It's Always Been You (York Family 2)

She jumped, and for a moment she fell into a well of fear. It was him, her stepson, come to confess his awful love for her again. Come to threaten her with his awful lies. She slid a foot back, preparing to race away.

“Kate, it’s me.”

Finally, she registered the familiar voice. Aidan. Not Gerard. A chill shivered through her body, setting her hair on end as she searched the shadows for Aidan. He finally took a step forward, revealing himself.

“What are you doing here?” she asked through clenched teeth.

“I have something for you.”

She took three shallow breaths, then shook her head in exasperation. “Aidan, you can’t be here. You have to go.”

His forehead furrowed into a frown as he glanced around with concern. “Is something wrong?”

“Ha! Yes, there’s something wrong.”

Obviously worried, he stepped toward her as if to take her arm, but she pulled quickly back and turned to the door. Her mind turned frantically, trying to find a way to make him go and stay gone, but her brain refused to offer a solution. With no idea what to do, she found herself moving through the door with him close on her heels. Clutching the folds of her cloak around her as protection, she turned and met his gaze. His eyes were expectant, his mouth grim and beautiful.

Trying to ignore the sudden silence between them, Kate busied herself with lighting a lamp. She didn’t know what she was hoping for—the floor to open up and swallow him whole? It seemed unlikely that he would show a sudden desire to depart after waiting in the snow for her. His eyelids dropped almost imperceptibly.

“Oh, very well,” she muttered in resignation, and removed her cloak, holding out her hand for his coat. She was rewarded with a wide smile as well as his wet garments. A glance at the stove showed her kettle still steaming on the warm top. “Tea? It’s a bit late for coffee.”

“Tea would be wonderful.”

She took her time preparing the tea tray, aware, all the while, of his eyes on her. What did he see? Who did he think she was?

Without a word, she picked up the tray and headed up the stairs; he followed with the lamp.

“Let me get the fire.” He was already kneeling at the small stove, striking a flame. It was completely inappropriate that he be here, in her private rooms, but that horse was already miles from the barn. Still, his presence disturbed her.

“I thought you’d gone to London.” Turning away from tending the tea, she made no attempt to pretend happiness at his arrival.

“I did. I returned to check the repairs on my ship.”

His ship? She would not ask him about himself. Instead, Kate perched tensely on one of the small chairs and poured tea as he took the seat opposite. The width of the table between them was a relief.

“I have something of yours. I thought I would bring it to you as I was returning to town anyway.”

“I’m sure that wasn’t necessary.”

Instead of replying, he gently placed a package on the table. It was small: a square of carefully folded blue cloth wrapped in a silver ribbon. Hesitant, afraid what she might find, she reached out and lifted it, feeling the weight of his gaze on her as she untied the ribbon and unfolded the package.

“Oh!” The sight of the burnished gold, engraved elaborately with a delicate forest of leaves, tightened her throat. With slow reverence, she turned the watch over and brushed her fingers along the smooth-worn metal where her grandfather’s thumb had rubbed away the design. She breathed in the scent of old metal. A memory surfaced, of her grandfather in his library, staring into the flames of the fireplace, thoughtfully stroking the watch as he puzzled something out. A hundred other memories assailed her, all of them of her grandfather, all of them good. He’d been a constant in her life. A man who was always kind and warm and funny, at least with her. Even as a small child she’d been aware that others were intimidated by him, even afraid of him, but Kate had worshipped him—and been adored in return.

A click of the clasp and it opened to reveal hands frozen at the six and the ten. The watch had kept this same time for years, even before her grandfather’s death. The familiar sight drew another picture from that hollow in her heart.

Aidan’s face, flushed with the hour they’d spent in each other’s arms. His eyes, shining with fierce emotion as he cradled the watch in his palm. A promise, she’d said, a pledge of my love until we can be together. He’d embraced her then and rained tiny kisses over her eyes, her jaw, her neck. I love you, he’d whispered again and again. I love you.

Kate placed a hand protectively over her throat, guarding the tightness that settled there.

“I know how much it meant to you. I wanted . . .” He shrugged. “Well,” he added quietly, “it’s returned to its rightful owner now.”

Closing the watch with a loud click, Kate tried to end the memories of Aidan with the same efficiency. “Thank you. I hadn’t thought of him in years.” The thickness in her throat muted the words.

His hand lifted, and she watched warily as he reached slowly toward her face. His thumb brushed her cheek, catching a tear she hadn’t known had fallen. Eyes closing of their own accord, she helplessly savored the tenderness of that small touch. How many years had passed since anyone had touched her without demanding or punishing or directing? The thought was jarring. She’d grown up with the gentle hand of her mother, the affectionate arms of her nurse and her governess, the steady touch of her maid. Then there’d been Aidan. . . .

Odd that a person could go almost a decade without a kind touch and not even realize it.

The feather touch of his thumb became the warm press of his whole hand. She allowed herself just this moment of pleasure and turned her cheek into his palm, pressed her skin against his heat. Just a second of contact, then she stood swiftly and walked away from him to look out at the night through her tiny window. The floorboards creaked as he rose. She waited anxiously for the sound of his footsteps coming close, but he didn’t move, didn’t even seem to breathe.