water of the harbor. Gwenyth’s face swam before him—eyes holding a wisdom beyond her years, lips soft as silk and tasting of cider and strawberries, freckles dotting her sun-browned nose. Forget the frustrating search for a bride he could trust. He had the woman already.
He dismissed the idea almost as soon as it sprang to mind. Gwenyth Killigrew’s presence could be borne while she aided his search. But no one would be shocked when he sent her packing back to Cornwall, their supposed engagement broken. And no one would ever know that at the edge of the sea lived a child carrying his blood in its veins. He rubbed at the back of his neck and blew out a sigh of frustration.
No one but him.
Chapter 9
Rafe sat across from Gwenyth. It was hard to believe this fashionable creature was the same woman who’d welcomed him into her cottage in a threadbare shift. She stared out the inn’s window, her eyes wide as a child’s at Exeter’s busy streetscape. The gown she wore fitted her like one of her abandoned gloves resting on the seat beside her, just next to the discarded bonnet. The creamy white muslin highlighted the bronze tone to her skin, and the low neckline teased him with glimpses of silky flesh. Three other such gowns were packed within their baggage, a mixture of style, elegance and daring, compliments of Mrs. Triggs, who with ten guineas in her purse and a firm deadline, whipped together a wardrobe to see Gwenyth Killigrew at least until Bodliam.
“I’ve gone farther away from home than ever before,” she mused, turning back to face him.
“And I come ever closer,” he answered, expecting to feel some sort of excitement or anticipation, but experiencing only a thickening dread.
She cocked her head as if considering him, gray eyes swimming with unspoken questions.
“You haven’t asked me anything about my home or family,” he offered. “What you’ve gotten yourself into.”
She dropped her eyes to her untouched plate. “I know exactly what I’ve gotten myself into, Rafe Fleming.” A tremor passed through her body, but when she looked back up, it was with a bright, teasing smile.
Was she as nervous as he? The unflappable Gwenyth Killigrew? He thought nothing touched her. Nothing broke through the stony façade she’d built around herself. He corrected himself. He’d pierced her armor at least once. There was a way. But that path led to treacherous ground. This was a temporary arrangement. He didn’t want more. So, perhaps her reserve was a good thing.
He cleared his throat, breaking the tense silence. “My eldest brother holds the title now. Edmund is—”
“Title,” she mouthed. Her smile faded, and Rafe suddenly realized how nervous she really was.
“You knew my family’s station. My past.” He wanted to erase the worry in her face. Do whatever it took to coax back that smile. “We don’t have to stay with them if you don’t want to. I can rent a house. We can stay there alone—”
Instead of easing her fears, horror leapt into her eyes, stopping his words. “No,” she snapped. “Not alone.” She squared her shoulders, her napkin clutched in fisted hands. “I’ll do what I’ve said I will. And part of this was to accompany you home. But, Rafe,” she shook her head, “you play with fire by bringing one such as me with you. They’ll be none too happy. And I wouldn’t say I’d blame them. They’ll be wanting you to themselves and to show you to their friends like a prize.”
“No doubt,” he answered dryly. “But if they’d have me, they must have you.”
And he began to think he meant it.
Gwenyth felt Rafe just behind her as they climbed the stairs to their chambers at the inn. Felt him in the warmth that melted through her body. In the tug of her heart that told her to simply lean back into his arms, to let him wrap himself around her as he’d done in Goninan’s gardens. His hand steadied her at the turn, and she almost jumped out of her skin at
He dismissed the idea almost as soon as it sprang to mind. Gwenyth Killigrew’s presence could be borne while she aided his search. But no one would be shocked when he sent her packing back to Cornwall, their supposed engagement broken. And no one would ever know that at the edge of the sea lived a child carrying his blood in its veins. He rubbed at the back of his neck and blew out a sigh of frustration.
No one but him.
Chapter 9
Rafe sat across from Gwenyth. It was hard to believe this fashionable creature was the same woman who’d welcomed him into her cottage in a threadbare shift. She stared out the inn’s window, her eyes wide as a child’s at Exeter’s busy streetscape. The gown she wore fitted her like one of her abandoned gloves resting on the seat beside her, just next to the discarded bonnet. The creamy white muslin highlighted the bronze tone to her skin, and the low neckline teased him with glimpses of silky flesh. Three other such gowns were packed within their baggage, a mixture of style, elegance and daring, compliments of Mrs. Triggs, who with ten guineas in her purse and a firm deadline, whipped together a wardrobe to see Gwenyth Killigrew at least until Bodliam.
“I’ve gone farther away from home than ever before,” she mused, turning back to face him.
“And I come ever closer,” he answered, expecting to feel some sort of excitement or anticipation, but experiencing only a thickening dread.
She cocked her head as if considering him, gray eyes swimming with unspoken questions.
“You haven’t asked me anything about my home or family,” he offered. “What you’ve gotten yourself into.”
She dropped her eyes to her untouched plate. “I know exactly what I’ve gotten myself into, Rafe Fleming.” A tremor passed through her body, but when she looked back up, it was with a bright, teasing smile.
Was she as nervous as he? The unflappable Gwenyth Killigrew? He thought nothing touched her. Nothing broke through the stony façade she’d built around herself. He corrected himself. He’d pierced her armor at least once. There was a way. But that path led to treacherous ground. This was a temporary arrangement. He didn’t want more. So, perhaps her reserve was a good thing.
He cleared his throat, breaking the tense silence. “My eldest brother holds the title now. Edmund is—”
“Title,” she mouthed. Her smile faded, and Rafe suddenly realized how nervous she really was.
“You knew my family’s station. My past.” He wanted to erase the worry in her face. Do whatever it took to coax back that smile. “We don’t have to stay with them if you don’t want to. I can rent a house. We can stay there alone—”
Instead of easing her fears, horror leapt into her eyes, stopping his words. “No,” she snapped. “Not alone.” She squared her shoulders, her napkin clutched in fisted hands. “I’ll do what I’ve said I will. And part of this was to accompany you home. But, Rafe,” she shook her head, “you play with fire by bringing one such as me with you. They’ll be none too happy. And I wouldn’t say I’d blame them. They’ll be wanting you to themselves and to show you to their friends like a prize.”
“No doubt,” he answered dryly. “But if they’d have me, they must have you.”
And he began to think he meant it.
Gwenyth felt Rafe just behind her as they climbed the stairs to their chambers at the inn. Felt him in the warmth that melted through her body. In the tug of her heart that told her to simply lean back into his arms, to let him wrap himself around her as he’d done in Goninan’s gardens. His hand steadied her at the turn, and she almost jumped out of her skin at
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