Trial by Desire (Carhart #2)

He shrugged again and lapsed into silence. It was in silence they walked through the main thoroughfare of the village. It was not a wealthy place, but neither was it beaten down by poverty. The little touches—the marigolds growing in a riotous mass in a box, the woodwork on the outside beams of the carpenter’s shop—suggested that this was a place that was well-loved. Ned, likely, had taken in those details instantly. But it seemed as if this were the first time Kate was noticing them. “It is a beautiful morning,” she said as they passed the inn. The door was open several inches; inside, she could hear the rumbling voice of the innkeeper, ordering his lackeys to wrangle someone’s luggage and ready some room for the coming day. Aside from those gruff orders, the silence held. Perhaps, later this morning, the taproom would come alive with noise. Now, maybe one or two people breakfasted inside. They might glance outside and see Kate and Ned pass through, arm in arm, in companionable silence.

She wondered what they would make of the sight. Would they see a happily married couple, strolling arm in arm?

Would they be wrong?

“I hope I haven’t given offense. I intended no insult. In truth…” She looked up at him. “In truth, I think you’re good for me in that way. You’re fanciful without ever crossing the line into foolishness. I can be…practical.” She swallowed and stared straight ahead.

This was the want she’d held deep inside her, suspended all those years. This rush of vulnerability. She wanted to be swept away. She wanted to be safe.

She wanted to shut her eyes and let her hopes carry her, like the rising floodwaters coming from some torrential downpour. She wanted to believe that if she ever did falter, he would be there to catch her. She wanted to tell him about Louisa.

And she didn’t know if it was her own hopes she trusted in, or the real strength of her husband.

“I can be as practical as I must about our marriage,” Kate finished. “But Ned…I don’t want to be.”

He stopped and looked down at her. “And here I was thinking I couldn’t be any luckier. I was strolling about on a fine morning, with the loveliest woman in all of England on my arm. I was positive everyone about me would be overcome with jealousy at my good fortune.” He fitted his hand to her cheek. His touch was cool, for an instant, before her skin heated his palm.

“Ned. We’re in full view of the taproom. We can’t see through the darkened windows doesn’t mean they can’t see us—”

“Hang the taproom,” he said, “and indulge my fancy.” And then he leaned down and kissed her. It was a very public kiss—discreet enough to only be one shade darker than was proper. His lips touched hers for a bare instant. Still, he laid claim to her in public. Her toes curled in her half boots; her feet stopped aching.

And when he pulled away, he looked at her without smiling. “Hang practicality,” he told her.

“Ned,” Kate said carefully, as they resumed their walk, “would you dare throw me out of your room two nights in a row?”

They passed the inn before he answered. “No,” he finally said, his voice low. “No. I don’t believe I would.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE MUCH-ANTICIPATED EVENING approached with all the weight of a coach-and-four. Still, to Kate’s mind, it moved forward at the speed of an incoming snail.

After they returned from their walk, Ned retired to the library to review some papers that had been sent up from London; Kate took the time to talk with the housekeeper and the bailiff about some of the tenant farms. In the afternoon, Ned left to spend time with Champion.

What Ned hadn’t done was search for Louisa, as he’d promised Harcroft. Kate pondered this conundrum through the hours that passed.

Did Ned know more than he’d admitted? Had he gathered from Kate’s reticence that she wished Harcroft’s venture ill? And would he truly choose her over his friend? She almost believed he would—and yet she couldn’t quite banish that last flutter of fear from her belly. Maybe after this evening, she would trust him enough to speak. After she’d cunsulted with Louisa on the morrow.

Time crawled, and Kate struggled to fill it, with the awareness that evening was hours and hours away. She found herself walking the halls, pacing between the parlor and the entry. On her fifth pass back, her wandering was interrupted.

“Ah. Lady Kathleen. There you are.” The voice was deep and masculine—but it wasn’t Ned’s. Kate whirled around and gasped in surprise.

Harcroft was standing in front of her. He blocked the hallway, his arms folded cavalierly. He seemed like some sort of sinister angel, with all that blond hair and those bright blue eyes. He tapped his lips and watched her, as keenly as a cat watching a moth flutter against the wall.

“You know where she is.” It was a flat pronouncement, not a question.

Kate tamped down the fear that trickled into her belly. He couldn’t know what she knew. If he did, he wouldn’t be here. He’d be five miles from here, out threatening his own wife. But he had to know something, or he’d be halfway to Chelsea by now.

“Harcroft. What are you doing here? Did you forget something? Has something happened to your carriage? Can I be of service?”