Page 17 of A Courtship of Conspiracies
She shifted, trying to find a less impossible position, but the narrow gap between the chilled window and the hangings forced her closer to James until the entire side of her body was pressedup against his. Every inch of distance she had fought to keep all evening vanished behind the curtain, as did a small piece of her resolve.
A shiver ran through her, though she refused to consider whether it was from nerves, the draft from the window, or the effort it took to restrain herself from leaning into James. He lowered his head, his voice barely audible. “Easy, Kate. I have you.”
Kate was certain James would protect her, yet the flickering shadows at the edge of the curtain warned of a danger that could threaten them both.
Chapter 7
James
James cursed himself for getting Kate into this predicament. He had failed to escort her out of the library before the men arrived, and now she was chilled near the window in her light gown. He cautiously slid his arm around her and drew her into the shelter of his side. Scandalous, perhaps, but if the men in the room had anything to do with Henry’s death, as he suspected, then a few moments of impropriety were worth keeping her warm and safe. Besides, she was his intended. Almost. Was it strange that he was starting to think of her as his? But whatever claim he had or wished to have meant nothing if he failed to keep her safe.
Kate was a breath away from dangerous men, and he had never known a fear quite like this. Yet holding her close roused a distinctly unwelcome awareness. He only needed to lower his head a fraction and his lips would brush the soft skin of Kate’s neck. It had been hard enough to resist this invisible pull toward her when she was across the ballroom or dancing in his arms,but this? This was torture. He summoned every ounce of his self-control and turned his head away.
Kate remained stiff for a moment and then, blessedly, relaxed against him. She fit there with unsettling ease. He forced his attention back to the threat on the other side of the curtains, though the woman in his arms made that more difficult than he cared to admit.
The door opened, and another set of footsteps entered before the door clicked shut again. The faint scent of tobacco filled the air. An unfamiliar voice, deep and smooth, muttered a few indistinct words in French. The other voice, rough and menacing, responded impatiently.
He strained to hear their whispered conversation, his nerves sharpening as he translated what he could and committed the words to memory.
“. . .envoi perdu?”A lost shipment?
A shipment of what? His frustration mounted at catching only fragments of the exchange, but he would not try moving closer, not with Kate here. The voices suddenly stopped. Had he and Kate given away their presence? He met her widening eyes as they stood frozen. The quiet hush in the room was absolute save the crackling of the fire. Then, hurried whispers.
“La livraison est confirmée. L’après-demain,à onze heures du soir, sous les branches du grand chêne.”
The drop is confirmed, one of them had said. The night after tomorrow, eleven o’clock under the branches of the big oak.
“Tu sais ce qui va se passer si tu trompes encore une fois.”
You know what happens if you make another mistake, the other growled.
Then, in English. “See that it’s done. This is your last chance.”
Silence reclaimed the room. He squeezed Kate’s shoulder, a wordless reassurance even as his own heart thundered. Sheleaned into him, her forehead resting against his chest as they both held their breath. The feel of her in his arms—depending on him, trusting him—made focusing on anything else almost impossible. She was becoming the one distraction he could ill afford, making it dangerously easy to forget why he could never allow her to see the shadows he lived in. Around her, the truths he kept buried pressed too close to the surface. One careless admission, a single misplaced confidence, and Kate could be pulled into a world she was never meant to see.
James drew on years of training to steady himself as he tracked every sound in the room. The scratch of a quill. Ripping paper. Low murmurs. The leg of a chair scraping against the floor. A shuffling stride and the door closing with a soft thud.
James waited, unmoving, for the space of several heartbeats. Only then did he allow himself to relax a little.
“They’re gone,” he whispered.
Neither moved. The air between them was charged with more than the secrets they had overheard. Kate pulled away first, and he was unsettled by how reluctant he was to let her go.
“Since the mysterious gentlemen have left,” Kate observed dryly, “perhaps we can move to the other side of the curtain now.”
Her voice was calm, and it irked him that she was so untouched by their closeness when he had been anything but. But he also admired her composure. Most ladies of his acquaintance would be reaching for their smelling salts after enduring what she had.
“Are you certain you wish to move that far away from me?” he asked, masking his uncertainty with a rakish grin. “I rather thought you were enjoying the proximity.”
He worried Kate saw more than he intended to show, but when a flush climbed up her cheeks, he knew his flippancy haddistracted her. She threw aside the heavy curtains. The library beyond lay empty.
“Why do you suppose those men were meeting here tonight?” she asked as they crossed the room toward the fireplace.
He paused, weighing his answer carefully. He was unsure how much she had understood. A half-whispered conversation in French through curtains would be a challenge for anyone. But if she had heard anything of consequence, surely she would not appear so composed.
He forced an easy shrug. “A payment of debts? A business deal gone wrong? What are your thoughts?”
“That it was nothing of significance,” she said lightly.
