Kit—that seemed too intimate to her, though that was his name—gave her a strange look, weighing her up almost, before coming to a decision.
“It is probably nothing more than coincidence and merely bad luck,” he finally said, although there was an edge to his voice that spoke of something he was keeping from her.
Well, Elsie could understand they had, after all, only just met, and their talk had drifted into the wildly inappropriate.
So, Elsie decided against pushing against his obvious discomfort. Perhaps it was best to change the subject. “When I was small, and my little brother was born, I told everyone that he was bad luck. It is probably rather cruel of me to say so, but I was not pleased to no longer be the youngest, and dear William had quite the ugliest nose.” The duke made no reply, so Elsie continued confidingly, “He has now much improved, grown into the feature as my mother would say, but I told my sister, Margot—sorry, Miss Keating as I should call her—that our younger brother was…”
“That your brother was cursed?”
“Yes.”
“Because of his nose?”
Rather shamefacedly, Elsie nodded. “That is what I told her. I was only four at the time.”
To her surprise the duke laughed. There was something warm to the noise, which seemed with the strength of it to reach out and touch her limbs—to heat her body. Then he lent nearer, closing the distance between the two of them so that their shoulders touched. “Gaining a sibling is not always such a gift, especially when one is so small.” He paused, suddenly alert. “God, you’re freezing.”
“I have lost several parts of my gown. Which is presumably not aiding in keeping me snug.” Elsie made a gesture down at her ruined dress and chemise. “All in a good cause of course.”
“If you would not deem it hugely inappropriate on my part, may I…?” He angled his broad chest towards her, offering to embrace her with his body. Her eyes moved down his shirt which was damp and beneath it she could make out the shape of his muscled chest. “I mean no disrespect towards you but in order for us…”
“To stay warm?” she asked. He was right, she was blisteringly cold, goose pimples streaking up her legs as she spoke, so her words came out with a wobble.
He didn’t wait for her reply but slowly and carefully with far more grace than she’d ever imagined him capable of, enfolded her in his arms. First the right arm closed over her shoulders, and then when she was close, his left hand came around to protectively cup her knees. There was a solid kindness to the gesture, one which a family member might display. At least that was what Elsie told herself. The problem was it did not feel remotely familiar to her—Kit was warmer than she’d expected, more keenly muscled, which she could now feel through the thin and damp layers of their clothes.
The smell of the salt was present, clinging to his curling hair, yet there was something else, an almost mint-like flavour that clung to him. It unnerved her, seeming like a temptation emanating from a man.
Being this much closer to him, she could study his features, which were far less harsh and intimidating up close. The jut of his nose seemed softer today, better suited to him, the curve of his eyebrows, which she had dismissed as dark and heavy were actually far more winged than she’d given him credit for, and the shape of his lips, which she had originally thought too thin, held a sensuality which made her wish to gaze up at the bow. Now she could see the paleness of his eyes, originally so unnerving, were far more beautiful than she would ever imagine a man could possess. When in her shock she shuddered at this bizarre thought, his arms tightened, bringing her flush against him, and Elsie realised that even if he wished to hide it, he was holding her carefully with compassion, no man could be completely unfeeling or cynical she told herself and behave in such a manner.
Desperate after a few minutes to break the hold and what feltlike thickening tension, Elsie shifted slightly. “Can you smell the scent of mint?”
For a moment Kit looked down at her in confusion, and then it cleared, and he said, “Ah yes, I happened to pass some on my way home.” He lifted his hand and pointed over to his drying jacket. “I filled my pockets with leaves.”
“Why?”
He leant back against the wall of the cave, and replied with a marked indifference that hinted all too clearly that this meant something dear, “It is my sister’s favourite flavour, and I thought if it was brewed…”
“I would have done the same for my mother.” Elsie judged it better not to linger over the mention of his sister thinking it best to focus on the gesture than the recipient. Lady Flora was a sensitive topic, and Elsie in her cold damp clothes, wretched and isolated in a cave, did not feel herself able to do the matter justice. Besides, she had no desire to further burn any bridges with the man who was currently keeping her so snug.
“I’m sorry if I scared you earlier,” Kit said, and Elsie wondered if he meant during the cove being flooded, or if it was in reference to her first night in the manor house.
“If you did so, I would not own up to the fact.” Elsie gave him a cheerful grin both as a means of reassurance to each of them. “I pride myself on not being intimidated, unless it cannot be helped.”
“Did the tides—” he started to say, and Elsie was somewhat saddened to realise he had not been referring to his initial treatment of her on her arrival. “Does the natural world have an effect on you?”
“If the storm could not, then no, I will not be so frightened by the weather. I know a great many women claim to be terrified of a storm, but I would not succumb to such weakness.” She tried her best to sound brave, and to the best of her knowledge, she was telling the truth. Of course, there were things that frightened her,but not everything had to be disclosed, despite their close proximity, which might imply some intimacy.
“Would you save any fear for certain acquaintances?” If she knew him better, Elsie wondered if he was attempting to tease her.
“Only certain people,” Elsie replied without thinking and saw an eyebrow twitch on Kit’s face, he looked like he wanted to laugh. An urge to tell him the truth about Margot, and how frightened she had been when she’d seen the dying duke on the carpet, blood surrounding him, but she swallowed it down, scared to reveal such a secret and the consequences of sharing something so personal to her sister. It could be argued it was not hers to reveal. Silence stretched as Kit waited patiently for her to tell him what was so terrifying. “My grandmother,” she finally said.
He pulled back to look down at her, quizzical surprise dancing over his face, before he laughed. “Your grandmother?”
Earnestly Elsie nodded, focusing on the more humorous elements of her grandmother. If any of it could be said to be amusing. Something that would lighten the tension that simmered awkwardly between their huddled bodies. But a story that would not hint at the family secrets Elsie wished to keep buried.
“She is very strict about society,” Elsie said. “Very proper and was not the easiest when my sister and I made our debuts into Scottish society.” It was an overview, a brief skirting of the truth. Grandmother Keating had been hideously controlling five years ago, and each season upon season she had gotten worse until Elsie loathed their annual trip to Edinburgh. It was clearer to her now why her grandmother had been so disapproving—the woman had always suspected that Margot was not actually her granddaughter. Not that it had meant she had been kind to Elsie, especially after the incident with Graves.
“I never knew my grandparents,” Kit said. “Never met a single one of them. I suppose that is not uncommon.” As she tried herbest to listen to his words, she realised there was something melodic about his voice, a softness she had not appreciated before. A studied slowness that did not imply a simplicity in his mind but more that he wanted to consider his turn of phrase with consideration. Why that should be so appealing, and endear her with the desire to curl up closer, was strange.
