Chapter 12 #2
Guilt pricked her conscience because he was right, but she did not like his heavy-handedness. “My aunt suffers from gout and is often unwell and wishing for company.” She shrugged, hoping he would dismiss the matter entirely.
“The devil, Kate! Do you intend to sit there and persist with that story? I nearly broke my neck pushing Apollo along miles of muddy roads, halting at every inn along the way to inquire after you.”
Her heart skipped several beats at the worry in his voice.
“I was perfectly fine. I didn’t need—”
He sprang to his feet, nearly tipping his chair, his hand gripping the edge of the table.
“What kind of gentleman would I be if I allowed my betrothed to run off halfway across the country? And for something so dangerous?”
Allowed. The word struck her like a slap.
His worry for her might have softened her if it had not come with the suggestion that he had a say in her choices.
He spoke as though she were something to manage, not someone to trust. She had hoped he would come to feel some affection toward her, but whatever he felt for her, he kept it fiercely guarded, offering only supervision when what she really wanted was a partner.
Even his concern held the shape of a cage.
“I am sorry to weigh so heavily on your sense of duty, my lord, and I certainly do not owe you an explanation for why I am here.” She fought to keep her voice from shaking, though tears burned just beneath the surface.
She would not be an obligation. She would not be managed.
And she would not accept duty masquerading as affection.
“Let me relieve your conscience of any further duty toward me. I think it best if we end our courtship.” She pushed back her chair and stood.
James went still, shock plain on his face. “No, Kate.” He dragged a hand through his still-damp hair, sending drops of water across the table. “I spoke poorly.” He swallowed. His eyes were stripped of their usual reserve. “I do not want this to end. Please forgive me.”
Kate resented how her heart betrayed her at the sound of James’s apology, at the sincerity in his eyes, at the low timbre of his voice stirring something warm and treacherous within her.
She exhaled slowly as the space between them crackled with all their unspoken secrets.
Despite her maddening attraction to the man and all that stood unresolved between them, she did not want to be forever at odds with him.
“Must we be enemies?” she pleaded softly. “I am weary of every exchange between us turning into a battle.”
“Enemies?” Surprise flashed across his face. “Kate,” he said, moving slowly around the table. “We are not enemies.”
“Are we not?”
“Not in the least,” he said as he reached her, standing far closer than necessary. “If we were enemies, I would never touch you like this.” He lifted his hand and tucked a curl behind her ear, his fingers slowly grazing the curve of her cheek as he drew back.
A shiver coursed through her. She retreated a step in an attempt to escape the emotions warring within, but the rough planks of the inn wall stopped her.
“Perhaps we ought to be friends then?” she managed in a whisper.
A slow smile spread across James’s face as his dark, intense gaze swept over her. Did she imagine his gaze lingering on her lips? He braced his hand on the wall near her head and leaned closer still until his mouth brushed her ear.
“Is that what you wish for us, Kate? Mere friendship?” His fingers glided down the length of her arm, unhurried and deliberate. When he reached her wrist, his thumb traced slow, maddening circles on the sensitive skin, a touch that weakened her resolve.
“If we are neither enemies nor friends, then what are we, my lord?” She had not meant for her voice to tremble.
His hand settled at her waist, hemming her in against the rough-hewn wall as he erased what little distance remained between them.
She could easily slip away but found she did not want to.
Her hands rose of their own accord to clutch the damp linen of his shirt, the solid warmth of him seeping through the layers of her dress.
Slowly, he bent his head until there was nothing but him.
The soft scratch of his jaw on her cheek.
The scent of sandalwood and damp leather.
His breath brushing her ear as he whispered,
“James. Call me James.”
“James.”
The name felt intimate on her tongue.
Dangerous.
She had not meant to say his name out loud. But his expression changed, the teasing edge fading, as though he felt the weight of the moment as she did.
He drew back just far enough to see her. Indecision flickered across his face, as though he were weighing the cost of giving in. Then it vanished, replaced by the faintest curve of satisfaction on his lips.
“You see,” he murmured, his grip tightening at her waist, “that was not so very difficult, was it?”
Irritation cut through the haze. She wanted to wipe that infuriating smirk from his face.
She wondered if kissing him would still be a surrender or a counterattack, a move to prove to him, and herself, that she could act on her own terms. She moved before she could think better of it, her lips a breath from his, telling herself she could retreat if she chose to.
An urgent shout broke through the room, raised voices echoing through the inn and forcing their attention away. “My lord, we need your assistance!”
A pulse of regret chased through her as James drew back. A moment later, the heavy door banged against the wall as Peters, the innkeeper, rushed into the room.
James’s warmth vanished even as heat blazed in her cheeks. She clasped her hands. Surely Mr. Peters could tell that she had been on the verge of being thoroughly and gloriously kissed.
She could not fully regret his interruption, though. Kissing James would change everything. She had been one breath away from surrender, and that scared her more than any conspiracy she chased.
She tried to focus on what the innkeeper was saying to James.
“. . . act now before the water rises higher . . . a carriage trapped on the bridge . . .”
“Gather as many men as you can,” James instructed Mr. Peters as he hastily pulled on his still-damp coat.
“I will summon Lady Katherine’s servants.
” He followed the innkeeper but stopped just inside the doorway and turned back to Kate, his expression unreadable.
Did he regret that they were interrupted?
Unable to speak after what had just passed between them, Kate merely nodded in farewell, but James lingered in the doorway.
“When I return, Kate,” he said, “we will finish this.”
She did not know whether to hope he would.