He cleared his throat. “I fear to inquire whether or not your parents would approve of me.”
She unbowed her head. “Indeed they would. They like charming men from good families.”
Nothing wrong with her words, but everything wrong with how she said them. Had the man who’d sent her the letter, who’d threatened her once upon a time, been a charming man her family approved of? He needed to know more of the enemy but had been afraid to press her. Too much at once might send her running.
“Is that it?” Gwendolyn pointed to the skyline where a house interrupted the organic patterns of sky and trees.
“Yes.” Jackson kicked his heels into his horse’s flanks, and when Gwendolyn saw him speed into a canter, she followed, slanting him a grin of playful competition. Her past forgotten for the moment? He hoped so. He’d give her a little distraction.
“I’ll race you,” he said.
She pulled herself up tall. “You’ll try to, you mean.”
They raced.
The wind whipped against his skin, tearing his lips into a smile. He heard her laughter as she sped past him, and that little hat wavered. He slowed. Better forhimto snip the thing from her hair than for the wind to do so. She slowed, too, the walls of the rector’s house growing in detail as they approached. She reached a small fence surrounding the house before he did, but not much sooner. He dismounted and reached up to help her do so. She placed her hands on his shoulders and allowed his help, smiling down at him as he lowered her to the ground. He’d rarely seen her smile reach her eyes before, never seen happiness not haunted by shadows in her face.
He'd always been half in love with her, always admired her, always saw she hid something, parts of herself, had always wanted to see those parts shining in the full light of day.
And now he was. And it was better than anything he’d ever imagined. His contrary Miss Smith a confident lady, assured of her place in the world.
Damn, what he wouldn’t do to make that second of confidence her hourly habit. His hands lay still at her waist, but he swept them away, clutched them together behind his back to keep from flinging her up on the horse and taking her back to the greenhouse. Better yet, his room.
She smoothed the shoulder of his jacket. “I can see machinations in your eyes, Jackson. Do focus.”
Right. He cleared his throat, scattered his body’s desires to the wind. “Right. The rector.”
“Do you remember him well?”
“Yes. An intelligent man. A decade or so younger than my father. If he knows anything about my father’s book, he’ll share it.”
“Excellent.” She grinned at him. “We should go in.”
He grinned at her. Walls were crumbling between them, and he wanted only to make use of that fact, to crush her against him, kiss her, and—
“Ahem.” A male voice, a clearing of the throat.
Gwendolyn’s eyes widened, and she whipped around to face the cottage.
Jackson straightened his waistcoat and turned with a bow. “Mr. Stewart. Do you remember me?”
The rector was younger than Jackson remembered him, perhaps in his late thirties. He was rather large, too, and though his clothing hung too loose, the ill fit was obviously not a symptom of a weak frame. He seemed more blacksmith than scholar. He regarded Jackson with suspicious dark eyes, but when he looked at Gwendolyn, his mouth stole into a grin.
“You’re the Cavendish lad.” He spoke without looking at Jackson, his entire gaze riveted on Gwendolyn. “And who are you?”
Jackson stepped closer and thread his arm through Gwendolyn’s. “This is Miss Gwendolyn Smith, my partner.”
Mr. Stewart flashed a look at Jackson then. “Partner?”
“We’re both research assistants to my uncle, Lord Eaden.”
“The explorer, scholar. Yes. I’ve read his books. Your father praised them highly. Of course he would. Family.” He looked back to Gwendolyn. “Do you speak for yourself?”
Gwendolyn bristled and stepped forward, offering the curtest curtsy Jackson had ever seen. “I do.”
Jackson crossed his arms over his chest. If Mr. Stewart meant to grant attentions to Gwendolyn, he’d find her an impervious wall. Jackson should know.
“And do you, Mr. Stewart,” Gwendolyn said, “invite visitors inside? Or must they stand about in the cold all afternoon?”
