She finished patting the butter she’d been making and rinsed her hands in the bowl of rosewater by her side. Had it been right to help Kit? How far had she done this from her sense of justice, and how far was it due to the latent feelings she had for him? Would she ever be able to hold her head up again, knowing that she had betrayed her cousin for a man of whom she really knew very little?
She wiped her hands on her apron and paced slowly along the passageway towards the kitchen. While her heart yearned for Kit, her mind and her conscience were at war. Over and over again, she revisited all the moments they’d shared, every touch, every word of conversation, trying to convince herself that he’d been honest in his dealings with her, that he hadn’t merely used her to help him bring down the conspiracy.
There was no easy answer. The only conclusion she came to was that she had to speak to Kate. It would be wrong to encourage any further attentions from Kit until she had done so. She’d need his help to do it, though. Now that Kate was guarded in the Tower, only someone with Kit’s standing and connections could gain access.
She must explain to him how she felt—and he must be patient and wait.
No sooner had she come to this decision, than the front door slammed shut and she heard a jingle of spurs in the hall. It must be Kit, returned from his expedition to Ipswich where he’d gone, so he said, to take delivery of some items he’d had sent up from London.
She hurried down to meet him, then paused at the foot of the stairs.
This was Kit as she had never seen him before, cutting a splendid figure in slashed green velvet, his hair neatly trimmed and just brushing the edge of his ruff. The stubbly beard she’d grown used to was gone, revealing more of his elegantly sculpted jaw and tempting lips.
He spread out his arms, grinning. “Am I not to receive a kiss from the damsel in distress I rescued last week?”
She made no move. How easy it would be to walk into that embrace, to be enfolded in the comfort and safety of those two strong arms—but how long would it be before her heart began pumping in excitement and anticipation? Before an innocent kiss ignited a flame neither of them could put out?
She had promised herself to keep him at arm’s length until she’d resolved matters with Kate. If he cared for her, he would understand and be patient.
He stepped closer, but she moved away from him. “No, Kit, this is not the time.”
“Not the time? This is precisely the time, Madam, when we both know where we stand, and there need be no more deceit between us. And there’s nobody about.” His lip drooped. “Unless it is that you don’t like what you see, and prefer me in my gardener’s garb.”
“It’s not that.” She might as well be blunt, get it over with quickly. “You’ve deceived me before—how can I trust you now?” She couldn’t rely on him, throw all she had into his power. The only person she should rely on was herself.
His enthusiasm was barely dented. “Surely, you cannot wish to tax me with that now? You know my reasons for deceiving you, and were they not the very noblest? Come, be not so cold, sweeting. The worst is over, and we are now at leisure to rejoice.”
He touched her arm, the heat of his hand infusing her entire body. It was no easy thing to deny a man as lusty and determined as Kit, but for the good of her soul, she knew she must try.
She took a deep breath. “Nay, Kit, Sir Christopher, or whatever you wish to be called, now is not the time. It would be improper.”
Shock flashed in his eyes. Then he made a deliberate show of gazing down at his body. “I have never appeared before you in such proper garb as I am wearing now. In the garden, after you threw my clothes in the pond, that was improper. But I declare there cannot be a single piece of my flesh exposed that could affront you now.”
As if she’d ever get that image out of her mind. It was scorched into her memory like a brand. “Don’t jest, Kit, I beg you. How can I indulge your whims when I know my closest living relation is in peril of her life?”
“Whims?” The shock intensified. He paced rapidly across the room and stared through the window to the yew walk beyond. When he finally turned to face her again, his smile had vanished.
“You certainly know how to wound, Alys Barchard, but I forgive you—your life has been thrown into turmoil. May I remind you that your closest living relation, as you call her, abandoned you to the whims of Richard Avery. Who was ready to ravish and then murder you, if I’m not mistaken. Aye, Kate Aspinall is, indeed, in peril. Quite deservedly so. Think of how many others would have been harmed had her scheme succeeded! Both you and I have tasted of her malice, and you know well she had no compunction about destroying the lives of the queen and doubtless many of her ministers withal. So why should you care? You have done what is right and helped preserve the life of one of the greatest sovereigns this country has ever seen. You should be glad.”
His face softened as he returned to her, pulling her gently against his chest. “Whims indeed. How innocent you are, my little dove.”
She struggled. “This isn’t right. Let me go!”
“Come, my princess.” His warm breath stirred her hair.
