Free Stealing Mercy by Kristy Tate

balked. “I shouldn’t be seen alone in a closed coach with you.”
    Trent held her arm and moved his hand to her waist. “Nor should you be caning goons, but this is Seattle, not New York.”
    She didn’t reply, so he continued, “Conventions are different here.”
    “But I’m not,” she said over her shoulder as he lifted her into the coach. She wondered how he knew she’d come from New York and what else he knew of her.
    “Of course you’re not.” He dropped onto the velvet seat beside her. “It’s very conventional for a well-bred young lady to bean villains in dark hotel gardens and attempt to break into locked hotel rooms with bent hair pins.” He turned to address his driver. “I thought I’d given you instructions to take Miss Faye home.”
    He shrugged. “She didn’t want to go, sir.”
    A velvet bag slipped from Trent’s waist coat and a pearl necklace spilled onto the dark seat. With his back turned, Trent couldn’t have noticed. It reminded Mercy so much of her mother’s jewelry, she wanted to touch it. When Trent turned to face her, his cape covered the necklace.
    Mercy shifted, looked out the window and drew her shawl closer, suddenly cold. Trent watched her and she tried not to shiver beneath his stare. Could the jewelry belong to his wife or a betrothed? Or had he stolen them? Had he taken them from Steele’s room?
    “Why are you interested in Steele’s investments?” he asked again, his voice smooth, low and yet authoritative.
    In the filtered moonlight streaming through the coach windows she saw the outline of his strong jaw, the tension in his arms, shoulders and neck. Lounging against the velvet lined cushions he looked at ease, but something about him reminded her of a large cat, ready to pounce. A creature that could turn from purring to predatory. His golden hair had a barely controlled look: wavy, thick and just long enough to tie in a short queue at the back of his neck.
    She tried to smile and tilted her head as she’d seen Eloise do countless times. She pasted on the wide eyed expression of a practiced coquette and fluttered her eyelashes.
    He studied her. She tried to hold his gaze, but after a moment had to look away. He wouldn’t be teased. “What aren’t you telling me, Miss Faye?”
    She watched as they pulled from the curb, away from the gaily dressed theater patrons. She could taste her disappointment; she’d thought she’d be happy in Seattle. She adored her aunt, she enjoyed working in the shop; she loved her new friends. She looked at Trent, wondering if circumstances had been different if they could have become friends. Perhaps they still could. Assuming, she thought with a glance at the velvet bag poking out from under his cloak, he wasn’t a thief. Assuming she could stop Steele from ruining her new life. Remembering Georgina’s request, she said, “I’ve questions for you as well.”
    Trent pressed back into the seat. “Indeed.”
    Mercy leaned forward, swaying with the motion of the coach. “A man doesn’t scale a trellis to search another man’s room on just a lady’s suggestion.”
    “No?”
    “No. Why did you climb a rose trellis in the rain?”
    They pulled in front of the house on Lily Hill, a lone candle burned in the window. Mercy’s heart contracted with love for her aunt. She’d be worried. If Steele continued to be a problem, Mercy would be jeopardizing Tilly.
    If she had to leave, where would she go?
    Trent reached out and took Mercy’s hand. He’d taken off his gloves and she felt the gentle pulse of his blood. Her own temperature rose to meet his and her face warmed.
    “Tomorrow I’ll come by. If you’ll share with me what you know about Steele, I’ll share with you what I’ve found.”
    He still held her hand. She wanted him to release her, yet she couldn’t pull away. “You found something?” Other than jewels? She suspected he wouldn’t be interested in sharing jewelry.
    “I’m not completely useless,” he said,