Chapter Eight #2
“I would be happy to accompany you. While we walk, perhaps you’d explain why help’s more certain after the new moon.”
They ambled down the hill to the hollow she mentioned earlier.
“Of course. You said in your note you heard Brookbank and Squire Fenneman discuss receiving smuggled goods during the new moon.”
“I did.”
“The date makes sense. Smugglers are most active in darkness.”
“Your point, Kit?”
“The day before receiving your message, I sent George Brewster to my cousin in London. I asked him to gather a troop of dragoons and have them here before the new moon.”
“That’s surprising. Why did you?” She bowed her head, watching her steps.
“I learned of the smuggling from Brewster and his son. I want to help them rid Fenwick of the gang. I used the excuse of looking at property to meet the local folk and interview them about their encounters with the smugglers. I hadn’t expected to be so charmed by the local, … ah, scenery.”
At his hesitation she lifted her gaze and found him studying her, intently. A soft, tender light gleamed in his eyes.
“But… you are not looking at the scenery, Kit.” She smiled.
“I am looking at the only thing worth seeing.”
“Oh.” Her fingers went to her lips.
“I want to kiss you, Meg Fenneman, and I intend to, if you’ll permit it.” His teeth grasped his lower lip.
“Oh.” She kissed the fingers resting against her mouth then placed them on Kit’s bitten lip. “Yes, please.”
He gathered her close, holding her gaze as securely as his arms held her body. Then he was kissing her.
The wind blew around them. Her hair pins loosened. Hands stroked her arms. Gooseflesh tickled her skin, but she wasn’t cold. She was hot. Everywhere. She’d melt into a puddle from the center outward, if he didn’t stop. Heaven, please don’t let him stop.
Her prayer was refused for he stepped away. Instantly, she was cold and alone. Loneliness never troubled her before. Now it seemed a great tragedy. She studied the man she loved.
Love? I can’t love Kit. Can I?
Too stunned by the flood of feelings, she stumbled past Kit to the top of the rise, staring down at Trout Creek. She could see the brush pile. She felt the tug of the Wishing Trout on her line, though her hands were empty. So empty. Would she ever be able to fill them?
Kit appeared beside her. “What’s wrong, Meg? Did I hurt you?”
She glanced at him. “Hurt me?” She resumed staring at the creek. “I don’t think you could hurt me if you tried.”
“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”
She sucked in a deep breath and sighed it away then faced him. “Nothing’s wrong. I liked your kiss very much.”
One corner of his mouth twitched, but his gaze remained sober. “We should talk, then.”
“About?”
He thrust a hand through his hair.
’Twas the first time she’d seen him discomposed. She was charmed, and heartened. He’d seemed so perfectly perfect for her. That’d frightened her. His loss of confidence in the face of their kiss reassured her that the man she loved possessed at least one weakness.
Evidently, I can love him.
“What should we talk about, Kit?”
“Us? Our relationship? Marriage? Our feelings? Some of those? All of those? I don’t know.”
“Nor do I. I do know we both need time to think about what we want and need.”
“You want to think about all of that?”
“Perhaps more. I won’t rush into anything, especially with Brookbank’s threats looming.”
“If we married, you’d be safe from him and any other plot your father might hatch.”
Placing a hand on his arm, she formed a soft smile. “You’d forever wonder if I truly loved you or only married you for protection.”
“I would never…”
The truth of that possibility dropped his jaw.
“I like to think I’d never doubt you,” he said. “However, you have a point. If you choose to marry me, you should do so because you want to, not because you feel you have to.”
“Then you’ll respect my wish to wait and think carefully while we do?”
“I’ll always respect your wishes, no matter what you decide.”
She nodded and cast a quick glance at the western horizon. Surprisingly, the sun still rode high in the heavens.
“We’d best leave. Father will expect me home soon. Fortunately, Beuth gave me the ribbons at his shop. I won’t have to stop to fetch them. He ordered them for me to ensure Father and Brookbank would believe my errand to be an honest one.”
Kit helped her pack up and handed her into the curricle. “I’ll not return with you. If anyone saw us, they might report to your father or Brookbank.”
She sighed. “I agree. I shall miss your company, Kit Copefort.”
“And I yours, Meg Fenneman. Come to me, or send for me if you feel imminent danger from Brookbank.”
“I can handle myself.”
Kit gripped her hand. “Promise me.”
“I find myself wanting to refuse you nothing. I promise.”
“Good, now get you gone.”
She felt him watch her drive away.
Time would crawl before she saw him again.
His plan was good, but he risked as much or more than she.
He would march straight into battle with violent criminals.
The chance of injury, or worse was monstrous.
All she could do was wait. The idea chaffed.
What alternative was there? None, if she wished to lull the villains into over-confidence.