Whether it was true or not, it was still kind of her to say it, but it went beyond the simply considerate. There was a sincerity to her words, and when she lent in closer, her head came to rest against his chest—she trusted him enough to be close, to be held by him.
Minutes eased by, and Kit enjoyed the solace of the silence, the comfort of being close to someone who knew the truth. Her knowing of his confession was a small burden being eased from his shoulders.
“I suppose that is how you injured yourself?” her question was a quiet one as if she too did not want to spoil the truce.
“That is correct…” Kit had not really dwelt on that side of things, having to break into the smashed carriage, pulling out his sister and then looking for the others. Lifting Flora free had not been burdensome, but getting her out when she was unconscious hadn’t been straightforward, but part of the broken bits of wood had stabbed his arm as he’d freed his sister. He had ignored it. Pretending it wasn’t painful for hours, working to find everyone since the driver was of no use, injured with a bad concussion, and Flora was dead to the world. In the darkness with no nearby buildings, Kit had worked through the blackness searching for his parents, each second underlining the fact that he was unlikely to locate them alive. Days later, the doctors had checked him, told him to rest, and Kit had tried, but there was a great deal to do around the manor, regardless of the pain he felt. It was an earned pain. It was what he deserved.
Elsie’s fingers reached for his and they linked their hands together, holding his injured wrist in her grasp. She didn’t addanything else, and when he heard her breath start to slow and become steady, he realised she had fallen asleep in his arms.
When Kit looked down at Lancelot, the dog was watching him with a tilted head, and Kit felt a wave of responsibility wash over him. It was not the same as it had been with his parents or even Flora, this time was different. Lancelot lowered his head, and Kit closed his eyes, not allowing himself to dwell on why it might be different.
CHAPTER 9
Night had fallen when Elsie started up, a heavy cool darkness had flooded the cave they were in. The storm from yesterday had cleared though, and sheer bright moonlight played across the rocky stones, bathing the space in a silvery soft glow. As they’d slept, the two of them had rolled almost as a unit, with Elsie coming to rest slightly on her front, with Kit curled up beside her, his arm casually draped over her waist. She was surprised how easily she’d fallen asleep. It would not seem the most natural place to find respite. Yet she had, and how nicely it had felt to be so close to the heat of another’s body in such a location.
Aware of how improper their positions were, Elsie jumped upright. She hurried to the edge of the cave. Below were the soft waves, the cove still full, and yet, it did not seem to her untrained eyes as if it was as choppy or as rough as before. Distantly she could make out the strange little cottage she’d been so curious about earlier in the day. It was utterly untouched by the waves, protected by an encirclement of rocks that kept a barrier between itself and the water. It was rather unnerving and an unnatural sight.
She turned back to look at Kit—or as she should probably be thinking at least internally, at the duke. It was important to keep those two as separate entities in her mind. One was the man who’d likely saved her life twice. The other, the cold noble who would decide her sister’s future. Either way, it was crucial she remembered he held the power with both dynamics.
“Has it cleared?” He was getting to his feet, seemingly unruffled by the experience of being huddled up together, warmed and entwined as a pair.
Kit stroked Lancelot’s head as he moved closer to her and nodded at Elsie in such a manner that she felt as if she was nothing more than a good friend. So much, she thought, for any romantic illusions she might have built, better to squish those out of her head right away.
“No,” Elsie said, “although it seems calmer. Quieter than before. Do you think it worth descending and trying to make our way back?”
Kit peered down. He had drawn on his coat as he’d walked over, and the sleepiness that she enjoyed slipped away from him with casual ease. “It’s an option. I would certainly like to be back at the manor sooner rather than later.” He lifted his eyes up to hers, dwelling on her for a moment, and Elsie recalled that if she were a proper lady, a woman governed by society’s rules, then she too should be worried about being trapped in such a position with such a man.
But nothing had happened despite how tempting she had thought it would be if he had kissed her. That did not count. It was not enough to ruin her good name. It had not happened, and one could not be punished for what one imagined despite Grandmother Keating’s views on the matter.
“It does seem to be retreating,” Kit mused, upright again and close to her. “The alternative is that we wait here until it is completely drained and descend then. But that would leave us vulnerable if we slipped climbing down the rocks.” By the termwe, Elsie thought he meant more specifically her, but given her torn dress, not to mention her numerous experiences as a child climbing everything that was available in Berwick-upon-Tweed, Elsie thought she could manage the descent with either the water there or not. Her preference was to leave the disconcerting cave, swim back through the calmer waves, towards the pathway and get back to the relative safety of the manor.
“I think we should go,” Elsie said. She sucked in her breath and raised her chin. “I for one am hungry and getting back to the manor…”
“Would it be better than a lonesome cave?” Kit asked. Then she caught his smile. “Don’t fear. I know you won’t start considering the manor house a ‘friendly’ location anytime soon.”
Ignoring the desire to smile back in a similarly warm manner, Elsie said instead, “It would be easier to get down and into the water rather than risk falling without the safety of the waves.”
“Very well,” Kit said. “Right. I’d best go first. If we create a sling, I can go down with Lancelot on my back.”
Using the end of the dress, they did just that, and when he started his descent, Elsie watched from the edge as the pair of them slowly moved away from her. Closer and closer to the water below. It was a less hurried affair than their ascent. Kit managed to climb down the front of the cliff. He went slowly, and for that she was grateful, as it reduced his risk of falling. Or Lancelot slipping out.
Once at the bottom she was pleased to see the water came up only to his waist. He looked up the front and waved, a smile visible from where she perched.
As she started to climb down herself, Elsie was impressed at how skilfully Kit had managed the stones, they were slippery beneath her fingers. Briefly an insight bloomed within her mind, that he must be rather strong—after all she had seen those muscles under his wet shirt just a few hours ago—to manage the climb, whereas she was clinging on and hoping not to slip.
Surely it was not common for a man—as her mind turned back over the shape and the heat of his body, one of her hands slid a little off the rock she was using, and below she heard his bellow of fear. Scolding herself Elsie forced her thoughts back to the cliff front.
When she reached near enough to the bottom though, she felt his strong hands grasp first her legs to keep her steady, then her waist, to ease her away from the rocks.
“There we go, I’ve got you.” He held her, and it unnerved Elsie how much her breathing was laboured, and how eagerly she clung to him now that she was off the cliff face. It was a little flattering she thought as he too seemed a touch reluctant to lower her the rest of the way.
“Do you want to avoid a re-soaking? I can try to carry you out of the cove.” Kit cut into her whimsical hopes, and Elsie was disappointed to realise yet again he was just being a gentleman.
“I can swim or wade as it is not very high.” She said with as much dignity as she could, and when Kit lowered her down into the water. She was rather pleased when he reached across and took her hand, interlacing their fingers both damp and needful.
“This way.” He had already turned and started taking long steps cutting through the water, with Elsie in his wake. Her eyes rooted to Lancelot still strapped to the duke’s back. The blasted animal looked as if he might be smiling, completely at his ease, and Elsie wondered suddenly if she too had worn such a daft expression of content when she dozed, cuddled up in Kit’s arms in the cave.
A realisation hit her as they moved through the water, although she was not sure how she could ever tell him. He had an aura of deep reassurance and strength—which was a gift perhaps, and one, ironically the man did not seem to know that he possessed. It seemed he did not want his title, or any of the pressures of the role, but it struck Elsie that actually Kit would be greatly skilled at such an opportunity. Of course, she could hardlytell him that. It would feel far too much of an overstep, and besides what she knew—an impoverished daughter of a vicar—her viewpoint was of little value to society or more importantly to him.
