“We won’t?” In the ensuing silence, Kate worried that she’d sounded disappointed. “I mean, of course we won’t. I’ve no desire to marry you. I’m going to tell the Gramercys so right now.”
“That would be a mistake.” His hands went to her shoulders, keeping her in place. “Hear me now. You’re overwhelmed.”
“I’m not over—”
Her voice broke. She couldn’t even find the strength to complete the objection. Of course she was overwhelmed. Overwhelmed, exhausted, confused. And it was at least partly his fault. Perhaps mostly his fault.
To his credit, he didn’t deny it.
“It’s the end of a very long day,” he said. “Your schoolmistress treated you ill. The cart driver treated you ill. I treated you worst of all. Then these people show up with their fairy tale, their pockets full of candy and riches. You want to see the best in them, because that’s your nature. But I tell you, there’s something not right about them and their story.”
“What makes you say that?”
A long hesitation. “It’s a feeling.”
She opened her eyes and regarded him keenly. “A feeling? I thought you didn’t possess those.”
He ignored her baiting comment. “You can’t be sure what they’re after. They’re not yet sure of you. This is a risky situation, and you have no guardian or relations to safeguard your interests. That leaves me. But I can’t claim an interest in your well-being without making some claim on you.”
A claim on you. Kate didn’t know how to take those words. Her whole life, no one had ever tried to make any claim on her. Now two in one night.
The entire situation had an air of unreality about it. The lateness of the hour, the string of coincidences, the sheer strangeness of the Gramercys. She didn’t know whom or what she could trust at the moment—after the foolish way she’d thrown herself at Thorne that afternoon, her own desperate heart seemed the least reliable thing of all.
She needed an ally. But him?
“You’re honestly suggesting we pretend to be engaged? You. And me.”
He frowned. “I don’t do playacting, Miss Taylor. There’d be nothing pretend about it. I’m proposing a real betrothal, so that I can offer you real protection. As soon as your situation is more certain, you can release me.”
“Release you,” she echoed.
“From the engagement. A lady can break an engagement at any time, and her reputation suffers no ill effects. If you’re proved to be a Gramercy, no one would expect you to go through with marrying me.”
“And if I’m not proved to be a Gramercy?”
His brow quirked. “No one would expect you to go through with it then, either.”
She supposed they wouldn’t. As all of Spindle Cove knew, she and Thorne were the social equivalent of oil and water. They didn’t mix.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, searching his hard expression for clues. “Why do you care?”
“Why do I—” With a gruff sigh, he released her. “It’s my duty to look out for you, Miss Taylor. In the next fortnight I’ll be seeing Lord Rycliff about my honorable discharge. If I’ve just handed his wife’s closest friend to the custody of questionable strangers, he might not look so favorably on my request.”
“Oh,” she said. “I see. That does make sense.”
Well, at least his stone-hearted, emotionless response was a touch of the familiar.
“I’m sorry,” she said, turning to the Gramercys. “I should have mentioned the engagement earlier.” She reached for Thorne’s hand and tried to gaze affectionately into his eyes. “It’s only so new. We haven’t even had time to tell our friends, have we . . .” Her voice trailed off as she realized she didn’t even know his Christian name.
Use a pet name, she told herself. An endearment. Dear, darling, sweetheart, pet, love. Anything.
“ . . . have we, Cuddles?” she finished, smiling sweetly.
Ah. Now there was a crack in the ice sheeting those blue eyes. His grip tensed around her palm. Kate felt oddly comforted by these overt signs of his annoyance. Somehow, needling him made this all seem normal again.
Lord Drewe stood tall in the center of the room, radiating nobility and command. “Here is what will happen.”
And Kate had sudden, complete confidence that whatever Lord Drewe said next would indeed happen. Even if he announced that spice drops would rain from the sky.
“Miss Taylor, I can see that we’re rushing you. You have this midsummer fair in the offing, personal affairs to attend. And naturally, you’re reluctant to leave when you’re so newly betrothed.”
She leaned into Thorne’s arm. “Yes, of course.”
“Obviously, we can’t ask you to leave Spindle Cove at this time.”
She exhaled with relief. Thank goodness. Lord Drewe was a clear-headed man, and he understood. He would return with his family to Ambervale, undertake his investigations, and notify her of the result. In writing, perhaps, rather than with a midnight visit.
“You’re busy,” Lord Drewe went on, “whereas we are merely on holiday. But there’s no reason we can’t spend our holiday here.”