The Wrong Girl(28)

But I needed to be sure. By Christmas I would know for certain if they meant to harm her. If they proved to be trustworthy, then I would be honest with Jack and help him fetch the real Violet Jamieson.

"I admit that I expected to find you a little mad," he said.

"Oh?"

"I know I would be if I'd been confined to a few rooms my entire life, unable to come or go as I pleased. Yet you're remarkably normal."

I didn't want to venture into a conversation about my life at Windamere. It would be too easy to make a mistake and forget my lie. Particularly because Jack was so perceptive.

"What about you?" I said instead. "What was your childhood like growing up with the ability to start fires?"

He regarded me closely, as if he knew I was deliberately avoiding discussing myself. "It was...fine."

"Your parents weren't alarmed when it first happened?"

"I wouldn't know. I was too young to remember."

"They never talked about it?"

"I mean I was too young to remember them." He urged his horse into a trot, and Clover dutifully followed. The change of pace caught me by surprise, and I bounced uncomfortably along, holding onto the reins for dear life, until we finally came to a stop at the ruins I'd seen on my first day.

All that was left of the abbey were some broken arches, crumbling walls and the lower halves of what must have been sturdy columns at the entrance. Moss had turned many of the stones green, and some structures appeared to only be held together by vines that crawled over everything, claiming the ruins as their own.

"With whom did you live after your parents' deaths?" I asked. Perhaps I should have let the conversation drop, but curiosity was eating at me. I just had to know more about Jack Langley. "Sylvia said you didn't come to Frakingham until you were fourteen."

"Don't, Violet." His voice came out choked. "Please." He dismounted and let his horse graze untethered. He patted Clover's nose and looked up at me from beneath hooded eyes. "A man needs to keep some secrets."

My heart lurched inside my chest, and I suddenly wished to hold him and tell him he could trust me.

But I hardly knew him, and I doubted he'd want a raggedy, freckly redhead throwing herself at him. Besides, I was lying to him, so it seemed only fair that he keep some things from me too.

"I thought it was ladies who were supposed to be the secretive ones," I said.

He looked relieved that the conversation was at an end. "Does this mean that the lovely Lady Violet isn't telling me everything? And here I thought you wore your heart on your sleeve."

"And how do you know what's in my heart, Jack Langley?" I asked softly. I couldn't look away from his eyes, so filled with longing and—dare I even think it let alone hope—desire.

He moved close and skimmed his hand over Clover's neck, toward my knee. He didn't look away, and I certainly couldn't. I was caught in his presence as securely as the ruins in the vines.

His chest rose and fell with his heavy breathing. I waited for him to say something, but he did not. He looked dazed, not quite aware, as he lifted his arms to help me down. He put his hands to my waist, and a shock passed between us, quickly followed by a fierce heat, blasting through me. I felt like I was burning up from the inside.

"Jack!" I screamed.

His eyes widened, but he didn't let me go until my feet were firmly on the ground. Then he stalked off and slapped his hands against his thighs as if he were putting out flames.

I was too busy trying to remove my jacket to check if he'd been burned. I desperately needed to cool down, and the jacket itself smoldered where his hands had been. I was rather glad it was woolen after all.

"Are you all right?" he asked, returning. Worry scored deep lines into his forehead. He reached for me again, but quickly dropped his hands back to his sides. "Are you hurt?"

"I don't think so. Still a little hot, but I'm beginning to cool. What about you? Your hands must be painful. You weren't wearing gloves, but I at least have some layers to protect me."

"They're fine. Don't worry about me." He crossed his arms and tucked his hands away.

"Let me see." I reached for him.

He stepped back. "Don't touch me!"

I blinked. "Right. Of course."

He strode off and stopped near one of the arches that must have been a doorway once, but now had no walls on either side of it.

I followed. "Jack, let me see your hands."

He blew out a breath then turned around, palms out flat for me to inspect. They were unmarked. No burns, not even a slight reddening.

"They're perfectly fine." I frowned. "But that must have hurt. Your skin was unprotected."