself to be strong. I will win my way in.

Five wide marble steps led up to the main door, which was large and topped by a stained-glass window. She took a deep breath and dropped the heavy knocker against the door. Smoothing down the simple dove-gray dress that Gregor had bought for her to wear on this occasion, she adopted a demure, humble expression, and when the door handle rattled she gave a hopeful smile, eager to be held in favorable account from the outset.

It took some time before the door swung fully open. From beyond it, she could hear raised voices and instructions being issued. By the looks of it there was turmoil in the house. That was a good sign.

“We are buying nothing,” the woman who stood there said. Her sleeves were rolled up and she had a heavy frown on her face. She wiped her hands on her apron, and appeared to be both grumpy and out of breath.