Then he kissed her.
A kiss of comfort and solace.
A very public kiss that Henry and the driver could see.
And Jeremy, who stared at her from the open coach door.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
AS THE COACH sped along the High Road, Katherine stared out the window. Riding beside them, man and horse moved together as one. It was no surprise Nicholas had handled the horse so well. Silly of her to make a public spectacle over it.
Cheeks still hot with embarrassment, she took a deep breath and then let it out. She needed someone to confide in. Edward, she would have told everything—well, most everything. The Edward in her dream had said
there is Jeremy
. Could she share her secrets with him?
She could only hope that lingering traces of drowsy syrup would make him a kind and indulgent listener, receptive to her explanation.
“I have come to care for Nicholas,” she said making a quick sideways glance at her friend.
He frowned. “But you ran away from him. So I thought maybe you did not like him after all.”
“I did not know my own mind. I was afraid of how I had come to feel. Of how he made me feel.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I have become very fond of him.”
Not willing to look at Jeremy, Katherine gazed outside the window once again. She toyed with the ribbon on her sleeve. “He is really quite kind.”
She peeked at her friend.
He was nodding to himself, a puzzled look on his brow. “Well, he is a better man than Finch. Yet I do not think he is a good enough man for you.” He looked at her. “What d’ye really know about him?”
Katherine released a long sigh. It was worse than he knew. “I know a lot about him,” she said. “He drinks coffee and does not like to be serious. He gets lost upon the road and sits a horse very well. He has odd friends…” she thought of the man-of-many-spaniels she’d run into in the hall, “and he is an outlaw,” she finished, almost cringing as she spoke the word aloud.
“Outlaw?” Jeremy’s eyebrows rose along with his voice.
Katherine nodded. “The Raven.”
“That scoundrel?” Jeremy sounded doubtful. “You said he was
not
the Raven.”
“I did not
exactly
say that. But, I did lead you to believe he was not. I should not have done that, but I did not think you would let me leave Ashfield if you knew who he was.”
“You are right. I would have done everything in my power to make you stay, e’en though ’twas not my place to stop you.” He gave her a glazed and puzzled look. “You aided a known criminal who might hang for stealing clothing instead of valuables? A foolish man.”
Katherine made a timid smile. “I would agree ’twas foolish, but ’twas his idea of a jest.”
“To risk life and limb for a joke is ill-conceived.” Jeremy yawned and shook his head at the same time.
“’Twas not wise of him, no. And he did come to harm, ’tis true. But he has recovered, and now he says ’tis behind him and he will no longer be the Raven.” Katherine frowned. “Except for last night. Did you wonder whose emblem Henry painted out?”
Jeremy frowned.
“’Tis the Finch coach we travel in,” Katherine explained. “And ’twas Finch and his man Jakes that were left without their clothing—or their coach—last eve.”
Jeremy snorted then broke into a loud guffaw. He clenched his teeth as a look of pain crossed his face. “Ye are right, Mistress Katherine. ’Tis funny.”
Katherine tried to smile. “He has saved me twice now, and I will miss him overmuch when we part.” She felt the sting of tears starting behind her eyes. “Every revolution of the coach wheels takes me closer to that moment, and I cannot bear it.”
Jeremy smiled faintly. “Every revolution of the coach wheels pains me as well, but for a different reason.” He reached a hand across to her. She put hers in it and he tightened his fingers around hers.
Katherine squeezed back. No matter what else, something good and lasting had come from this adventure.
She had a friend.
* * *
Nicholas watched the sun slip down the sky, bringing London closer with its descent. The increasing proximity brought a familiar loathing. Crowded buildings, stinking streets, and the incredible din of too many people living too close together always made him feel trapped and claustrophobic.
The traffic had been increasing since Wokingham. First drovers and their herds blocked the road; then oxcarts, wagons, and country-folk returning home had slowed their progress. He had not minded. Each impediment put off the moment he would relinquish Katherine to her cousin’s care. He found himself disliking this cousin immensely, and he had not met her yet.
Each barrier also served to postpone his appearance at court when he would have to beg the King’s forgiveness. Nicholas wrinkled his nose. He could almost smell the over-perfumed atmosphere already. The elaborate decorum, obsequious courtiers, and the empty, idle flirtations held less allure than when he’d first arrived on England’s shore. Was it only four months ago? What had been exciting—the prospect of assuming his proper status in the world—he now viewed with distaste. He’d fled the court to Dorsetshire as much from boredom as a wish to see his childhood home again. And were he to be completely honest with himself, which was something he found himself doing this day with alarming frequency, he’d found Ashfield smaller and less attractive in person than in its exalted place in his memory.
Continuing this importunate strain of honesty, he acknowledged to himself that, since awakening to find Katherine pinned beneath him in that damp cottage, he’d been happier than he could remember.
Now this idyll was to end.
* * *
From the safety of the coach, Katherine viewed the great city at twilight with both awe and mild alarm. The clatter of the wooden and iron wheels on the cobblestones combined with the din of the street criers, becoming louder and more insistent until she put her hands over her ears. Jeremy slept, having taken another dose of laudanum not long after leaving Wokingham.
She peered out the window, fascinated by the pageant of brightly dressed cavaliers, beggars in rags, even bleating sheep and goats. London was much busier, dirtier, and louder than she’d imagined.
When it seemed her teeth would rattle loose, the carriage came to a stop and the door opened.
Nicholas extended his hand to help her out.
Reluctant to leave the security of the vehicle, Katherine spent an extra long moment composing herself before taking his hand. She carefully stepped down, avoiding a foul-looking puddle. Holding up her skirts to keep them from the filth on the ground, she sniffed the noxious air. It could not be healthy. She had not truly appreciated country air before this moment. Katherine raised a hand to cover her mouth and nose, with the fleeting thought that if she could barely manage a few minutes without feeling sickened by this place, how could she ever hope to make it her home?
“The hour grows late. We shall sup here,” Nicholas announced.
Katherine nodded, feeling a sudden giddiness as he took her hand, knowing their separation would be put off for a few more hours. The sign suspended above the diamond-shaped windowpanes read the
Hawk and Pheasant
. At least the steps leading to the door of the timber-and-plaster building appeared to have been cleaned recently.
Nicholas swept her inside. A curt command to the proprietor got them a private parlor. The walls were bare save for a small dirty tapestry near the door. Katherine could not make out the picture. Two unmatched chairs and an oak table occupied the center of the room. A brazier in one corner provided some warmth.
They crossed to the window. Through the uneven panes, patches of color moved in the fading light—people on the street outside. The windows muffled a good deal of the noise, yet the street criers’ calls were loud enough to be heard.
“What do you think of the great city of London?” Nicholas asked.
“I do not think much of it,” Katherine said almost apologetically. “The sounds, the smells, ’tis too much all at once.”
Nicholas laughed.
“I suppose I will adjust to it, as I am to live here.” Katherine tried not to sound as sad and forlorn as she felt.
Nicholas took her hand and raised it to his lips.
His mouth on her tender finger-pads sent streams of fire through her.
Still holding her hand, he twirled her around. With no music but the sounds from outside the window, they danced as they had at the wedding. Nicholas gave her a final turn and took her in his arms.
They stood together for some time, senses heightened, aware only of each other. Soon life would go on as if all was the same, although it would never be. But now, this moment belonged to them, to savor, to push away the future.
A soft rap on the door broke them apart. Nicholas bid the servers enter. Plate after plate arrived until they overfilled the small table. Two candles provided gentle illumination.
Despite the appealing aroma, and the novelty of sweets and savories she had never seen, Katherine found herself without an appetite and just nibbled at her food.
Nicholas picked up an orange. He looked over at her, an impish look on his face. “Shall I amuse you, my lady?”
Katherine frowned, unsure of his meaning.
He bid her be seated, and then tossed the orange into the air while grabbing two more off the table. In a moment, all three were airborne. Nicholas juggled the fruit with great dexterity—a hand behind his back, one under his arm, even under his leg, without dropping any. Then, in a quick flourish, he doffed his hat and each fruit, in turn, fell into it. He bowed.
Katherine clapped her hands. “La, Sir, you are most talented.”
Nicholas took an orange from his cap and sliced it into neat crescents. He handed one to Katherine, and took one into his teeth, pulling the soft inner flesh away from the peel.
Katherine savored the orange—a treat rarely come to Ashfield. Nicholas handed her another piece, and they ate companionably until the whole fruit was gone. She licked the juice off her fingers.
Jeremy’s words in the coach came back to her. There was so much about Nicholas she did not know. “You have oft mentioned the East, yet you have not explained how you came to know it,” she said.
Nicholas sat down and surveyed the evening’s fare. “I spent time in Algiers, Morocco, the Levant, but never traveled farther east than Persia. There I found people who think and behave differently than English people. My fellow English would say I spent my years among barbarians. These ‘barbarians’ are just as certain that we English are outlandish.” He smiled at her. “I have not yet determined who is right. One thing is certain, I developed a liking for the food and drink, especially coffee.” He picked up a mulberry tart and took a bite. “I learned the most about the East at sea. An Arab seaman taught me Eastern notions, as well as navigation. We would lie on the deck late into the night, watching the stars and discussing such things.”
Katherine continued her questioning. “Your family left England during the revolt?”
“My family did not favor Cromwell and the Puritan regime, as you know. When they captured the King at Oxford, we fled.”
Katherine nodded, and then another question occurred to her. “Tell me about the grand place we stayed last night. How did we come to be there?”
Nicholas took another bite of the tart. “Lydney Hall is the home of a friend of mine.”
“You did not introduce me to him,” Katherine said, disappointed. “But I did meet a man in the hallway walking a group dogs. Or maybe they were walking him, I’m not sure. They led that poor man a merry chase. They were trying to catch Montford, but she did escape.” Katherine giggled. “That man would not want to see me again—certainly he would not want to see my cat. Was that your friend?”
“I believe he is a different friend.” Nicholas swallowed down the last bit of mulberry tart. The time has come, he thought, I could tell all now, but when she hears the truth and learns the lie, the interest in her eyes will turn to accusation. I would not like that. So, perhaps I could answer with a part-truth, the part that won’t upset her.
Nicholas cleared his throat. “I have a title. Cromwell took my lands. You may call me Baron Eddington, if you wish, but I’d rather you call me Nicholas,” he smiled at her.
Katherine’s eyes had widened at the announcement of his secondary title. “So
Baron
Nicholas Eddington of no property, what is it that you do when you aren’t robbing Puritans of their clothing?”
“I have contacts in Holland,” he explained. “’Tis quite simple to procure lace and wines and other items whose import has been prohibited by the English government. There are many who will pay handsomely for such.”
“You are a smuggler?” Katherine pursed her lips.
He wanted to kiss them back into softness. “I am a trader,” he shrugged. “Now that you know my secrets, perhaps you could share yours? You have not told me where this cousin of yours lives.”
Even in the candlelight, he could see Katherine flush prettily before she looked away. He had hit the mark without even aiming. The lass had at least one secret she had not shared with him, and it was about this cousin.
“What is her name?”
Katherine fidgeted with an orange peel. “My mother’s cousin, Alicia Pemberton, lives on Fenchurch Street, but I know not where that is.” Katherine looked at him, eyes wary. She cleared her throat as if something was stuck. “She does not exactly know I am coming, so ’tis possible she will not be there.”
Nicholas picked up an oyster on the half-shell. Katherine’s secret was not such a big one after all. “Then she will not worry on the lateness of your arrival if you do not appear today.” Resting the rough shell against his lower lip, he tilted it so that the oyster and its juices spilled into his mouth. Just a few light chews and it slid deliciously down his throat.
Katherine smiled. She looked beautiful in the candlelight.
“What a lot of food,” she said as if she’d just noticed. She picked up an oyster and sniffed it.
“It smells salty, and looks most strange.” She cast a dubious look at it. “What is it?”