A Lady by Midnight (Spindle Cove #3)

“Have they found some proof?” he asked.

She shook her head. “But Evan says there’s proof enough for him. The birthmark, the parish register, the painting. And . . . I simply seem to fit. So they’re making me part of the family. They want me to come with them to Town, to Ambervale . . . everywhere.”

As she spoke of it, her face lit up. There she went again, glowing with happiness. Like a star, only further out of his reach.

He told himself not to be churlish. Perhaps this was the best possible outcome. The Gramercys . . . maybe they truly were just odd, not sinister. If they would accept her, with no further inquiries into her past . . . Katie could have a glittering new life. She would never be forced to face the horrid truth.

This was good for her. And for him. He could go to America and not worry for her. He would think of her, always. But he wouldn’t have to worry.

“Thorne,” she whispered, “you should come. They’re expecting it.”

He shook his head. “Time’s growing too short. My ship leaves from Hastings in just a few weeks. I suppose I could escort you as far as—”

Her hand clasped his. “I’m not asking you escort me,” she said gently. “I’m asking you to come with me. And stay with me. With the family.”

Stay? With the family?

He gazed at her in disbelief. “If you don’t feel safe with them on your own, you needn’t go.”

“I feel perfectly safe. That’s not my meaning.” She paused. “I want you there, too. I know your own childhood was . . . less than idyllic.”

He harrumphed. “Something less than it. Yes.”

“Well, perhaps this can be your chance to feel a part of something larger than yourself. Part of a strange, delightful, loving family. Don’t you want that, deep inside? Just a little?”

“I could never be a part of that.”

“Why not?”

He blew out a breath. “You don’t know me.”

She bit her lip. “But I do. I do know you. Because I know myself. And I’ve been a lonely person, too.” She took another step toward him, speaking softly. “I know how it wears on a soul. How it eats little pieces of your heart at unexpected times. How you can go whole weeks happily occupied, feeling no melancholy or deprivation, and then the smallest thing . . . Someone opens a letter, perhaps. Or stitches up a ripped garment that belongs to someone else. And it makes you realize how . . . adrift you are. Not tied to anyone.”

“I don’t—”

“And don’t try to tell me that you have no emotions. That you’re incapable of feeling anything at all. I know there’s a heart in there.”

It would seem there was. The cursed thing was pounding like a damned drum.

“Think this through,” he said sternly. “You’re not making sense. If the Gramercys make you part of their family, you will move in new circles of society. You could have a gentleman for a husband.”

“A gentleman who wants me for connections and money? Perhaps. I’d rather have the man who wants me.” She slid her arms around his neck. “You said you wanted me once.”

Her nearness tormented him. Like all the ladies, she’d taken a great deal of care with her appearance today. Embroidered flowers covered the overskirt of her lavender gown. The high waistline of her bodice plumped her br**sts like twin pillows—pillows edged with gold lace. She wore ribbons and flowers carefully braided into her hair.

It was far too quiet. They were much too alone.

“Of course I want you,” he said roughly. “Every thought in my head is of you. Tasting you, touching you, taking you in ways your innocent mind can’t even fathom. I don’t know a cursed thing about art or music or Aristotle. My every thought is crude and base and so far beneath you, it might as well be on the opposite side of the earth.”

Her cheeks colored. “I’ve told you, you’re not beneath me.”

Damn it. How could he make her understand?

“I own four books. Four.”

She laughed a little. “What on earth does that signify?”

“It signifies everything. Your life is about to change, forever. I won’t let you cling to me just because you’re scared. It’s not right. It’s not what’s best.”

She moved closer. “We could marry, Thorne. I’m not asking for much. You can just . . . be yourself, and I’ll amuse myself trying to make you happy. I know it’ll be a challenge, but I’m strangely keen to try.”

“For God’s sake, Katie. Why?”

“I don’t know how to explain it.” Her gaze searched his face. “Have you ever known true hunger, Thorne? Not just a missed meal or two, but prolonged deprivation. No proper food for days on end.”

He let a few seconds pass before affirming it. “Weeks.”

Years.

“Then you must understand. Even now, surrounded by plenty, food looks different to you than it does to others, doesn’t it? It tastes richer, means more. Years later, and you can’t bring yourself to let the smallest scrap go to waste.”