The Countess' Lucky Charm by A. M. Westerling Page B

rate, she would soon be able to repay Temple for her passage. And whatever remained would help her on her dream to start her own gaming house and help Mrs Dougherty.
    She picked up the reticule and emptied the contents on the desk: a lace handkerchief, a small pot of powder, a fan and several coins.
    The clack of the door knob and the screech of hinges in want of grease interrupted her.
    “What have you there?” Temple demanded as he entered the room.
    Surprise held her and she froze. The heels of his boots clicked on the polished floorboards, stopping only when he was directly behind her. His breath tickled her cheek and she dropped the reticule and whirled about, leaning back against the table to hide the pile of booty.
    “You startled me,” she bleated. Damn, couldn’t he have been a few moments more, long enough for her to count the money?
    Temple bent around her to look then let loose an oath. “Are you trying to get us thrown in jail?”
    “It’s money to repay you for my passage,” she blustered. He had caught her by surprise so she went on the verbal attack. “And just keeping me hand in.”
    “My hand,” he corrected her automatically.
    “We’re not getting thrown in jail,” she reassured him, trying to ignore the ominous frown on Temple’s face. “The bleeders didn’t notice a thing. I told you, I’m the best there is,” she finished lamely.
    Perhaps it had not been such a good idea after all. He didn’t look at all pleased with her. She rocked back on her heels, contemplating how to appease his anger over her thievery.
    He spoke before she could think of anything.
    “The best there was.” He ground out the words between gritted teeth. “You don’t need to be doing that anymore, remember?”
    “Really?” Simone stared at him. “Who would suspect me?” She clasped her hands primly under the bosom of the high- waisted sprigged muslin dress and batted her eyelashes.
    “It doesn’t matter if you’re suspected or not. One does not behave in that manner when it is not necessary to do so.” He glared at her.
    “I think it is necessary. I should like to repay you for my passage for I wish to stay here.” She dropped her gaze. “In Montreal.”
    “Out of the question.” The authoritarian tone of his voice unnerved her and she snapped her gaze back to him. His lips were clamped firmly together and his eyes were darkened with disapproval at her suggestion.
    Oy , she hadn’t expected this reaction. What could it mean? Did he care about her behaviour more than he cared about her debt to him? Did that mean he cared about her?
    At the thought, hope spurted through her, only to be quashed at his next words.
    “You took something of value to me,” he declared. “I should like it returned and until it is, you will remain with me.”
    Of course. He only kept her because of the package she’d hidden back in London. She had best not forget that to him, she was a pickpocket, a street urchin, nothing more.
    She swallowed hard against the disappointment welling in her throat.
    “I’ll make a map for you,” she countered, hating the wobble in her voice. She swallowed hard once more to steady it. “Where to find your packet. I can’t write the street names but you can if I tell ye— er , you. Then you can get it when you return to London.”
    “Which I should like to remind you shan’t be for quite some time. Besides,” he pointed at the pile of stolen goods behind her, “you could find yourself locked up soon enough.”
    “They’ll not catch me.”
    Temple narrowed his eyes at her boastful words. “Enough nonsense, Simone. I will not leave you alone in a strange country.”
    Her bottom lip jutted out, along with her chin. Before she could say any more, he held up his hand.
    “Now get your shawl. I’ll buy you the boots I promised you.”
    She gazed at him suspiciously for a moment before she turned away
    A rueful little grin zigzagged across Temple’s lips as he watched her ready