‘An odd coincidence that you should both be here at the same time.’
He really didn’t trust her. She felt miserable and angry all at once. ‘Wick is a small place. Many people come to the market.’ Somehow, though, she didn’t feel as if this second meeting was by chance. Yet how could it be otherwise?
His gaze was fixed on the note still clutched in her hand, suspicion rampant in his expression. ‘Then why are you here? And to whom are you writing?’ he asked.
Dash it all, was she to have no privacy? ‘It is none of your business. You are not my guardian or my gaoler.’
His mouth tightened. Disappointment filled his expression, as if he expected her to trust him when he did not trust her. ‘Unfortunately I am, until Lord Carrick returns.’ He stared at the letter and held out his hand.
Unfortunately. What did he mean, unfortunately? That really hurt. ‘This is a private letter, addressed to me from a friend of my father’s. It came via the tinker at this stall.’
Mr Gilvry’s lips thinned. ‘If it is all so innocent, why not simply send it by way of the post office?’
Why was he being so starchy? Surely he wasn’t jealous of her letter from home? Not possible. He was simply doing his duty. So he thought. She drew herself up to her full height. Not very impressive beside him, but necessary to make her point. ‘Again, it is none of your business.’
‘It is, if the getting of it puts you in danger.’
Did that mean he really was worried about her? Her heart gave a cheerful little skip. ‘How could I have guessed the man would be here and would risk an approach among so many people? Besides, I thought they must be far away by now, fearing the hue and cry.’
An odd look crossed his face: guilt. She frowned. ‘Did you know they were still in the area?’
‘I suspected it. I should have warned you.’
So it was guilt. ‘Yes, you should have.’
He huffed out a breath. ‘It would not have been necessary had you stayed where I left you.’
Now she felt guilty. ‘Well, I am certainly glad you came along at the right time.’
He glanced around. ‘Where is the tinker you came here to meet?’
She shook her head. ‘I have no idea. He ran off when he saw you.’
Should she mention the gypsy’s knife? She hesitated a moment too long and Mr Gilvry’s face hardened as if he guessed she was holding something back. ‘It is back to the dressmaker’s with you, Lady Jenna. And then home to Carrick Castle.’
‘Carrick is not my home.’ She belonged to Braemuir. Heart and soul, though no one else seemed to understand her devotion.
He marched her though the crowds as if she was the criminal, not the man who had accosted her. And yet she did not mind the feel of his hand in the small of her back, the warmth of his large body, and the protection it offered. Should she say something about her suspicion that the man had sought her out? He had probably figured that out for himself.
As he hurried her along, she caught a glimpse of the gypsy. He was watching them with dark unfathomable eyes. She wondered if she should point him out to Mr Gilvry, but before she could do so, the man faded from sight. Besides, if Mr Hughes trusted him, she should too. The person she must not trust was Niall Gilvry.
When they got back to the seamstress’s, Campbell already had the carriage waiting outside. He and Mary were deep in conversation at the horse’s heads.
‘Are you finished here?’ Mr Gilvry asked Jenna, nodding towards the shop.
She mentally winced. ‘Not quite.’
He sighed. ‘Verra well, let us go in. Miss Mary, your presence is required.’ He opened the door.
‘You don’t need to come with me.’
He gave her a look that spoke volumes. Anger. Frustration. And something hotter than either, though he was doing his best to damp it down.
An answering glow sparked in her own veins. Like a child playing near the fire, the closer she got to him, the more likely she was to burn. But there was something about him that made him hard to resist. And that made him dangerous.
With a shiver, she let him take her arm and escort her into the shop.
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