“English gowns, pah! My own clothes will do if I wash them.” She reached over the backgammon set to brush some dust off her forest green skirt, then toyed with an ivory marker, sliding it back and forth across the board. “It’s decent clothes I was wearing when you—”
“Helped you off the coach?”
In the midst of a sip, she nearly snorted syllabub out her nose. “Aye, you might put it that way…if you were a candidate for the asylum.”
Jason let loose with a loud peal of laughter, accompanied by the first genuine, unaffected grin she’d seen from him.
It lit up his face, and a place in her heart.
She smiled in return, lifting her goblet to hide the blush that threatened.
“Wait.” He set his goblet on the bench between them. “Just wait right here.”
At a loss, she sat and watched him take off, threading his lean form through the teeming crowd. Not a minute later he was walking toward her with his hands behind his back. He stepped up close, so close their knees almost touched, and leaned to tuck a small bunch of violets behind her ear.
“Ah, lovely,” he said. “Of a sudden, I thought that would complete the picture.”
“Picture?” Now she really blushed.
What was happening to them?
“When you smiled, it was like a…oh, never mind.” He looked away.
“Thank you,” she said, drawing his gaze back to her. She reached up to touch the soft, fragrant petals. “I do love violets.”
Behind them, wives haggled over herrings, oysters, and mackerel. Across the way, feathers flew as a hundred chickens squawked their protest at being crammed in a wooden pen. But when Jason took the game board off her lap and held her hands to pull her to stand before him, they could have been the only two beings in the world.
Her heart seemed to stop for a moment, then pounded so hard she felt sure he could hear it.
His eyes burned into hers. Slowly, tentatively, he ran his hands up her arms to her shoulders, then trailed back down to lace their fingers together. When he lowered his head, she tilted her chin up.
But he only kissed her on the forehead.
Her heart plummeted.
“We’d best be going,” he said. “It’s almost dark, and with the fair in town, I expect the inns will fill up early around here.”
THIRTY-THREE
CAITHREN POPPED an orange section into her mouth and licked her sticky fingers before rolling the dice.
“Double sixes!” she crowed. Removing four white markers from the backgammon board, she added them to her stack with a gleeful clink.
Looking wary and distracted, Jason shook the dice as he scanned the large, plush common room at the George of Stamford.
Cait separated another section of the orange. “What are you looking for?”
“Not what. Who.” The leather dice cup stilled in his hand. “The Gothard brothers.”
“You think they’re here in Stamford?” She hoped not. “Have you seen any sign of them?”
“No.” He rubbed the back of his neck, still glancing around. “It’s just a feeling. I know they could be far ahead or behind us, but something tells me they’re near.”
She made her own survey, seeing nothing alarming. People conversed in pairs and groups. They went in and out of the taproom or through the double doors into the more formal dining room. Two men played cards in one corner. A couple made their way up the stairs, laughing, their arms full of purchases from the fair.
“Well,” she said, “I’m thinking those brothers cannot afford a coaching inn as nice as this one. Or any of the other inns you’ve chosen along the way.” The patrons in the common room looked well-heeled and groomed, not rumpled like she remembered the Gothards. “Is that why you’ve been choosing as you have? In order to avoid them?”
A ghost of a smile curved his lips as he rattled the dice. After a moment it became obvious he wasn’t going to answer. But she’d bet he was attempting to steer clear of them.
To keep her from getting the reward?
She’d never understand him.
He rolled a one and a two. With an exaggerated groan, he advanced one of his black markers a paltry three pips. “Why did I buy this backgammon set?”
“I don’t know, but I’m glad you did. Though heaven knows how we’ll manage to carry it.”
She rolled again, a three and a five. Two more white markers came off her side. She held out a piece of orange. “Would you like some?”
He tossed the section into his mouth and rolled the dice. Double fours, and he was finally able to remove three of his black markers. But three rolls later the orange was finished and the match was over.
Two up on him now, Caithren celebrated her victory with naught more than a yawn. “What time is it?” she asked sleepily.
The watch he dug from his coat pocket brought her wide awake. The mere sight of it made her jaw drop. Solid gold, the thing was, with blue jewels stuck on the lid.
“Eight o’clock,” he said and snapped it shut.
“May I see?”
“I know it’s early.” He handed the pocket watch over. “But if you’re wanting that bath I promised, you’d best head up and take it now. We’ll have to get an early start tomorrow if we want to be sure of catching the Gothards.”
She stared at the watch, turning it gingerly in her hands, then flipped it open. “Eight o’clock,” she murmured. That wasn’t why she’d asked to see it—she’d believed it was eight o’clock. She’d just wanted to feel it, to touch such a wonderfully beautiful thing.
Maybe there was no cause for concern on Jason’s behalf. Maybe he had more money than she’d imagined.
But he was a miller.
“Where did you get this?” she couldn’t help asking.
Taking the watch from her, he pocketed it with a smile. “It was a gift from a lovely young woman.”
“Oh.” A gift from a lovely young woman. Why should that matter to
