“If you think of any, I’d like to know. It’s important to keep abreast of the court gossip—’tis a place of intrigue and danger, so it’s best to know to which faction a man belongs. Or a woman.”
“I cannot imagine you belonging to any faction. You are too much your own man.”
He gave her a quizzical look. Then his gaze softened. “What else do you think of me, my lonely little Alys?”
Presumptuous! “I’m not lonely. I have plenty of people to talk to.”
“But not cut from the same fine cloth as yourself, my lady.” His shoulder brushed hers. “You flatter me.” She hoped the contact was accidental and prayed he’d notice it soon and move. It was far too unsettling—each time he breathed, she felt the movement against her body. Little tingles of anticipation buzzed along her spine.
“Not flattery—the truth. You could rival any of the ladies at court, Alys.”
Her treacherous body leaned closer to his, increasing the contact. Heat emanated from him. “Tell me of the ladies at court.” Anything to distract her.
“No. I’ve just told you what I think of you. Now you should return the favor.”
The tingling had slipped down her spine and now centered in her womb. When he took her hand and rested it on his bent knee, she couldn’t restrain a shudder of excitement.
“I think you handsome.” She wasn’t prepared to admit to anything else.
“Is this how a man wins your heart? Through good-looks?”
“Oh no, for that is a first impression only. A man’s character must be handsome, too.”
“And how would you describe a handsome character? Must the elements be evenly mixed in one?”
“I’m not certain. I know little of humors and elements, but if the elements in equal measure create the perfect man, he would be a very difficult fellow to measure up to.”
“Perfection is overrated.” There was a smile in his voice.
“Indeed. One might grow bored with perfection. There would never be anything to complain of, nothing to make one feel superior.”
“Cynic. But if you loved this perfect man, you would never want to find fault with him. Everything he did would be acceptable to you.”
“Only if he was perfect for me. What I’m saying is that the perfect man, by general standards, would probably not be my perfect man.”
“I’m glad you have some sympathy for those with flaws in their characters.”
Kit stroked her hand, and she watched the play of muscles across his chest, enjoyed the little pools of shadow beneath his collarbone. She was running out of clever remarks, falling slowly under the spell of the rhythmic stroking, the warm body beside her, the deep, rumbling voice.
“We are all flawed,” he went on, “but you have fewer faults than many. You have not yet been out into the world—you’ve been closeted here, unable to reveal your true colors. Only when you are put to the test will your true mettle be seen. I am certain you will triumph.”
She prayed his words were genuine. They thrilled her to the core. “Thank you.”
“Any man would be fortunate to have such a one for his wife. Is there a husband in the offing?”
“That is a very delving question.”
“Considering our situation, ’tis a little late to be shy. Tell me.”
His hand tightened reassuringly over hers and, once again, she watched the interplay of muscles in his body, the slight flexing of the stretched biceps beneath his sleeve. Then the stroking resumed.
“I believe Richard Avery has a slight interest in me.”
Kit’s hand stilled. “I think you might find, on further acquaintance, that you have some very decided differences.”
Was that a hint of jealousy? “Indeed? I doubt there are any differences we could not plaster over in time.”
Suddenly, he released her hand and turned to face her. “This is no jest, Alys. As your friend, I advise you to have nothing to do with Avery. He could cause you great harm.”
The night had turned cool. Kit’s body no longer radiated that satisfying, sensual heat.
She pulled away to focus on his face. “Why? How could he harm me?”
He held her gaze, and fear speared through her. He was deadly serious. But all he said was, “I’m weary, and you must be, too. I think ’tis best you seek your bed now. For me, there is still much labor to perform before I leave at the end of the week.”
The fear was replaced by numbness. He was going, of course, he was. She’d forgotten. He must return to his real life… and their moment, their unexpected connection, must end. Pride kept her spine straight as she rose and collected her lantern.
“Goodnight, Kit. I have enjoyed our conversation. Shall I see you tomorrow?” She kept her face averted, afraid he’d see the moistness in her eyes.
“Perhaps it is best you do not. There are too many pairs of eyes in this household, too much jealousy and deceit. And you have your journey to Norfolk to think of—but remember, you must be wary of Kirlham and Avery. Even of your cousin. Should you ever be in need of my help, send a message to Whitehall, asking for Sir Christopher Ludlow. I will come. But I beg you, tell no one that you know me.”
She turned then, hearing the catch in his voice. Before she could snatch a breath, she was clasped in his arms, his lips on her hair. Her heart twisted.
“I’m sorry, Kit. I’m so sorry.” Her words were mere gulps, muffled against his chest. She didn’t even know what she was sorry for, unless she was apologizing in advance.
This hurt too much. Thrusting him away, she hurtled through the door of the hut, and ran back to the house, never once looking back.
Chapter Eighteen
It had taken Kit no time at all to tie his meager possessions into a bundle and slip away. But he had to wait until the early morning bustle of the household was over, and they were all gone to church before making his
