A Lady by Midnight (Spindle Cove #3)(37)

True enough, she supposed. “Why do you dislike the Gramercys so much?”

“I’m looking out for you.” He looked over his shoulder at the picnicking group. “There’s something not right about those people.”

“They’re unusual, I’ll grant you. But it’s only eccentricity. It’s what makes them so amusing and interesting and lovable. It’s what gives me hope that they might accept and love me. They value family bonds above scandal, disagreements, convention. Just because they’re a bit odd, I don’t see any reason for suspicion.”

“I do. I don’t trust them or their story.”

“Why not?” she said, hurt. The more agitated she became, the faster she walked. By now they were hurrying toward the church, and Badger ran to keep up. “Because you don’t think I could possibly be related to lords and ladies?”

He pulled to a halt, turned and fixed her with an intense look. “If I hadn’t spent the last year thinking of you as a lady, I promise you—things would be different between us.”

Her face heated. Other parts of her heated, too. She hadn’t regarded him this closely or directly in days, and now . . .

He was so stunning it hurt.

For a man with few manners and little grace, she now saw he was always immaculate in his attire, be it full uniform or what he wore today—crisply fitted breeches and a simple, dark coat that stretched capably across his broad shoulders. Nothing was fussy, just precise. It was as though fabric didn’t dare rumple in his presence. No button would be so bold as to fall out of line. His boots were polished to a blinding gloss.

And his face . . . Almost a week now since he’d seen her home from Hastings, and every time she looked at him, she still found his face to be that inexplicable, unbearable degree of handsome.

“Must you make this so difficult?” she asked. “You must know I’m all nerves, purely on the Gramercys’ account. They’ve been so kind. I want to be open and honest, and yet I’m afraid of letting my hopes soar too high. I don’t know my place with them, and that’s difficult enough without feeling confused about you, too. I’m pulled in too many directions.”

“I’m not pulling you anywhere. I’m staying close enough to look out for you, without interfering.”

“Of course you’re interfering. You interfere with my breathing, you teasing man. I can’t just ignore you, Thorne. I’ve never been able to ignore you, even when I disliked you. Now I’m a toy on your string, dangling on your every move and word. One minute, you’re paying me no mind at all, and the next . . . you’re staring at me the way you’re doing now. As though you’re a voracious, starving beast and I’m . . .”

His jaw tightened.

She gulped and finished in a whisper, “Edible.”

His exhalation was prolonged, measured. An impressive display of restraint.

“Well?” she prompted. “You can’t deny it. There’s something between us.”

“There isn’t nearly enough between us, and that’s the danger. Don’t you have a modest frock in your wardrobe? For God’s sake, just look at that gown.”

She cast a glance downward. She’d dressed for the outing in her best traveling frock—a handed down dove-gray silk. The hues were modest enough, and the sleeves rather long for summer. But from the direction of his gaze, she supposed he’d taken an interest in the row of ribbon bows that marched down the front of the bodice, holding two edges of gray silk together across a thin slice of white lace. It was all part of the gown’s design, of course, but the garment was cleverly stitched to create the illusion that just a few ribbon ties stood between demure modesty and a state of undress.

“You’re like a gift,” he said, his voice rough. “All wrapped up for someone else. A man can’t look at you, but think of loosing those bows, one by one.”

“They’re false bows,” she stammered. “They’re sewn together.”

His gaze never left her bodice, surveying. Strategizing. “I could rip them with my teeth.”

And then what? a foolish part of her longed to ask.

They stood like that, facing one another. Saying nothing, breathing hard, and imagining far too much.

Eventually Badger nosed at her boots, impatient to be on with things. They couldn’t stand here and look at each other all day. No matter how exhilarating it was.

“It’s only physical,” he said, walking on. “It will pass. You’ll be able to release me soon enough.”

It would have been comforting to believe so, but Kate wasn’t convinced.

“I need to know something of you,” she said as they neared the church. “Lark is always asking me questions about you. About us. And I don’t know how to answer. What’s your birthday, to begin?”

“Don’t know it.”

Kate felt a twinge of sadness for him, but then—she’d survived without a proper birthday for twenty-three years.

“How about your favorite color?”

He threw a careless, sidelong glance at her frock. “Gray.”

“Be serious, please. I’m engaged to you, temporarily, and I know nothing of you. Nothing of your family, your history, your childhood.” And after their engagement party, Kate knew he’d been paying a great deal of attention to her.