Page 42 of A Courtship of Conspiracies
“As friends.” His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth. “Is that truly how you view us?”
“For now.” She could not promise him more than that yet, but perhaps it was a place to begin. “I am determined to go to Dover, but I would rather not go alone. I would like you there beside me—as a friend and as a partner.”
His smile faded, replaced by grim resolve. She knew what his answer would be. She did not resent his wish to protect her. After the terror in the alleyway and the man watching her at the bookshop, she welcomed it. But if he saw her only as something to guard, he would never truly see or accept her at all. She let her hands slip from his. He did not stop her.
“I am going with you to Dover,” he said, his voice quiet but unyielding. “I will keep you safe and see you safely home, but do not mistake my presence for a partnership. You are too bright to live among the shadows.” He cupped her cheek before he drew back. “We agreed on five weeks. I had meant to use that time to court you, Kate. Now I fear I will spend it merely trying to keep you alive.”
Kate stilled. He wasn’t offering to join her. He was offering to guard her. The sting of his refusal warned her that her feelings for him had grown into something precarious, and the tenderness in his touch only made that truth harder to bear. She had promised herself she would not fall for a man who did not accept her fully, yet here she was, heart aching, over a man who still thought protecting her meant keeping her behind him.
She leaned away from him, a flicker of anger gathering where the hurt had landed.
“Have you given up trying to earn the right for me to call you by your name, then?”
“Never. But I would rather have you call me a stranger for the rest of my life than allow harm to come to you because I was not there.”
A stable door slammed shut, the sound echoing in the darkness. James rose abruptly, the movement stiff.
“I have a few details to settle regarding the bridge repair. If we are to leave for Dover at first light, I had best go and take care of them,” he said.
She slipped her arm through his, but as they walked back through the moonlight, the coldness between them had returned. The man who had lingered over her poetry notes beside the fire was gone. In his place stood someone careful, guarded, and painfully distant. A man willing to stand between her and danger but not beside her in it.
Kate stifled a yawn as she entered the inn yard, the dark of night slowly giving way to the pale yellows of early morning. James checked the straps and spoke quietly with Jones, the coachman, while Tess and the other servants packed the carriage. They were to travel first to Dover to investigate The Great Dover Shipping Company and then to pay a short visit to Aunt Edith to uphold their masquerade.
Kate was pleased to see that little Arthur was already awake and outside. She would have been disappointed to leave without bidding him farewell.
The boy and dog chased each other around the yard until Leo yelped and bounded off to the forest, stopping just inside the tree line. His bark, playful in the yard, now held a frantic edge.
“Leo! Leo! Come back!” Arthur yelled.
Though his barking echoed across the yard, no one else seemed to take notice. Kate frowned at Leo’s odd behavior. His body stiffened, his ears pricked toward something she could not see.
“Come, Arthur,” Kate said, reaching out to him as she pushed aside her unease. “Why don’t we go see the small creature that has Leo in such an agitated state this morning?”
He took her hand, and they walked together across the yard as the brief morning sunlight disappeared behind gray clouds, a brisk wind biting her cheeks.
As they approached Leo beneath the trees, his bark turned to whines. “What is it, Leo?” Kate asked. Curiosity pulled her forward. The dog barked again, tense and full of warning. She saw a boot, large and unmoving, partially covered by the leaves that littered the muddy forest floor.
Her stomach turned, and she moved forward, quickly covering Arthur’s eyes. Cold shock ran through her as the grim picture came into focus. The dark wool coat, the kind countenance, the unruly tuft of white hair.
Mr. Ashcombe lay before her—unmistakably, horrifyingly dead.
Chapter 15
James
James broke into a run the instant the scream cut through the air, but when he recognized the sound as Kate’s, cold dread seized his chest. He rounded the corner of the inn, mud slipping beneath his boots.
Relief flooded him at the sight of Kate standing there, then faltered when he saw her pale face and Arthur clinging to her skirts.
“Kate, what . . .” His words caught as he followed her gaze to the trees. A body.
Unwelcome memories assailed him, threatening his composure. He willed his racing heart to calm. He forced his attention back to Kate, striding toward her. The thought that she had been the one to find it turned his stomach. His gaze swept over her and the boy, searching for injury. “You’re safe, Arthur,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended, giving the boy’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
He wrapped his arms around Kate, pulling her fiercely into his chest. She leaned in, holding him tight as she clutched theback of his coat. He should draw back but found he couldn’t. She fit against him too well, as though she had always belonged there.
“Lord Brenton, are you gonna do something ’bout Mr. Ashcombe?” Arthur asked.
He glanced at the boy without releasing Kate, glad her trembling had eased. “You know who this is?”
