Chapter 18

C hapter 18

We talked for hours, our conversation flowing surely and easily. The rain grew heavier throughout the day, and we huddled closer, the blanket doing its best to keep us dry.

Nathaniel seemed not to mind our close proximity, speaking in my ear as he told me of his childhood, of growing up the youngest of three children. He spoke more of his parents, of their industry and diligence. He shared stories from his youth, making me laugh at his boyish antics and wish I had known him then.

For all he told me, he pressed me for stories of my own, so I told him of my childhood, my family. I carefully avoided any mention of my father, and he did not pry. The minutes flew past us, blurring together countless moments of laughter and sincerity.

When the coach came to another stop—we’d halted several times to change horses—I looked up in a daze. It still rained, but the heavy clouds had darkened even more with the coming night. How had the day passed so quickly? I’d never experienced anything like this before. I’d never lost myself so thoroughly in someone else.

“This is our stop for tonight,” Nathaniel said, glancing around the small town, the rain still falling as the other passengers disembarked. “This coach continues on north. We’ll take the morning coach west to Cirencester.”

Nathaniel climbed down first, then I placed one foot on the step and paused, eyeing the gap between the step and the ground.

“Here,” Nathaniel said, moving to help me. I reached for his hand, but he instead took me around the waist. He lifted me with such ease that my heart swooped, then he set me gently on the ground. His hands lingered at my sides.

“Thank you,” I said, more hoarsely than I would ever care to admit. Surely it was a known fact that a lady was prone to lose her voice when being held by a handsome man? It seemed like sound science.

He released me and turned away, taking our bags as the porter handed them down and giving me a moment to collect myself. I spotted the young mother and her children off to one side. Her two oldest had their arms wrapped around a kneeling man, and the woman was beaming, rocking her babe. She caught my eye and gave me a grateful smile. I smiled back and nodded.

When Nathaniel had both our bags, I gestured toward a building to our right, a rather rickety establishment with a barely legible sign in the window advertising rooms for rent.

“Perhaps we might try our luck there,” I said, eyeing the rest of the town. “It may be our only option.”

Several of the other passengers were already making their way to the inn, and we were last in line when we stepped inside. The taproom was warm and cozy, filled with travelers and locals alike enjoying meals together. We waited patiently, glad to be out of the rain that now pounded on the roof above us.

The man ahead of us finally took his key and shuffled off to the stairs. I stepped forward to greet the innkeeper while Nathaniel handled our bags.

He looked at me from behind spectacles, smiling kindly. “Good evening, Mrs. ... ?”

“Travers,” I said without thinking.

His eyes moved to Nathaniel. “You must be Mr. Travers, then.”

Nathaniel’s mouth dropped, and it was all I could do to stop myself from bursting out laughing.

“Yes,” I somehow managed, my grin as wide as the Thames. “This is my husband, Mr. Travers .” I slipped my arm through Nathaniel’s, looking up at him with mischievous eyes.

He coughed to cover what I was certain was a laugh of his own.

“Ah,” the innkeeper said with a knowing gleam to his eye. “Newly married?”

“Very,” Nathaniel said, his voice dry. “So new it doesn’t quite feel real.”

“I knew it,” the man said triumphantly. “I’ve an eye for that sort of thing.”

“Indeed?” I asked. “Well, you’ve pegged us right. We are desperately in love.”

I glanced up at Nathaniel, expecting to still see that barely concealed smile. But his expression had frozen, and he looked away when I met his gaze. Was it something I’d said?

“As you should be,” the innkeeper said, flipping through his ledger. “Let me see what room I have available.”

“Oh.” My eyes snapped back to him. “Do forgive me, but we shall need separate rooms. Still adjusting to marriage, you see.”

The innkeeper raised his brow, no doubt wondering what “adjusting to marriage” meant.

“Very well.” He consulted his ledger once again. He frowned and flipped another page. “Oh dear.”

“What is it?” Blast, was there only one room available?

“I’m afraid I gave my last room to the fellow before you,” he said apologetically.

“Your last room?” I repeated, not comprehending.

“I do apologize.” He looked truly abashed.

“No matter,” Nathaniel said from behind me. “Would you point us in the direction of the nearest accommodations?”

The innkeeper licked his lips. “I’m afraid we are the only inn for miles.”

Nathaniel and I exchanged a baffled glance. What on earth were we to do? There were no coaches leaving until dawn, and we had nowhere to go. Not that we could leave anyway, with the rain beating down outside.

“Surely you’ve other rooms,” Nathaniel pressed the innkeeper. “Perhaps a small closet, tucked out of the way.”

I did not even allow my mind to drift toward that possibility. Nathaniel and I, together in a closet .

But the innkeeper shook his head. “I am terribly sorry, I don’t—” Then he paused. “Well, perhaps there is one option.”

“Yes?” I asked.

He gestured to the taproom behind us. “When the crowds leave, I could lay two mattresses before the fire. It would hardly be private, but it would be warm and dry.”

I hesitated. Sleeping in a public room? But it was a better option than wandering in the rain, looking for someone to take us in.

I glanced at Nathaniel, and he nodded.

“Thank you, sir,” I said to the innkeeper. “We are most grateful for your offer.”

He guided us to a table in the corner, assuring us dinner would be ready soon, then left.

“I suppose it could be worse,” Nathaniel said, his good humor not abandoning him now. He draped his coat over the back of his chair to dry. “He might have put us up in the stables.”

I grinned as I removed my gloves and bonnet. “How very biblical.”

As promised, the innkeeper brought us a hearty meal of roast chicken and potatoes, which soon filled my belly with warmth as the fire dried the dampness from my skin. Nathaniel and I spoke quietly as we ate, sharing observations about the other patrons, listening to the ebb and flow of a dozen conversations.

It was ... comfortable. Familiar, somehow, though I supposed we had spent the better part of a day at The Nag’s Head in London. But this inn was far less rowdy and considerably more pleasant.

As the evening went on, the tap room slowly emptied, travelers retiring to their rooms while the locals lingered for one more pint. It was after eleven o’clock before the innkeeper, Mr. Rutts, locked the front door and applied himself to the task of our beds. Nathaniel helped him carry two spare straw mattresses from upstairs and set them before the fire, moving tables aside to make room.

Mrs. Rutts, a sweet, matronly woman, insisted the men hang a blanket to block off the main part of the tap room, giving us a modicum of privacy. I could hardly protest, so I thanked her with an embarrassed smile as I avoided Nathaniel’s laughing eyes. While the men rigged up the blanket, Mrs. Rutts invited me to their private rooms to change. I gratefully slipped out of my still-damp dress and stockings, then stood with my hands on my hips, considering my options. I certainly could not wear my night rail. I could never be so undressed in front of any man, let alone Nathaniel.

I decided to sleep in my second traveling dress, a dark-blue muslin. I kept my stays on, though I loosened them slightly. I wouldn’t be terribly comfortable sleeping in them, but it was better than the alternative.

When I emerged, Mrs. Rutts handed me a stack of blankets and pillows. “Here you are, dear. I am sorry we could not offer better accommodations.”

I smiled. “We are grateful, truly.”

I bid her good night and reentered the taproom, now split into a smaller section by a threadbare blanket. I stepped around the temporary wall, feeling the warmth of the fire again. Nathaniel stood near the mattresses, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. He looked up at my entrance, and I did not think I imagined the flush in his cheeks.

“Mr. Rutts insisted on setting them up like this,” he muttered.

The two mattresses were pushed together, the cozy glow of the fire settling on them. Without waiting, Nathaniel bent and pulled one to the side, leaving a two-foot gap between the beds. There wasn’t room for anything more.

“Lady’s choice, Mrs. Travers.” He gestured at the two mattresses.

“Why, thank you, Mr. Travers.” I chose the bed on the right and set the blankets beside it, then sat down, almost moaning at how good it felt to sit upon something so soft after the hard benches in the mail coach.

Nathaniel cleared his throat. “I—I need to change.”

It was then that I noticed he still wore his traveling clothes, dirty and damp. Mrs. Rutts hadn’t thought to offer him a room to change in, apparently imagining a man would have no qualms changing in a public room, considering he had only his wife for an audience.

“Oh.” Now my face flushed, hot and prickly. “Of course. I—I’ll wait behind here.”

I retreated behind the blanket once more, blessing my lucky stars that I hadn’t had to change in the same room as him. I did not think I would have been able to look at him again.

I heard rustling behind the blanket, and my mind strayed. I snapped it back to attention, the back of my neck warm, and cast around for a topic to distract the both of us. “What time do you think we will arrive in Bibury tomorrow?” My voice was pitched just a touch higher than normal.

“Midafternoon, I imagine.” His voice was slightly muffled.

“Good,” I said determinedly, trying very hard not to watch the shadows he cast against the firelit ceiling as he dressed. “The sooner we find Elizabeth, the better. I am certain she will have answers for us, and then we can put this entire ordeal behind us.” I decided to busy my hands and began pulling hair pins from my messy coiffure.

“What will you do when it is behind you?” he asked.

“Return to my quiet life, I suppose,” I mused, curls falling loose around my shoulders as I worked. “Or as quiet as life with my mother allows.”

“And is that what you want?”

There was something in his voice—a subtle surety that he knew the answer before he had asked the question.

“Why should I not?” I asked lightly.

“Because,” he said, “you are not the sort of woman who pines for a quiet life.”

I straightened, clutching my handful of hair pins. “Pardon?”

“You told me once that you had wished to become like your brother,” he said. “A thief-taker of sorts. It is not a dream that one gives up easily. But you did.”

My jaw tightened. “I did.”

“Why?”

“That is not—” I had to stop and take a breath. “I don’t wish to discuss it.” I set my hair pins on the nearby table.

“Of course you don’t.” He spoke low, but his voice was no longer dampened by the blanket between us.

I turned in surprise. “I am not—”

Then I froze. Nathaniel held aside the edge of the blanket, wearing clean breeches and a new shirt. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, muscular forearms taut. He wore no cravat, so his collar hung limp, his top buttons undone, revealing the smooth curve of collarbone beneath.

I should look away—his feet were bare, his shirt untucked. But he met my gaze with an unyielding one of his own, so I straightened my shoulders. “I have my reasons for keeping such things to myself.”

He said nothing, only watched me with those shadowed eyes that seemed to see the barest part of me. I moved around him, snatching up my bundle of wet clothing from beside my mattress. I went to the fire to drape them over nearby chairs, as if that might help. A useless endeavor. The image of him standing there would surely be emblazoned on my mind forevermore.

“I am sorry. I ...” He paused, then sighed, and I imagined him running a hand through his hair. “Everything I’ve learned about you, Verity, only makes me want to know more. I cannot seem to help myself.”

I was holding my sodden stockings, though I suddenly could not remember why . My mind was entirely consumed in the words he’d just spoken, words that hovered between us, alive and aware.

“I am sorry,” he said again, more softly. “I won’t pry anymore.”

My hands tightened about my stockings, and my stomach tumbled—because I already knew I had given in. “There was an incident,” I said, my voice scratchy.

He said nothing and made no movement behind me. I made myself lay my stockings over the chair with unsteady hands, then crossed my arms around my middle.

“I was investigating a case,” I said. “A lady had engaged me to find a man she’d hired as her new butler, who had then robbed her blind a fortnight later.”

The quiet between us grew, surrounding me.

“I found him,” I said, “and was following him home one night. He was dangerous, wanted for many violent crimes, but I was certain I could handle him. I had my pistol and a fool’s confidence.” I had to take a deep breath before continuing. “I had a feeling something wasn’t right, but I ignored it. He—he led me down an alley and waited until I turned the corner. He had me by the throat before I could so much as scream.” My hand rose unbidden to my throat, to that fragile column of flesh.

“He was enormous,” I whispered. “And strong. I hadn’t a chance, even with the tricks Jack had taught me. I fought against him, but it did nothing. I could not breathe.”

A footstep sounded behind me, as if Nathaniel moved closer.

“It was a very near thing,” I somehow managed. “My vision went black. But then I heard a shout. We’d been seen from the street. The man dropped me and ran. That is the only reason I am still alive.” I wrapped my fingers around my neck. I could almost feel the bruises there, the faintness of my pulse. “I was in terrible condition. My throat was so swollen, I couldn’t speak for nearly a week. I could barely eat or drink. The bruises lasted far longer.”

I stared into the fire, the emotions of that night gripping me, tearing me apart yet again. Death had hovered like a crow over me, eyeing me hungrily. I had defied it, but that did not mean I had forgotten its cold, grasping claws.

I finally turned to Nathaniel, my hand dropping to once again fold over my stomach. “There you have it,” I said quietly. “The reason I abandoned my dream. I am too afraid. A coward.”

“A coward?”

The edge in his voice made me look at him. To my surprise, Nathaniel’s face was set in a murderous expression, his shadowed jaw tight, his eyes aflame. “A man tried to strangle you in a dark alley, and you think you are a coward?”

I gulped. I hadn’t imagined this reaction. “If not a coward, then a fool, certainly. Imagining that I could do it alone. That I did not need anyone’s help.”

He shook his head vehemently. “He simply got the jump on you. He is the coward, attacking a woman like that.”

“He likely did not know I was a woman,” I said for some reason. “I was cloaked, and it was dark.”

Nathaniel threw up his hands. “As if that makes any difference.” He paced away a few steps, then returned, a scowl on his face. “Did you ever catch him?”

I shook my head. It was one of the greatest regrets of my life. “I never saw him again. I imagine he took his bounty and skipped town that night.” I was suddenly and irrevocably exhausted. The long day of travel, the spent emotions of the past week—my legs no longer wished to hold me. I lowered myself to the foot of my mattress, near the fire. I needed that warmth.

A minute later, Nathaniel seated himself beside me, his elbow propped on one bent knee, his other leg stretched toward the fire. I glanced sidelong at him. His mouth was pressed into a dark slash, though his jaw had lost some of its tension.

We sat together in silence for a few minutes as Nathaniel weighed what I’d told him. I could hardly sort out my own feelings. No one but Mama and Grandmama knew what had happened that night. I’d begged them not to tell anyone, especially Jack. I could not bear to think that my brother would know of my failure. He’d always been proud of me.

But telling Nathaniel now ... While it did not change my fears nor ease my memories of that awful night, his reaction—his fury at my assailant, the fierce protectiveness in his eyes—made me breathe fully for the first time in months. He hadn’t written me off as some dotty woman in over her head, as almost anyone would have.

My mother included.

“I was engaged once,” Nathaniel said.

His words were like a stone dropped into still water. I turned to stare up at him.

“Her name was Hannah,” he said. “A childhood friend. We were well suited, everyone said. I thought so too.”

A hot bolt of jealousy shot through me. I did not even try to pretend it wasn’t jealousy. I felt it to my core, this world-tilting realization that Nathaniel had once asked another woman to marry him. I tucked my knees to my chest, clasping my arms around them. “What happened?” I managed.

He absently ran his knuckles against his jaw. “I was shot.”

“Shot?” The disbelief in my voice was tangible.

He grinned ruefully. “The criminal I was attempting to apprehend did not take kindly to my interference. I ducked, but not quickly enough.” He pulled down the collar of his shirt to reveal a scar, a white line slashing across the slope of his shoulder. “I was fortunate. It was a glancing blow, though it hurt like the dickens.”

He pushed his collar back into place, which was probably for the best. My eyes had already started to wander along the shadowed lines of his chest.

“It wasn’t a serious injury,” he said, “but it frightened Hannah. She insisted I leave Bow Street, follow my father into his carpentry business instead. I was just a lowly member of the foot patrol at the time, not an officer, and she couldn’t comprehend why I felt such a draw to my work.” He shot me a wry smile. “As you might have surmised, I chose not to leave.”

“So she left you?” It was inconceivable. What sort of woman would ever leave Nathaniel Denning once she had him?

He sighed. “It was not quite as simple as that, but yes. She did not want to live a life of fear, and that I could understand. But neither could I sacrifice what I saw as my calling. And so we broke our engagement.” He lifted one shoulder. “She’s married now, these last three years. Has two children. Happy, I think.”

I eyed him. “And are you happy?”

He considered that. “Yes,” he said finally, “though I have certainly had moments over the years when I’ve doubted my decision. When I think of what I might have had.”

That jealousy again. A bitter pill.

“But,” he said, still not looking at me, “I’ve since realized I did not love her as I should have. If I had truly loved her, I should have given up anything for her. So I believe it was for the best. She is loved and appreciated, and I finally have the post I’ve been working for since I was a boy.” He shook his head. “I only shared because ...” He paused. “Verity, you are not alone in feeling afraid. It is part of what we do. It’s something we must confront every day.”

We . As if we were equals.

“But choosing not to confront it,” he said, “is a different sort of bravery. Choosing what is best for you and your life, even if it goes against everything you thought you wanted.”

Like he had. Choosing between his betrothed and his desire to help people at Bow Street.

“Allow yourself some grace,” he said. “And some time. You might be surprised how different things can seem with just a little of both.” He bent his head to look me in the eye. “I think you have a gift, Verity Travers. I’ve worked with dozens of officers, and you rival even the best in cleverness, in grit, in talent. But no matter what you choose to make of your life, it will be exceptional.”

He made me wish to cry—for joy, of gratitude. For letting me see the other side of what pains I had suffered and assuring me that he felt them too.

“I’ve never known anyone like you,” I said quietly. “You say what you feel, and you mean it. No guile or deception.” I shook my head. “You are a good man, Nathaniel.”

I wasn’t sure when in our conversation we’d moved closer to each other. An unknown force had drawn us together, inch by inch, breath by breath. Our hands, propped on the floor between us, did not touch, but I swore I could feel the brush of his fingers, the surge of energy that sparked whenever he touched me.

My gaze rose until I met his eyes. I could see the fire reflected there, an orange haze of heat. His gaze consumed me. My curls fell over my shoulder in a wild wave of ebony, and his hand lifted, trapping a ringlet between his thumb and forefinger. I caught my breath.

“Am I still a good man if I wish to kiss you?” His voice was husky as he rubbed his fingers over the strands of hair. Every inch of my skin felt hot, as though I sat under a brilliant summer sun.

“If I want you to,” I whispered.

He swallowed hard, watching me intently, then he bent toward me, every movement deliberate and steady. His large hand moved to cradle the back of my neck, his thumb caressing my jaw. The feel of his rough skin against mine made my blood race through my veins. This man would make my heart give out.

He did not pull me to him. He came to me, allowing me every chance to retreat.

I did not. I wanted this. I wanted it like I’d never wanted anything before. My eyes fluttered closed.

His mouth hovered even closer to mine, and then he paused. Waiting. I could feel him there. My hand moved of its own accord, touching his shirt, the thin muslin the only thing separating us.

Then he kissed me, his lips capturing mine, and it was everything. Light and dark, heart and soul, hot and cold. There was nothing possessive in his kiss, yet I felt utterly his . And I wanted him to be mine.

I tugged on his shirt, pulling him closer. He went a step further and wrapped his arm tightly around my waist, bringing me firmly against his side. He wasn’t about to let me go now. Our lips danced a rhythm only our hearts knew. We parted to breathe, then came together again.

My hands found his jaw, the coarseness of his unshaven skin. I felt lightning wherever he touched me—a skimming up my arms, a graze of knuckles across my cheek, his fingers in my hair. I never wanted to stop. Kissing Nathaniel Denning made the world disappear. He made me feel like I was the world—or at least his world.

There was nothing to stop us, save our own consciences, which I was eager to ignore. I preferred blissful escape.

He did not seem quite as keen. He suddenly pulled back, breath ragged. “Verity.”

My chest rose and fell rapidly, and I scolded my lungs. What was it about kissing that made one forget to breathe?

“We can’t ...” His cheeks were flushed, eyes heavy. “I shouldn’t have done that. You’re under my protection. You’re—” He broke off, shaking his head and releasing me. “I’m sorry.”

I wasn’t, though I should have been. I’d kept secrets from this man and kept them still. I should not want his kisses so desperately when I knew they could lead us nowhere. I couldn’t allow myself to go down the path I’d sworn off years ago.

Even if his kisses made me wish I’d never made such a promise to myself.

He sat back on his mattress, elbows on his knees, and raked a hand through his hair—which was already quite mussed, thanks to my attentions. Though that was hardly my fault. He really shouldn’t have such touchable hair.

I moved away as well, trying to hold myself together. “No, I—” My voice was hoarse, thin. “I understand.”

“I want to kiss you,” he said as if he were afraid he hadn’t made that clear in the last few minutes. “Heaven knows I do, but ...”

A smile found my lips, even amid the turmoil of my mind. “I know,” I said softly.

We sat in a still silence for a few moments, then he stood, regarding our space with a critical eye. He lifted his mattress into his arms.

“What are you doing?” I stared up at him.

“I’ve acted quite the rogue tonight,” he said, moving toward the blanket that separated us from the rest of the tap room. “I’ll try to be a gentleman for the remainder.” He disappeared, a soft thump revealing he’d set his mattress just on the other side of our makeshift wall. When he came back, he began gathering his things, not looking at me.

“You’ll be cold away from the fire,” I managed.

“A fitting punishment,” he said with an exhale.

He hardly needed to punish himself for kissing me. I certainly hadn’t tried to stop him. But I did not think that was truly his reason. We had crossed a bridge tonight into foreign territory. He was allowing me some space, as much as he could give me in our current circumstances, and I was grateful.

“What will Mrs. Rutts think if she comes across you out there in the middle of the night?” I asked.

He smiled wryly. “We may have to pretend a lover’s spat come morning.” He straightened, arms filled with blankets, clothes, and his bag. He looked at me for the first time since he’d broken our kiss, his eyes seeming to shout a million emotions, each more baffling than the last. “We should sleep,” he said finally. “It’s late.”

I nodded, though I knew sleep would be impossible. How could I drift off to oblivion when my heart still beat staccato in my chest and my lips felt the lack of his?

I had the feeling he felt the same, considering how his eyes followed me as I turned away to prepare myself for bed. But he said nothing more, only slipped back through the blanket. We did not speak as we settled onto our beds.

I stared up at the shadows the fire cast across the ceiling. I was in a strange town, a strange bed, traveling with a man I’d known only a short time. But he wasn’t a stranger, and I felt safer and more at peace than I had in months, lying near him in the quiet.

I hesitated, then slipped my left hand under the edge of the blanket that separated us, my palm up and fingers open. A moment passed, then his hand found mine, our fingers twining together.

I gave a soundless sigh, and he ran his thumb across the inside of my wrist. It soothed me, made my heartbeat steady and my thoughts slow.

“Good night, Nathaniel,” I whispered.

“Good night, Verity,” he said, his deep voice a soft rumble.

I closed my eyes and let myself drift off.