He pulled a face, the black eye she’d given him darker than the other in the evening shadows. “For what?”
“For being—” She paused. What was the right word? “Trustworthy.” She’d believed in Michael, and yet he’d proven she shouldn’t have. He had never been completely honest with her, and that had been part of her discontent and frustration with living under his roof. He’d certainly never apologized for leading her on.
But this man...
Silvery eyes studied her a moment. She wished she could read his thoughts. He’d become quiet.
He shifted. That is when she realized their legs were practically intertwined. Her breasts rested on his chest. Her nipples were hard, and her hip rested on his—
Kit sat up, changing their position. It put some space between the two of them, and she wished he hadn’t moved.
He cleared his throat and then said, “Youshouldn’ttrust me. I behaved poorly. I was irritated when I walked off. I thought only of myself, and thingscouldhave gone the wrong way. A brute like Tommy should have won.”
“But he didn’t.”
“A few moments ago, you were furious with me. Rightfully so.” There was a pause. Silvery eyes met hers and then looked away. “Stay that way.”
Elise frowned. A small white butterfly zigzagged along the bank as if she had lost her way home. She looked lonely and confused in the day’s ending. Unmoored... much the way Elise felt.
She should not entertain feelings for Kit, and she was beginning to. She must remember that she was Miss Elise Lanscarr, the reigning “Flower of the London Season.” The Lanscarrs were gentry. They belonged to a certain class.
That didn’t mean she couldn’t be appreciative of what he’d done for her.
Elise swung her attention from the hapless butterfly back to him. “Regardless, I was very lucky to have your help.”
“Don’t forget the stalwart Tamsyn.”
Tamsyn wagged her tail at the mention of her name. Elise ran her hand over the dog’s head. “You were both brave.”
“You are actually a good fighter yourself, Elise.”
“I am.” She savored that idea a moment. “I can be quite bold.”
“That you are.” He smiled, revealing the dimples.
A woman could bask for hours in his smile. And then she realized she had one question. “Why do you ask about my father?”
Kit moved to sit on one of the large roots as if it was a stool.
More space between them.
“You mentioned him when you were angry. You also said he was the reason you let your guard down around Simon. I wonder at a father who lets his daughter travel alone.”
She’d hoped Kit hadn’t heard her reference toher father. “He’s dead.” She didn’t mean to sound so curt, but there it was. A world of sorrow was hidden in those two blunt words. She tried to soften her tone, her pain. “He was declared dead by the magistrate a little over a year ago.”
“Declared dead?”
“Yes, we don’t know where he died. He was a military man and”—she smiled sadly—“a gambler. He never could pass up a game of cards when money was involved. When he sold his colors, he didn’t return to Wiltham but had to go wherever he thought there was a good play.”
“Wiltham? This is a place in Ireland?”
She nodded. “It’s our family home, from my mother’s side. She died shortly after I was born. Papa always returned but his stays were never longer than a visit. He would appear once or sometimes twice a year with his arms loaded with presents. He’d be with us a while, almost a week, but then he’d need to leave. Gram said hehadto go. He was a bit like you, I suppose. Wanting to wander.”
“But his death was never confirmed?” Kit sounded a bit stunned by the possibility.
Elise shook her head. “When we noticed how long it had been since he’d visited, Gram sent letters to the last place he’d posted a letter to us. There were no answers. It was as if he’d vanished.”
“You have no proof of death?”
