Harcroft had fenced as long as Ned had known him. He was good with a rapier and quick on his feet. In all those years that Ned had known him, that confidence had made Ned believe the man was taller than he was. But standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the earl, Ned realized for the first time that he was actually taller. And after months aboard ship, where he’d labored alongside common seamen, Ned was stronger, too.
No amount of expertise with a rapier could save Harcroft from someone who had two stone on him. It helped alleviate some of Ned’s wariness.
“Don’t worry,” Ned replied, as carefully airy as Harcroft. “I’m not about to engage in anything untoward, and you can rely on my promise to free my wife from all unsavory influences.” Such as you.
“Good man.” Harcroft smiled. “I knew I could depend upon you.” And then he paused, as if waiting for Ned to return the compliment.
Ned ought to have done so. One little lie would put distance between Harcroft and his wife. But the words choked in his throat, as bitter and cutting as cinder. “I’ll take care of matters here,” he finally managed.
Harcroft smiled again. Even though Ned had washed just ten minutes before, and brushed with tooth powder, that smile made Ned’s mouth taste foul. He should have protested. He should have told the man to take himself off for good. But if he had, Harcroft’s suspicions would have been roused. They were already on point, and while it would have been satisfying to smash the man’s face in, it wouldn’t have been particularly wise. His own wants gave way to cold clarity.
“I knew you’d see it my way,” Harcroft said with a smirk. “You’ll see it with your wife—soon enough, mark my words. Perhaps I shall even be the one to show you.”
That self-satisfied expression was too much to bear. Clarity abandoned Ned, and he leaned in. “I’ll conduct your search for you. I will tell you what I unearth. As soon as you leave, I’ll canvass the county on your behalf. But, Harcroft—there’s one thing you need to know.”
Harcroft screwed up his mouth quizzically.
“You are never to threaten my wife again.” As Ned said this, he brought himself up to his full height. Harcroft looked up at him, as if realizing for the first time just how much larger Ned was than he. “She’s mine to contend with.”
She’s mine. It was not the most settling thought, but after last night it had begun to be true. She’d done precisely as she’d said; she’d gotten inside the hard confines of his control. Perhaps she was his, but he was ceding a portion of himself to her. And that scared him more than any smirk that passed over Harcroft’s face.
Harcroft met his eyes. And then, slowly, he jerked his chin in a nod. Just as slowly, he got into the carriage. Ned contented himself with the thought that the earl was going away. The footman shut the door and clambered up onto the seat behind the carriage. The reins shuffled, and Harcroft’s horses pulled in their traces.
Ned listened to the rattle of wheels over gravel as the carriage pulled away.
For now, they’d earned a respite from all outside cares. And Ned intended to use it very, very well.
Now it was time to talk to his wife. After what had happened last night, he had no idea what she thought of him. The possibilities ranged everywhere from very excellent to very bad. He looked around him at the dreary autumn morning.
How terrible could matters be, with Harcroft gone?
For the first time since he’d woken that morning, a true smile curled his lips.
KATE WOKE WHEN HER DOOR creaked open.
The person who entered wasn’t her maid. Kate could tell, because the air against her face was warm. Someone had already laid the morning fire. But the curtains were still drawn shut, and the light that seeped around their edges was pale and insubstantial.
In other words, it was not yet time to rise. Waking would mean thinking. It would mean greeting her husband—and how she was to do that after the confusion of last night, Kate couldn’t say. She was too sleepy to even contemplate humiliation, and so she closed her eyes again.
Sadly, footsteps had the temerity to approach her bed. She glanced up through slitted eyes.
Of course it was Ned. And of course he was carefully groomed, his hair curling about his ears in entrancing little waves. Kate didn’t even want to think about what her own hair looked like. After last night, she didn’t want to see him until she was clad in her favorite dress. Perhaps the aquamarine silk—the one everyone always said made her eyes look blue.
“Oh, good,” he said in a tone far too cheerful for a morning that had not even properly started. “You’re awake.”
No. She wasn’t. This was a bad dream. “Mmm,” she croaked in protest, and pulled the covers to her chin.
He clicked his tongue at her. “Aren’t you going to rise? There’s something I want to show you.”
She blinked up at him in bleary-eyed horror. “You want me to get out of bed? Isn’t it enough that you sleep in the cold? Why in heaven’s name would you want to arise? It’s barely dawn.”
But she could see at least one benefit—it was too early for her to work herself into embarrassment about what they had done together last night.
“You could join me,” she added, before her sense of shame woke properly.
Ned’s grin broadened and he held out one hand. “Right now I think I would lose my head entirely if I tried anything beyond holding your hand. I want to savor you.”
The way he said that word—savor—made Kate think of all the word’s meanings. To dwell on; to enjoy; to taste…
“You,” she said shaking a finger at him from the warm cocoon she’d made of the covers, “are an evil, evil man. Particularly if you expect me to get out of bed.”
He shrugged. “My natural modesty requires me to disclaim the description of evil until you’ve seen what I can do. I’ve done nothing truly wicked yet. Right now I must insist on labeling my behavior up until this point as merely tormenting.”
He walked to the bed and leaned over her. He set his hands on either side of her head, gripping the covers around her. “Kissing you,” he murmured, “now, that would be mischievous.”
“Yes.” She inhaled his breath. Her lips tingled.
“Touching you all over—that would be rather sinful.”
“Indeed,” she breathed as she felt her body react sinfully to his words.
“Bringing you to release, I suppose, might count as truly wicked.”
“It would be almost as good on a morning as a cup of tea.”
He leaned down, his eyes meeting hers. They had that sinful sparkle in them, as if he were planning something truly diabolical; his voice was low, and she shivered in expectation. Maybe he’d held back last night because he planned to touch her this morning. Given the pleasure she’d experienced last night, whatever he had planned was sure to be decadent. She could anticipate the languorous slide of his hands down her sides. He would touch her, soon. He had to, or she would lose her sanity.
“Do you want to know what might be classified as truly, darkly, unforgivably evil?”
“Yes.” Her assent was quick and breathy. “Oh, yes.”
He smiled broadly. “This.”
His hands fisted in the covers and then he yanked them away from her—everything from the muslin sheets to the warm wool coverlet.
Cold morning air hit Kate’s skin and she yelped in protest, curling up involuntarily. “Ned, you beast! You led me to expect—”
He laughed. “You wanted me to be evil, didn’t you? Well. This is all the evil you are going to get for now. I’ve rung for your maid. I’ll see you downstairs in ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes? You expect me to be ready in ten minutes? You’ve truly lost your mind.”
Something flitted across his expression at those words—a hint of wariness, perhaps, in the tweak of his mouth—but he shook his head at her. “Ten minutes,” he warned her. “Trust me. It will be worth it.”
She managed to ready herself in half an hour by for-going the usual four layer
s of petticoats, and settling for a tidy pink walking dress—the kind she might wear for a visit to a tenant farm. Not quite in fashion, but easy to travel in. Her maid twisted her hair up into a simple knot and handed her a wool shawl, and Kate dashed downstairs. It was a measure of how evil he truly was that she didn’t even consider taking longer.
He was as good as his word—which was to say, when he met her coming down the stairs, he handed her a thick clay mug filled with tea, and then gestured for her to follow him out of the front doors, which had been thrown wide. His hand fit warmly into the small of her back.
Outside, mist clung to the trees that lined the road, sifting hanks of white wool out over the world. It stifled all sound. Kate inhaled; her lungs filled with cool air.
“There. You see?”
“It’s a misty morning.”
“Sensible Kate.” He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “It’s far more than that.”
He set off at a slow pace, and she followed. “There.” He pointed with his free arm up into a tree as they walked under it. She looked up into a mess of leaves and branches. In the quiet, windless morning, the limbs of the tree stood still; she could see clear through them into the blue of the sky.
“There. In the crook formed by those top branches. It’s a nest. At this point, the fledglings have all grown up and flown away. The parents, perhaps, might still be around, although it’s rather late in the year for that.”
She blinked up at the little structure of twigs. “How did you ever see that through all this fog?”
“Oh, I’ve walked this way before. I spotted it several days before.” He shrugged and they kept walking.
A little while later, he paused and pointed out a red-breasted bird on a faraway oak. It pecked the tree trunk smartly once, twice and then flew away. A little bit farther, and he flipped a rock over and showed her the creepy things underneath.
Kate shuddered and looked away. “Centipedes? Ned, did you wake me up to show me centipedes?”
“It’s all part of an autumn morning. This early, humanity—we people with our speech and the noise of our industry—we’re holding our breath and giving nature a chance. Flip over any rock,” he said with a smile, “and no matter how lovely the bird that was perched on top, you’ll find a bug underneath. During summer, the world is warm. But that warmth is just a moment at apogee. The rest of the time, we’re all just hurtling toward winter. It’s not pretty, but it’s real. And in some ways, it’s a bit more fun.”
“Is this supposed to be some sort of oblique commentary on last night?”
He cast her a sidelong glance. “Maybe.”
Kate’s feet were beginning to ache in her half boots. They had been walking for close to an hour, and they were approaching the small village in the valley near Berkswift. “What a depressing way of looking at the world.”
Ned shrugged, but she felt his arm stiffen under hers. “It’s not depressing. That’s the way things work. Seasons come and go. There’s a certain beauty to that, too. During summer, you see, we humans are not so different from the birds or the squirrels. We store up foodstuffs so that we’ll make it through the cold. The birds eat up every last crawling thing they can find, in preparation for a great flight south. We all find our ways to prepare for winter.” He didn’t look at her as he spoke.
Kate shook her head in confusion. “And this is what you wanted me to see?” She had the feeling that something was passing her by, something great and momentous. She didn’t understand, and she could no longer blame her muzzy head on a lack of coffee.
“I know. This explanation has been a bit elliptical. I’m a bit too fanciful this morning.”
“Dragons are never killed, only tamed to do your bidding. You tend toward the fantastical in your speech no matter the time of day.”
He shrugged again and lapsed into silence. It was in silence they walked through the main thoroughfare of the village. It was not a wealthy place, but neither was it beaten down by poverty. The little touches—the marigolds growing in a riotous mass in a box, the woodwork on the outside beams of the carpenter’s shop—suggested that this was a place that was well-loved. Ned, likely, had taken in those details instantly. But it seemed as if this were the first time Kate was noticing them. “It is a beautiful morning,” she said as they passed the inn. The door was open several inches; inside, she could hear the rumbling voice of the innkeeper, ordering his lackeys to wrangle someone’s luggage and ready some room for the coming day. Aside from those gruff orders, the silence held. Perhaps, later this morning, the taproom would come alive with noise. Now, maybe one or two people breakfasted inside. They might glance outside and see Kate and Ned pass through, arm in arm, in companionable silence.
She wondered what they would make of the sight. Would they see a happily married couple, strolling arm in arm?
Would they be wrong?
“I hope I haven’t given offense. I intended no insult. In truth…” She looked up at him. “In truth, I think you’re good for me in that way. You’re fanciful without ever crossing the line into foolishness. I can be…practical.” She swallowed and stared straight ahead.
This was the want she’d held deep inside her, suspended all those years. This rush of vulnerability. She wanted to be swept away. She wanted to be safe.
She wanted to shut her eyes and let her hopes carry her, like the rising floodwaters coming from some torrential downpour. She wanted to believe that if she ever did falter, he would be there to catch her. She wanted to tell him about Louisa.
And she didn’t know if it was her own hopes she trusted in, or the real strength of her husband.
“I can be as practical as I must about our marriage,” Kate finished. “But Ned…I don’t want to be.”
He stopped and looked down at her. “And here I was thinking I couldn’t be any luckier. I was strolling about on a fine morning, with the loveliest woman in all of England on my arm. I was positive everyone about me would be overcome with jealousy at my good fortune.” He fitted his hand to her cheek. His touch was cool, for an instant, before her skin heated his palm.
“Ned. We’re in full view of the taproom. We can’t see through the darkened windows doesn’t mean they can’t see us—”
“Hang the taproom,” he said, “and indulge my fancy.” And then he leaned down and kissed her. It was a very public kiss—discreet enough to only be one shade darker than was proper. His lips touched hers for a bare instant. Still, he laid claim to her in public. Her toes curled in her half boots; her feet stopped aching.
And when he pulled away, he looked at her without smiling. “Hang practicality,” he told her.
“Ned,” Kate said carefully, as they resumed their walk, “would you dare throw me out of your room two nights in a row?”
They passed the inn before he answered. “No,” he finally said, his voice low. “No. I don’t believe I would.”
Chapter Fourteen
THE MUCH-ANTICIPATED EVENING approached with all the weight of a coach-and-four. Still, to Kate’s mind, it moved forward at the speed of an incoming snail.
After they returned from their walk, Ned retired to the library to review some papers that had been sent up from London; Kate took the time to talk with the housekeeper and the bailiff about some of the tenant farms. In the afternoon, Ned left to spend time with Champion.
What Ned hadn’t done was search for Louisa, as he’d promised Harcroft. Kate pondered this conundrum through the hours that passed.
Did Ned know more than he’d admitted? Had he gathered from Kate’s reticence that she wished Harcroft’s venture ill? And would he truly choose her over his friend? She almost believed he would—and yet she couldn’t quite banish that last flutter of fear from her belly. Maybe after this evening, she would trust him enough to speak. After she’d cunsulted with Louisa on the morrow.
Time crawled, and Kate struggled to fill it, with the awareness that evening was hours and hours away. She found herself walking the halls,
pacing between the parlor and the entry. On her fifth pass back, her wandering was interrupted.
“Ah. Lady Kathleen. There you are.” The voice was deep and masculine—but it wasn’t Ned’s. Kate whirled around and gasped in surprise.
Harcroft was standing in front of her. He blocked the hallway, his arms folded cavalierly. He seemed like some sort of sinister angel, with all that blond hair and those bright blue eyes. He tapped his lips and watched her, as keenly as a cat watching a moth flutter against the wall.
“You know where she is.” It was a flat pronouncement, not a question.
Kate tamped down the fear that trickled into her belly. He couldn’t know what she knew. If he did, he wouldn’t be here. He’d be five miles from here, out threatening his own wife. But he had to know something, or he’d be halfway to Chelsea by now.
“Harcroft. What are you doing here? Did you forget something? Has something happened to your carriage? Can I be of service?”
His lips pressed together, and he looked into Kate’s eyes. A cold shiver of fear ran down her spine. He didn’t look at her with sexual desire; however unclean that might have made her feel, it was an emotion she could have understood. No, she grew cold because he looked at her as if she were not anything at all. For all the clarity in his piercing eyes, for all the sparkling and malevolent intelligence directed toward her, he didn’t see any worth in her. Not an object to be desired, not a person to be reasoned with. Perhaps he saw her as a piece of furniture he might make use of—or break, if she failed to suit his needs.
“She has a young child,” he said. “She needs me. She needs her husband, her family. What she doesn’t need is to be off, gallivanting on some stupid adventure. She needs protection and direction.” He scowled into the distance.
“Harcroft,” Kate said, “you must know I love your wife as I would a sister. I would never want anything that was bad for her. If she needs you, why would I keep her from you?”
The Carhart Series Page 54