Page 52 of A Courtship of Conspiracies
He yielded to his wiser instincts and donned his discarded shirt before sitting obediently on the rickety chair. Kate narrowed the space between them. As she lifted his arm to assess the cuts, he noticed the blush remained high in her cheeks, her gaze straying to where his linen shirt pulled across his chest.
While she inspected his wrists, he was free to study the soft tendrils framing her face and the curve of her throat. Longing tangled with the urge to keep her safe.
She opened the jar, and a pungent, medicinal scent filled the small room.
He instantly recoiled. “What the blazes is that?”
“It is a healing ointment of comfrey and herbs. It will aid your recovery and soothe any irritation.” She dipped two fingers into the jar and massaged the foul-smelling ointment into his skin. Perhaps the smell was a fair price for her touch.
“Is this going to be the pattern between us, then?” she asked lightly, still tending his wrists.
Her question reached deeper than her teasing tone. James knew he ought to laugh it off, but instead, he found himself imagining it—an impossible glimpse of the future before he could stop it. A lifetime of her healing his wounds, of them finding their way through the shadows together. He forced it away. It was nothing but a foolish dream for someone like him.
“What? You rescuing me?” He meant to keep his voice teasing, but it betrayed him.
“No, you getting injured,” she countered, her fingers continuing their work, “and me helping to pick up the pieces after.”
The familiarity of her touch unsettled him far more than the sting in his wrists. It felt entirely too natural to have her here, as if they had done this a hundred times before. As if he were actually allowed to get this close to someone.
And suddenly, the future he had just dismissed felt within reach—years of darkness and secrecy balanced with her steadiness and light. He felt a surge of something desperately, dangerously akin to hope.
James had little to prepare before they departed, a consequence of chasing after Kate with more urgency than foresight. Fortunately, his valet had been instructed to meet them at Lady Hawthorne’s with a change of clothes. He did not relish smelling like the docks or remaining in clothes that made him look like a man who had been dragged through a warehouse.
He settled their bill with the innkeeper and met the others in the innyard where Kate’s carriage waited with her trunk and baggage. Apollo shook his head as James brushed a hand over his mane. The horse seemed eager to leave, but the wistfulness on Kate’s face stopped James before he mounted.
“Kate, what is it? Has something happened?”
“No, I am simply dreading being confined in the carriage, even if it is only for a few hours.”
“Would you like to ride? We can inquire about hiring a mount for you.”
“Truly?” Her eyes brightened, then dimmed. “I did not pack my riding habit.” She paused. “But this traveling gown perhaps would serve well enough since it is a short journey.” She glanced at Tess, hopeful.
The maid pinched her lips in disapproval but acquiesced with a nod. “Very well, my lady. Perhaps we should wait in the carriage while Lord Brenton attends to the details?” Tess guided Kate toward the carriage while James went in search of the innkeeper.
When James returned leading a dark brown mare with ears flicking attentively, Kate approached with an outstretched hand.The mare nuzzled her palm instantly. “She is perfect,” Kate remarked, her smile unmistakable.
“The innkeeper assured me she is gentle and intelligent.” James patted the mare’s neck, offering Kate a soft smile. “She seemed like a fitting partner for the road.”
“Thank you for allowing me to ride.”
“I did not allow you anything. You are more than capable, and if you wish to ride, I see no reason to object. Shall I assist you in mounting?”
She nodded. James placed his hands around her waist and lifted her into the sidesaddle in one smooth movement. He let his touch linger a moment longer than strictly necessary, then forced himself to take a step back. She smiled down at him, her blue eyes sparkling in the morning light.
He mounted Apollo, and they settled into a familiar rhythm as they rode out of town. The carriage trailed behind, wheels clattering softly along the narrow lane. Filtered sunlight warmed the wintry air, and each glance at Kate threatened his concentration.
“I have forgotten how much I love riding,” she said, contentment in her voice.
“Do you ride often then?”
“As often as I am permitted with my social obligations. I would much rather go riding on Sage than sit through afternoon callers.”
“Even if the caller is the most charming man of your acquaintance?”
“You mean Lord Alverton?”
“I was thinking of a Mr. Thorne.”
