She peered up at him, her blue eyes mesmerizing, wisps of hair framing her face. He gently stroked the back of her hand with his thumb and wondered for one unguarded moment what she would do if he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.
Before he could explore that idea further, Kate let out a tiny gasp and turned. Gathering Tess with a glance, she made her way toward the door.
“Kate.”
She stopped at the sound of his voice, turning toward him, waiting.
“Sleep well,” he said, his eyes never leaving her.
“Good night,” she whispered.
The door closed behind her, leaving James alone in the firelight with his injury and the sharp ache of restraint. He realized with sudden clarity that whatever fragile thing had begun between them, it was already more than he ever intended. And far more than he was prepared to lose.
Chapter 14
Kate
Kate had listened to the tale of James’s heroics at the river no fewer than seven times during the last two days. Though she would never admit it openly, she enjoyed every telling, which was fortunate as she would likely hear it again. While the road to Dover remained open, the washed-out bridge had cut off any direct route to London. James seemed to take it for granted that they would return to the city as soon as the last piece of timber was laid, but Kate had other plans. She only had to figure out how to persuade him to accompany her to Dover. Failing that, she would find another way to continue on without him.
The broken bridge also forced every London-bound traveler to stop. The inn, already crowded, was now bursting at the seams with guests from every station.
“Look at Leo, Miss Kate! He’s already a strong one.” She sat on a rug in front of the hearth, Arthur curled in her lap, while Leo clenched a worn blanket between his teeth, growling in triumph as Arthur tugged back. Firelight wrapped around them like a warm embrace.
“He is, indeed.” She ruffled his hair, enjoying his easy affection. Arthur’s laughter at Leo’s antics rang out across the private room, bright and joyful even after the frightful accident.
She could not erase the image of James on the bridge from her mind. She had been unable to resist rushing out after him and could still feel the icy rain beating on her cloak as she watched. He had faced danger with a capable confidence that should have been alarming. Instead, it was vexingly attractive.
“Mama!” Arthur rose from Kate’s lap, rushing to hug his mother, Mrs. Grant, around her leg as she approached. She gave him an affectionate squeeze. “Have you been obedient to Lady Katherine, Arthur?”
“Yes, mum.”
Kate grabbed the arm of a chair for balance and rose from the rug. “We had a wonderful afternoon playing with Leo,” Kate assured her. With the cramped accommodations, Kate and Arthur’s mother had become well acquainted as they spent most of their daylight hours in the private parlor.
“Mrs. Peters even brought biscuits!” Arthur exclaimed.
Mrs. Grant glanced down at her son. “Did she, indeed? It appears your afternoon has been pleasant.” Arthur gave her one last hug and returned to Leo, who held fast to the tattered remains of the blanket in his teeth.
Mrs. Grant stepped forward. “Lady Katherine, how can I ever thank you for your kindness toward my son?”
“It is my pleasure, truly. Arthur is such a sweet boy.”
“He is,” Mrs. Grant admitted, “though quite a spirited lad at times with such a lively and curious disposition.”
“He certainly enjoys telling stories, especially regarding what happened on the bridge.” Kate smiled at the memory of Arthur regaling the other travelers of his harrowing adventure.
“I can hardly blame him for sharing it. He would not be here were it not for Lord Brenton’s heroics.” She gave Kate a knowing smile. “It is no wonder you are so taken with the man.”
Kate let out a small gasp. Her reaction seemed to amuse Mrs. Grant, who apparently was not finished. “Almost as much as he is taken with you.”
Heat crept up Kate’s face. She cleared her throat. “Pray excuse me. I need to speak with Mrs. Peters.”
Mrs. Grant smiled at her, clearly amused.
Kate pushed open the door to the common room, pausing to scan the busy scene. The front door opened with a violent bang, admitting a small gust of rain-scented air and a group of weary men led by James. Though the clouds persisted, the rain had abated enough for the men to work on building a temporary bridge. James had taken charge of the project and, amid the chaos, had exchanged little more than awkward pleasantries with Kate since he the night he had read her poetry book.
A high-pitched, tinkling laugh echoed through the room. Kate cringed. That was the other reason there had been no conversation with James. Belinda Tolliver. She and her father, a well-to-do merchant from Sussex, had arrived two days before. Since then, Miss Tolliver had found every excuse to be near James. Or touching him if she could manage it. She was currently draped on James’s arm, peering up at him with unabashed adoration.
He smiled down at her, drawing another bright peal from her lips. Surely he could not possibly be that amusing. A sour resentment tightened in Kate. She turned away, hurrying to her quarters before he could catch her watching.
