something. He plucked out a little sack and walked away.
The horse—Champion, Ned had called the beast—watched him warily, turning sidelong to keep one eye on him as he walked. Ned whistled tunelessly and peered off into the distance, out at the short, scrubby stretch of trees that blanketed the nearby hill. Just as casually, he began tossing a tiny object from hand to hand. Kate caught a glimpse of white as it danced back and forth a few times, before he lobbed it off into the yellowing grass. He threw it with a sidelong motion, as if he were skipping a stone on the sea of shorn stubble.
Kate took two steps closer, her hands closing on the fence rail.
Champion’s nostrils flared at Ned’s sudden movement. He backed away, hastily. Ned turned from the horse. As he did, he caught sight of Kate. He stopped dead, and the small smile he’d been wearing slipped away. He didn’t say a word. Instead, he walked back to the cart. Once there, he donned his waistcoat and then his cravat, pulling the cloth around his neck. He tied the knot with grave finality. Then he advanced on her.
Behind him, Champion laid his ears back in dire warning to any predators that might attack. He stamped his feet—once, twice. Then he trotted forward, lowered his head, and lipped up whatever Ned had thrown at him.
Ned still hadn’t said anything. But as he came upon her, he put his hand in that sack again. He set another object on the fence post in front of him. In the sunlight, the thumb-sized object gleamed like a lump of white porcelain.
“Come,” he said to Kate. “Walk with me.”
Kate’s corset seemed to tighten. Hot lines of whalebone pressed into her ribs while she tried to draw in a pained breath. Some trick of the light made his eyes appear darker, almost black; by contrast, the afternoon sunlight tinted his brown hair halfway to gold.
Shaving had revealed the strong line of his jaw. But he could still have used a valet’s services to trim his hair. The ends, still dripping water, curled into his eyes. Slowly, he lifted one hand and brushed those strands back.
It struck her as monstrously unfair. When Kate’s hair fell into her eyes, it looked blowsy. On her husband, the untidiness seemed nonchalant and approachable. And yet, if she were to approach him with the truth of what she’d done…
When they’d married, she’d thought he had an essential sweetness to him, a kindness. Perhaps that was why she had agreed to marry him. Marriage was a frightening business for a woman; one never knew what one’s husband might do. The man she’d married would never have condoned what Harcroft had done to his wife.
But this man? It had looked as if he had left a white rock atop the post. But as she walked up to it, the object he’d left shone innocently up at her. Her husband might have been careless and thoughtless, but he had never been cruel. A man who fed a wary horse—she sniffed the air delicately—peppermints was not the sort of man to make her fear for her safety.
So he was still sweet. But back then, he’d been sweet like a meringue—all froth and sugar, no substance. Now…
She walked after him, her fingers tapping a worried percussion against the rough wood rail of the fence. He stopped ten yards away, on the opposite side of the fence. A few thin strips of wood. Not really much of a barrier.
Kate took a deep breath. “I see you’re coddling the horse again.”
He let out an amused snort of air. “Someone has to.”
She couldn’t look at him. If she did, she might stare at the way his shirt plastered to his biceps, might think of that wet fabric under his waistcoat, clinging to his abdomen.
She might imagine—oh, drat. She was. Kate turned into the wind, hoping the breeze would cool her flaming cheeks.
She sniffed and set her foot on the wooden stile that traversed the fence. It was composed of an ingenious set of narrow, wooden steps, placed so that humans, but not cattle, could clamber across on agile
The horse—Champion, Ned had called the beast—watched him warily, turning sidelong to keep one eye on him as he walked. Ned whistled tunelessly and peered off into the distance, out at the short, scrubby stretch of trees that blanketed the nearby hill. Just as casually, he began tossing a tiny object from hand to hand. Kate caught a glimpse of white as it danced back and forth a few times, before he lobbed it off into the yellowing grass. He threw it with a sidelong motion, as if he were skipping a stone on the sea of shorn stubble.
Kate took two steps closer, her hands closing on the fence rail.
Champion’s nostrils flared at Ned’s sudden movement. He backed away, hastily. Ned turned from the horse. As he did, he caught sight of Kate. He stopped dead, and the small smile he’d been wearing slipped away. He didn’t say a word. Instead, he walked back to the cart. Once there, he donned his waistcoat and then his cravat, pulling the cloth around his neck. He tied the knot with grave finality. Then he advanced on her.
Behind him, Champion laid his ears back in dire warning to any predators that might attack. He stamped his feet—once, twice. Then he trotted forward, lowered his head, and lipped up whatever Ned had thrown at him.
Ned still hadn’t said anything. But as he came upon her, he put his hand in that sack again. He set another object on the fence post in front of him. In the sunlight, the thumb-sized object gleamed like a lump of white porcelain.
“Come,” he said to Kate. “Walk with me.”
Kate’s corset seemed to tighten. Hot lines of whalebone pressed into her ribs while she tried to draw in a pained breath. Some trick of the light made his eyes appear darker, almost black; by contrast, the afternoon sunlight tinted his brown hair halfway to gold.
Shaving had revealed the strong line of his jaw. But he could still have used a valet’s services to trim his hair. The ends, still dripping water, curled into his eyes. Slowly, he lifted one hand and brushed those strands back.
It struck her as monstrously unfair. When Kate’s hair fell into her eyes, it looked blowsy. On her husband, the untidiness seemed nonchalant and approachable. And yet, if she were to approach him with the truth of what she’d done…
When they’d married, she’d thought he had an essential sweetness to him, a kindness. Perhaps that was why she had agreed to marry him. Marriage was a frightening business for a woman; one never knew what one’s husband might do. The man she’d married would never have condoned what Harcroft had done to his wife.
But this man? It had looked as if he had left a white rock atop the post. But as she walked up to it, the object he’d left shone innocently up at her. Her husband might have been careless and thoughtless, but he had never been cruel. A man who fed a wary horse—she sniffed the air delicately—peppermints was not the sort of man to make her fear for her safety.
So he was still sweet. But back then, he’d been sweet like a meringue—all froth and sugar, no substance. Now…
She walked after him, her fingers tapping a worried percussion against the rough wood rail of the fence. He stopped ten yards away, on the opposite side of the fence. A few thin strips of wood. Not really much of a barrier.
Kate took a deep breath. “I see you’re coddling the horse again.”
He let out an amused snort of air. “Someone has to.”
She couldn’t look at him. If she did, she might stare at the way his shirt plastered to his biceps, might think of that wet fabric under his waistcoat, clinging to his abdomen.
She might imagine—oh, drat. She was. Kate turned into the wind, hoping the breeze would cool her flaming cheeks.
She sniffed and set her foot on the wooden stile that traversed the fence. It was composed of an ingenious set of narrow, wooden steps, placed so that humans, but not cattle, could clamber across on agile
Similar Books
