Page 9 of Hooked

I took a step back, the action involuntary, as was the way my hand fluttered to my throat.

“For example,” he said, gesturing toward me. “What I said just now made you nervous, perhaps even frightened. Likely because you don’t relish the idea of someone knowing things about you that you don’t want to divulge.”

I pursed my lips, his little demonstration making me even more wary. He knew things and saw things. Is that what all of our interaction thus far had been about? Was he trying to learn things about me? To manipulate me? The way he looked at me now was so different from our recent interactions that the contradiction reminded me of Captain Huckley. The captain had done all he could to learn everything about me, to convince me that we belonged together, to make me ignore all the evidence of what he truly was.

Falstone noted my expression and held out a staying hand. “Rest assured I have no intention of prying where I am not welcome. I just offer that by way of explanation for my question.”

I remained silent, afraid to say anything at all, even if I could come up with some sort of response.

“I’m sorry I’ve made you nervous. I don’t usually ask things without thinking it through, but for some reason—today…” He ran his finger and thumb across his forehead, looking more unsure than I’d ever seen him before.

Was he nervous?

“I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I was hoping to have some sort of normal conversation with you, but I seem to be quite inept. I apologize.” He bowed and turned to go.

His abrupt departure made me blink in shock, but I let him walk away, not knowing what to say. Worry coursed through me. Worry that he’d see too much or that he’d see through my lies if I allowed him to continue.

But the way he had left bothered me. He’d acted as if by not answering his very personal questions I was somehow hurting him. And that felt entirely unfair. I had admired this man for some time now, and it felt almost like a betrayal for him to judge me so quickly. So after a few moments of indecision, I threw down the brush and went after him. Looking out in the hallway, I saw him striding toward the end of the corridor to my left, almost to the corner where he would disappear from sight. “Falstone,” I called.

He spun to look at me, embarrassment written on his face. How was it that I had the power to embarrass this strong, capable, and—by his own admission—arrogant man?

I walked toward him, determined and a little angry about how things had played out between us. When I was only a few paces away, I stopped, letting him study me, knowing he would see my frustration and anger. “You never spoke to me before,” I pointed out. “And then suddenly—”

“As I tried to explain before, my position required a great deal—”

“You never gave me a second glance. You were nothing but professional and aloof.” And though that had been odd, it had also been safe.

“I know.” He looked pained, and still embarrassed. “I didn’t realize how abrupt this might seem, but I couldn’t seem to balance—”

“And now you walk in, and you seem to see right through me and you ask if I’ve been hurt.” I swallowed down a lump in my throat. “As though it would be easy to answer. As though you had earned my confidence.”

He shut his eyes, clearly upset with himself.

“So why don’t you look at me now, and use that gift of yours to determine how that makes me feel.” Perhaps he could name my feelings even if I couldn’t. Part of me wanted to be mad, but really I was just confused and scared. Confused that he could want to get to know me in any sort of genuine way, and scared that he wasn’t who I thought he was.

His face fell, sadness settling over it as he took in my features, my body language. “I’m sorry” was all he said.

“As am I,” I confessed. “Because I would like to know you better, Falstone.” That admission was terrifying. “I would like to know your first name. I would like to know who you are. I would like to know what prompted you to take a band of children under your wing. But confidences such as that do not come easily to me, and it is unfair of you to ask it of me when you’ve given me no reason to trust you with such personal information.” I swallowed. Information like that in the wrong hands could be dangerous.

He pressed his lips together, his head nodding up and down just a little, accepting what I had said. “I am truly sorry, Cecily. I have injured you, and that was never my intent.” He tapped a middle finger against his thigh. “I think perhaps I was meant to be a soldier only, since I don’t appear to have the skill of a friend.” A self-deprecating smile glanced across his mouth. “I will do my best to remedy that.” He gave me a very formal bow, completely unnecessary since I was a servant, then looked up at me. “And my given name is Porter, but I prefer Falstone,” he said before turning and continuing around the corner.

I huffed and spun around, my skirt whipping around my legs as I stalked down the corridor and ran down the servants’ stairs until I reached the kitchens.

Emeline was in full meal preparation at the right hand of the head cook.

“Emeline doesn’t have time to talk, Cecily,” Diana chastised.

“Emeline never talks if she can help it. And I’m not here to yammer. I’m here to help. Might I chop something?”

Cook gave me a disbelieving look and then slid a knife and a pile of onions my way. “Have a burr under your skin, do you?”

I simply glared and cut into an onion with gusto. After several slices, I looked up to see Emeline with a knowing look in her eye. “Falstone?” she asked.

I just sighed.

“Thought so,” she said with an impish smile.

“How could you know it was him?” I asked in a frustrated whisper. “He and I rarely speak.”