Page 36 of A Courtship of Conspiracies
“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.
Chapter 13
James
James darted into the frenzied scene in front of the inn, icy drizzle instantly seeping through his damp coat. Desperate shouts pierced the air, and he quickened his pace to a run as he followed the innkeeper through the throng of people scattering in every direction.
Footsteps behind him told him he was not alone in his anxious desire to reach the bridge. He braced himself for what they would discover when they arrived and said a silent prayer of thanks for the last five years that had schooled him to meet uncertainty with calm and confidence.
Except Kate. Every time he was near her, all rational thought fled and he was nothing but a torrent of longing and desperation—and he did not know what to do with any of it.
The one thing he knew for certain was that she had to remain safe, and the only way to ensure that was distance. Kate had to stay separate from his world and untouched by its secrets, an increasingly difficult task when every part of him came alive in her company.
He groaned inwardly as he pressed toward the river, keeping pace with the man beside him. Rain poured down in waves, plastering his coat to his back and turning the road into a river of mud. He could not believe he had almost kissed Kate. The relief at seeing her unharmed had overwhelmed his reason. He needed her to accept his proposal, not let longing blur the boundaries that were meant to shield her from harm.
James heard the commotion at the bridge before he could see it clearly. Horses whinnying in desperate fear, a woman shouting, and the cacophonous roar of rushing water. A sharp crack snapped through the disorder, a warning of what was to come.
He took in the scene as he approached, his mind analyzing the chaos. The aged wooden bridge had obviously proved no match for the turbulent river after days of relentless rain. Its middle planks had almost completely disappeared. A tangled mess of tree limbs and debris rushed past.
The few planks closest to the inn were still intact thanks to the stone abutment, but the rest of the bridge was minutes from being carried away in the torrent of water, along with an unfortunate carriage that had attempted to cross the bridge at precisely the wrong moment.
The carriage was tipped at a precarious angle, one back wheel almost completely swallowed by the collapsed edge of the bridge.
The coachman was attempting to calm the horses, but they continued to toss their heads and stomp in wild-eyed panic. Between the horses’ frantic movements and the river debris slamming into the weakening structure, they had little time before the entire structure collapsed.
