A Lady by Midnight (Spindle Cove #3)(8)

By the time they traveled another few miles, the puppy had fallen asleep in her arms. Kate had rummaged through her many unpleasant encounters with the man and succeeded in reminding herself that she did not find him attractive.

One more look, she told herself—just to confirm it.

But when she did glance up, the worst possible thing happened.

She found him looking down at her.

Their gazes locked. The piercing blue of his eyes invaded her being. To her distinct horror, she gasped aloud. And then she hurried to look somewhere, anywhere else.

Too late.

His features were seared on her imagination. When she closed her eyes, it was as though the back of her eyelids had been painted with that same intense, transfixing blue. Now the idea came to her that he was perhaps the most handsome man she’d ever seen—an assessment with no rational basis whatsoever. None.

Kate realized she had a grave problem.

She was infatuated. Or mildly insane. Possibly both.

Mostly, she was miserable. Her heartbeat was a frantic trill, and close as they were situated on this saddle, she knew he must feel it. For God’s sake, he could likely hear it. That racing, prattling beat was spilling all her secrets. She might as well have piped up and said, I am an affection-starved, addle-brained fool who has never, ever been this close to a man.

Desperate to create some small buffer between them, she straightened her spine and leaned forward.

Just then the horse stepped into a rut, and Kate lurched perilously to one side. She knew the brief, helpless sensation of falling.

And then, just as quickly, she was caught.

Thorne corrected the horse with a flex of both thighs. He pulled on the reins with one hand, and his other arm contracted about her waist. The motions were fluid, strong, and instinctive—as if his whole body were a fist, and he’d gripped her tight with everything.

“I have you,” he said.

Yes, he did. He had her so tight and so close, her corset grommets were probably leaving small round marks on his chest.

“Are we almost there?” she asked.

“No.”

She stifled a plaintive sigh.

As the sun dipped toward the horizon, they stopped at a turnpike. Kate waited with the puppy while Thorne purchased a tin pail of milk and three loaves of hot, crusty bread from a cottager. She followed him as he carried this picnic out over a stile and onto a nearby slope.

They sat near one another in meadow ablaze with flowering heather. The fading sunlight touched each tiny purple blossom with orange. Kate folded her shawl into a square, and the puppy circled it several times before settling down to attack its fringe.

Thorne handed her one of the loaves. “It’s not much.”

“It’s perfect.”

The loaf warmed her hands and made her stomach growl. She broke it in two, releasing a cloud of delicious, yeasty steam.

As she ate, the bread seemed to fill some of the yawning stupidity inside her. Sensible behavior was a great deal easier to manage on a full stomach. She could almost bear to look at him again.

“I’m grateful to you,” she said. “I’m not certain I said that earlier, to my shame. But I’m very thankful for your help. I was having the most miserable day of my year, and seeing your face . . .”

“Made it that much worse.”

She laughed in protest. “No. I didn’t mean that.”

“As I recall it, you burst into tears.”

She ducked her chin and gave him a sidelong glance. “Can this be a flash of humor? From the stern, intimidating Corporal Thorne?”

He said nothing. She watched him feed the puppy scraps of bread dipped in milk.

“My goodness,” she said. “What will be your next trick, I wonder? A blink? A smile? Don’t laugh, or I may faint dead away.”

Her tone was one of mild teasing, but she meant every word. She was already suffering these fierce pangs of infatuation on the basis of his looks and strength alone. If he revealed a streak of sharp wit in the bargain, she might be in desperate straits.

Fortunately for her vulnerable emotions, he responded with his usual absence of charm. “I’m the lieutenant of the Spindle Cove militia in Lord Rycliff’s absence. You’re a resident of Spindle Cove. It was my duty to help you and see you home safe. That’s all.”

“Well,” she said, “I’m fortunate to fall within the scope of your duty. The mishap with the cart driver truly was my fault. I’d dashed into the lane without looking.”

“What happened beforehand?” he asked.

“What makes you think something happened beforehand?”

“It’s not like you to be that distracted.”

It’s not like you.

Kate chewed her bread slowly. He was correct, perhaps, but what an odd thing for him to say. He avoided her like a sparrow avoids snow. What right had he to decide what was and wasn’t like her?

But she had no one else to talk to, and no reason to hide the truth.

She swallowed her bite of bread and wrapped her arms about her knees. “I went to pay a call on my old schoolmistress. I was hoping to find some information about my origins. My relations.”

He paused. “And did you?”

“No. She wouldn’t help me find them, she said, even if she could. Because they don’t want to be found. I’d always believed I was an orphan, but apparently I . . .” She blinked hard. “It seems I was abandoned. A child of shame, she called me. No one wanted me then, and no one will want me now.”