Her heart contracted at the thought of how he’d once belonged to her, how she’d once been able to reach out and touch him with perfect aplomb. Now she had no right to him, no reason to put a hand to the nape of his neck, no excuse to stroke her fingers over the short cut of his hair.
But perhaps he meant to give her that right. Aidan rose, but instead of walking away, he went to his knees in front of her. His hand brushed over her temple. “You never pierced your ears,” he said, his fingers brushing the sensitive lobe of her ear.
“Pardon?”
“You were so eager to.”
“How can you remember that?”
“I remember.” His hands edged farther back, sliding into her hair. The touch was slow, dreamy, and Kate’s eyes closed of their own accord.
“Your braid is coming loose,” he murmured, tugging softly at the leather tie. Both his hands slid through her hair, meeting at her neck to work out the tangled braid.
This was wrong. So wrong. But hot shivers of sensation moved over her scalp and down her neck and all the way to her toes. Pleasure trickled down her spine and gathered in a pool deep in her belly. She thought she would melt right through his fingers when he finally worked her hair free and ran his hands slowly through the strands, smoothing out the waves with gentle pressure.
Her head fell back under his ministrations, her mouth parted just slightly on a sigh. She wanted, feared,
knew
he was going to kiss her. The softest touch of warm breath caressed her lips and then it was him, his mouth, his lips against hers. The spicy warmth of wine invaded her senses until it was all she knew. It was comfort and unbearable excitement. It was fear and need and desperation.
Kate heard a soft sound of want, knew that it was her own quiet moan, and opened her mouth to him. His tongue glided inside. She felt the shock of it as if she’d never been kissed, as if all those kisses they’d once shared had been an invention of her lovesick brain. Still, she wasn’t tentative—sliding her tongue over his, she arched her neck into his hands, offered her mouth up for his pleasure.
It was his groan she heard this time as he deepened the kiss, his hands a wild tangle in her hair. Her heart swirled up and out of her chest with joy. She felt light as air and just as insubstantial, as if she would dissolve into puffs of clouds at the slightest touch.
Her fingertips tingled, wanting to float away, so she placed them purposefully against his chest to tether them to something solid. He was definitely solid. At that touch of his body, her spirit rushed back into her flesh. She was no longer feather light. She was hot and languid, heavy with the desire that pulsed through her veins. Terrible need blossomed in her when Aidan slid a firm hand down her side, following the line of her corset to her waist and then to the curve of her hip.
A strangled sob rose up in her throat, escaped against his lips. His hand tightened briefly on her hip and then he pulled back from her, abandoning her to her need. She curled her fingers into his coat, thinking she could simply hold on to him and stop this moment from ever ending, but his lips lifted from hers and he was whispering her name.
“Katie.”
She didn’t open her eyes, didn’t want to let the world back in.
“Are you all right?” His hand smoothed her hair again, hushing her vibrating nerves.
“No,” she answered with a small, hiccupping laugh.
“No?” His voice was a beautiful murmur as he pulled her a little closer and pressed a long, sweet kiss to her forehead. “No, I’m not all right either.”
What was she going to do now? Horror flooded through her.
He must have sensed her torment. When she opened her eyes, she found him shaking his head. “Please don’t regret that, Kate.”
“Aidan. I can’t—”
“No. We don’t need to talk about it now. Just promise you won’t regret it.”
She looked into the beauty of his green eyes, stared hard into the depths. There was hunger there, and tenderness, and the icy glint of deep pain as well. Pain she had caused.
Fine. She didn’t wish to talk about it anyway, to push her lies deeper. “Yes,” she said. “All right.”
Nodding, he stood and paced several feet beyond the table to stare at the flickering light of the stove. She stared with him, savoring this lull before the coming storm. They would have to talk sometime, after all.
Anxiety took hold of Kate’s shoulders, tightening the muscles like drying rope. They would have to talk about it, it was inevitable. They could only be friends. He must know that. She should say it aloud, but not now. Not when she still tasted him on her tongue.
He cleared his throat and turned back to her, his hands clasped tight behind him. “Mr. Penrose insists I must return to London soon.”
“Oh?” She tried not to sound relieved.
“No weeping? No gnashing of teeth?”
She tried to think of something tactful to say.
He smiled briefly, as if to reassure her, but it did not hold. Within seconds, his mouth went straight and grim. “Kate . . . Is your husband really coming to England?” Despite the question, there was no curiosity in his eyes. No doubt. He knew. Knew there was no true marriage, even if he didn’t know the reason. “He’s not, is he?”
“Does it matter?” she asked. Another statement poised as a question.
“Of course it does.”
“No,” she countered. “We can’t . . . I can’t . . .”
He didn’t say a word, but his gaze never wavered from hers.
In the end, she said, “I’m sorry,” and he looked away.
“It’s very late. Thank you for a lovely evening.”
Her mind was muddled, slow, and she only stared up at him for a long moment, marveling at his tall grace. They had fit together perfectly once—his lips just reaching the bridge of her nose, her own mouth always searching out the line of his jaw.
Dazed, she watched him frown and open his mouth to speak, but he hesitated before he finally said, “I’ll return again before I leave for London.”
A few minutes after the door closed behind him, she rose unsteadily from the table and put herself to bed, thoughts of his mouth swirling madly through her dreams.
Aidan eyed the
Valiant
’s new mast as it was hoisted into place. The smooth wood reached toward the gray clouds that hung above them, threatening snow. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels.
“Are you married, Penrose?” Aidan’s words floated toward the sky on white wisps.
“Pardon, sir?” Penrose asked.
“Do you have a wife? I assume not.”
Penrose looked shocked to have been asked a personal question. “No, sir.”
Ropes creaked as men heaved the lines taut. They were watching from the dock for safety’s sake, but if the mast fell, it would fall much farther than this. Aidan observed with a narrowed eye. “And have you ever been in love?” Silence greeted his words and he turned to his secretary. “It’s a simple question, Penrose.”
Penrose’s face was slack with shock. “Sir, I don’t . . . that is to say . . .”
“Well?”
“I don’t know. I suppose I was once. As a young man.”
Aidan glared down at Penrose’s smooth cheeks and slim frame. “Hm.” His blond hair glinted in the pale light. The boy was likely twenty-four or twenty-five now, but he seemed so young. “So you were in love once, but then it dissipated, correct?”
“Dissipated?”
“Yes. You ceased to love her.”
“I—I shouldn’t like to be so callous. We did not suit.”
“I see.”
He turned his eyes back to the mast and the ropes that stretched from it. A dozen workers held tight to those lines, holding the mast steady. Aidan felt as if he needed the same ropes lashed to him.
“Perhaps,” Penrose started before coughing lightly. “Perhaps I didn’t love her at all. It was likely an infatuation that simply faded.”
“An infatuation,” Aidan murmured, trying to convince himself that this was just the word that applied. Even if it had been love with Kate so many years before, those feelings had long since died. This was something new and . . . temporary.
By God, he’d had trouble turning his mind to business today. Last night her wine-flushed lips and welcoming eyes had been a glorious torment. Then her gaze had touched his mouth, and he’d been lost in the desire to feel her. Her skin, her lips, the wild disarray of her hair . . .
He’d kissed her. He’d kissed her and known immediately that it was right.
No, not right. It couldn’t be right, because she was a married woman. Granted, he’d taken a shameful number of married women to his bed, but this was
Katie
.
Snow began to fall, and Aidan absentmindedly donned his hat, still eyeing the workers.
Kate was not just a thoughtless means of distracting himself for a few hours. She was not just a body. And she was clearly not experienced at this type of affair. She’d been thinking of repercussions before the kiss had ended.
Still, there’d been no denial at his guess about her marriage. If she’d loved the man once, she did not love him now. She likely didn’t love Aidan either, but she felt something. Nostalgia, or infatuation, or pure and simple lust. Need tightened his groin at the thought.
What the hell was he going to do? She’d snuck inside him, and now he could see the danger he’d overlooked. He’d been hollow for so long, and the space inside him had been cut out in her shape. How could she not fit perfectly?
“Mr. York!” The bright feminine voice pierced his brooding thoughts. For one painful heartbeat, Aidan thought it was Katie. And it wasn’t anything like lust that made his pulse tumble.
But as he turned, his heart tripping with anticipation, he saw Lucy Cain hurrying toward them, her cheeks pink with the cold. Her smile was wide and welcoming and he felt churlish for his disappointment.
“Miss Cain,” he said, sweeping his hat off to bow. “What a pleasure.”
“Look at you, Mr. York. Why, I think you’re even more handsome in the snow.”
He winked as he rose, then tilted his hat toward Penrose.
“May I introduce my secretary, Mr. Penrose?”
Penrose blushed as Miss Cain offered her hand and a saucy smile. “An honor, miss.”
“So polite. You must bring him to luncheon today, Mr. York.”
“Luncheon?”
“You see, my father wondered if you could join us. I think he’s discovered how rich you are.”
Aidan laughed. Yes, this girl reminded him of Katie in so many ways. “I would love to join you for luncheon. Mr. Penrose?”
“Yes,” Penrose stammered. “Of course. Without a doubt.”
“Then, Miss Cain, shall we?” He offered his arm, feeling a lightness in his chest as she placed her gloved hand on his sleeve. He had a brief, searing hope that Kate would be at the Cain’s when he arrived but pushed it away. She was a married woman. It would do neither of them good to be seen so much together.
But he could think of her as often as he liked. No one could keep him from that.
Hard pellets of snow tinked against the windows as Kate drew swirls and circles on a torn piece of paper, idly considering when to kill her husband. The planning felt cruel, despite that Mr. Hamilton had never existed. As for David . . . he’d been dead nearly nine months now. It could not matter to him.
She’d wanted to wait a year after arriving in England before declaring herself widowed, but things felt so different now. And her business was doing tolerably well. She’d chosen the location so carefully. A town small enough to have escaped the notice of another dedicated coffee merchant, but prosperous enough that certain households would demand the finest roasts and blends. Four local estates had already paid her a generous amount to secure their own private roast, available to no one else. It was exactly what she’d hoped for.
But now she was beginning to tire of the masquerade of marriage. She could put out word any time that her husband had died of a sudden fever. Everyone in England seemed to think the Orient was rife with deadly dangers, after all. No one would doubt that a man might fall over twitching and gasping with no warning at all.
So she could get rid of Mr. Hamilton, but there was the larger problem to be faced. What about Gerard Gallow? She didn’t think she’d hurt him badly that night. She hoped that the sickening crack she’d heard had been only the bottle and not his skull. But he’d fallen so hard to the floor. Still, despite the blood that had trickled from his head, his eyes had fluttered when she’d nudged him.
So she’d run. She’d run for her freedom and her life and her sanity. She hadn’t dared search out news from Ceylon once she’d reached India. If she looked toward Ceylon, she’d reasoned, it might look toward her.
But now she wished she’d paused for just a moment. If she’d stopped to look back, she would at least know if Gerard was all right. She hadn’t meant to hit him so hard. And even if he were fine, had he tried to convince the world that she had killed David? She hadn’t hurt her husband, but who would believe her over Gerard?
It was time to find out the truth. She could not bear the uncertainty anymore. It had seemed a small sacrifice a few weeks ago—living alone, needing no one. But now she faced a new possibility. Maybe she could need more than that. Maybe she could still be a whole woman with wants and dreams and desires.
She’d kissed Aidan York, after all.
My God, she’d
kissed
him. Opened her mouth to him. Rubbed her tongue against his as if she’d never spent a day apart from his body. She was supposed to be a married woman, yet she’d licked at his mouth as if she were starving for it.
What must he think of her today? What did she think of
herself?
With a great sigh, Kate rubbed her hands roughly over her face, wondering how she would look at him again. Would it be worse if he came today or if he didn’t? She felt stupid now. Stupid that she’d got caught up in the intimacy of the moment. My God, there was a time when she’d convinced herself that he’d never even loved her, thanks to her father’s cruel words. And now she found herself wondering if he might love her still. It was absurd. And exciting.
Kate picked up her grandfather’s watch and rubbed her thumb over the cool metal. As soon as she’d touched the watch, she’d remembered giving it to Aidan and all that had come before that.
The secret, stolen moments that had eventually led to that day. The frightening excitement of hurrying along the river bank, toward the old boathouse. They hadn’t planned to let things go so far, but the kissing had led to touching and it had been so good. And Aidan’s hands had been gentle and sweet. Just as his mouth had been. Just as it still was.
He hadn’t hurt her at all that day in the boathouse, though he’d asked over and over again to be sure. If there’d been any pain, it had been swallowed up by her trembling excitement.
Curling her fingers over the watch, Kate squeezed her eyes shut and felt warmth seep out of her body and into the metal. This was ridiculous. This was not why she’d returned to England. Not by far.
She pushed aside her lethargy and retrieved paper and pen from under the counter. She wrote a simple, short letter for Lucy’s father. As she sealed the letter, anxiety plucked at her nerves. It hurt every fiber of her being to ask about Ceylon, but after all, it had already asked about her. That Mr. Dalworth would arrive soon. Today or tomorrow, if he kept to his word. And any good coffee merchant would want news from Ceylon. Certainly it damaged her masquerade not at all to inquire after old newspapers from the East.
The alley door opened with a bang, and her heart jumped to her throat. She rushed to the back, thinking it must be Aidan, but instead she found Fost’s white-haired driver.
“Oh, thank heavens!”
The man tipped his hat. “Good morning, Mrs. Hamilton. ’Tis nice to be so warmly welcomed.”
“Hush, you. It’s the coffee I’m thrilled to see. Please tell me you’ve brought the Sumatran?”
He chuckled throatily. “I asked specifically this time. Told Mr. Fost I wouldn’t dare cross your threshold without it.” He reached down and hauled up the crate that lay at his feet. “Where would you like it?”
“In the front room, please. I’ll need to put it out immediately. Oh, this is wonderful.” At his nod, she hurried back into the shop with a relieved sigh. She wasn’t confident with her supplier. He always came through with the deliveries, but often at the last possible moment. The Sumatran was supposed to have arrived on Friday, and here it was on Monday.
Still, she’d struck a profitable bargain with him and hated to start from scratch with someone else.
The driver came in with one last crate, and Kate sighed. “I apologize if I’ve been prickly. And I thank you for being so kind.”
“It’s no bother, ma’am.”
“How is your brother?”
“Well, I think. He don’t write often and I don’t read often, so news is far between. And your husband, ma’am?”
“Very well, thank you.”
He opened his mouth to ask another question, but Kate heard the front door open and raised a hand to stop him. “I’m sorry, I must see to the shop.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
“Close the door when you’re through,” she said as she rushed back to the front.
As if she’d been sent to counter every ounce of Kate’s anxiety, Lucy Cain rushed in on a cloud of snow. “Good afternoon!”
Kate grinned at Lucy’s dramatic entrance. “That’s a happy response to such weather,” Kate said, though she felt the same joy at the storm.
“Oh, it’s not the snow that has me grinning. It’s the company.”
“Me?”
“No, not you! I just dined with two handsome bachelors.”
“Is your stance on marriage evolving then?”
Lucy gave a look of horror as she swept off her cloak. “Heavens no. If I marry, my days of flirting with bachelors will be over.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Kate rose to prepare two cups of coffee in her sampling pot, no longer nervous about Lucy’s presence. She’d stopped by nearly every day since her father’s party to gossip and laugh and even to discuss coffee.
“Aren’t you going to ask
which
handsome bachelors I dined with?”
Kate wracked her brain, trying to snatch up a few of the names Lucy had mentioned, but the girl talked so quickly that names always seemed to fly right past Kate’s ears. She pressed down on the coffee. “Was one of them the gentleman with the pink waistcoat?”
“No. One of them was Aidan York!”
The handle slipped out of her hand and her knuckles rang the pot like a bell. “Oh! Mr. York, you said?”
“Yes, indeed. And his secretary, Mr. Penrose. He’s quite serious, isn’t he?”
Kate set her hands back to the pot, hoping to buy herself a moment of thought. Lucy had dined with Aidan this afternoon? Anxious curiosity filled Kate’s chest, urging her to blurt out question after question. Instead, she cleared her throat and spoke very carefully. “I’m not sure. I’ve never met Mr. Penrose.”