It's Always Been You (York Family 2)

Kate didn’t reply to that, she only stared flatly at his pursed lips and wondered when he would leave. These visits were usually mercifully short.

“You may simply send a note ’round.”

She continued to ignore him.

“Well . . .” He twitched down the hem of his red coat. “I’ll check on you tomorrow.”

“I assure you that won’t be necessary. I am quite capable of looking after myself.”

“A woman alone can never be too careful, Mrs. Hamilton.”

“My husband would not have sent me ahead if he wasn’t sure of my safety. Good day.”

“Good day,” he snapped before stomping away.

She watched with narrowed eyes until he stepped into the street and closed the door behind him. Irritating little bug. He owned the tobacco shop across the street and kept an eye on her from his desk in the window. Worse, he’d dropped in almost every day for the past two months, looking over her property and her person with an arrogant air. Her nose crinkled with distaste at the thought of his shiny eyes resting on her bosom.

What did he want from her? Perhaps he suspected that there was no Mr. Hamilton and hoped to marry her himself one day. Or he believed that she and her husband were permanently separated and he could become her lover. Whatever he imagined, in his eyes Kate was a woman without a man, and he meant to step in and fill the breach.

“I think not,” she muttered with a humorless smile. Gulliver Wilson didn’t stand a chance of even taking her for a stroll on the street, much less a run to her bed. The mere thought made her shudder as she went to the counter and pulled her ledgers from their perch beneath it. Freedom was finally hers and she intended to keep it.

She was no longer helpless. She’d opened this store with help from no one—and had turned a profit in less than three months. A soft feeling bloomed inside her at the thought.

She’d never dreamed, not once in the past ten years, that she could be this content. This . . . happy. Happy. Was that possible? She hadn’t even bothered dreaming of happiness for so long. But she now had a home. She had peace. Self-sufficiency. And anonymity. That was a sort of peace in an

d of itself.

Kate inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma of roasted beans before letting her breath out in a rush. She loved this place, loved the sharp scent of the room and the rays of the sun creeping over the hard-worn floor. The silence of late-day also gave her time to check her figures and make plans for new shipments.

A few more weeks and winter would arrive. She hoped it would be cold. A bad winter would be good for sales, but that was not the sole reason she wished for cold. It had been years since she’d seen snow—ten endless years—and she’d almost forgotten it. A small flutter touched her belly at the thought she might never have seen winter again. Just the idea of a long life spent in Ceylon disturbed her enough to dry her mouth and tighten her throat.

But there was nothing to fear. She’d left the strange shores of Ceylon far behind her and returned to England as soon as was possible. She’d taken only the money that belonged to her, and a knowledge of coffee she’d managed to gather up in her decade on the island.

Now Ceylon was a world away, and she could only pray it would stay that way. Actually . . . she could pray, and she could take every precaution.

She’d lost so many pieces of herself over the years. Some in small bits, and some in great cataclysms that had rocked her to her core. It was as if the very things that made her a person had been removed. Nothing so metaphorical as her heart or her soul, but a very real foundation of stones that held her up. And now, she was carefully piecing those stones back together, with her own hands and her own hard work.

Reassured by the thought, she glanced down to the book she held.

HAMILTON COFFEES, the engraving read in gold script. The lettering had been a luxury, but she was so pleased with it. She was only Mrs. Hamilton now. She was not Katie Tremont. She was not Katherine Gallow. Just Mrs. Hamilton, an unknown woman with no Christian name. She had no family, no past, no lover, no coffee plantation burying her in heat and deceptions. And no husband who’d ever show up and reclaim her. A perfect life, as far as she was concerned.

And she would let no one take it away from her.

Aidan stopped just inside the doorway of Hamilton Coffees. The afternoon sun shone warm and high, casting the interior of the shop in shadow. Standing silent for a moment, he let his eyes adjust to the dimness of the building and inhaled. The rich scent of coffee gave him a comfortable feeling—a reminder of countless damp days as a child spent watching his father drink his coffee as he reviewed the daily papers and planned his morning.

As his eyes adjusted, Aidan looked about the place. He’d expected a typical coffeehouse, full of tables waiting for customers to stop in and enjoy company and biscuits. Instead, the small space was lined with lidded bins. Labels were attached to each, no doubt a description of the contents. Hamilton Coffees was a coffee merchant, a very profitable position if one knew the market well.

The room seemed deserted, but once he took a step inside, Aidan saw it was actually L-shaped. A small wing extended to the left of a door on the far wall. And there sat the mysterious woman, bent over a workbook and completely absorbed in her task. He took the chance to study her. She was absolutely unremarkable. Light brown hair pinned up beneath a small white cap. Green dress completely free of any adornment.

He couldn’t begin to guess her age—she was angled a little away from him—but even as he thought it, she turned slightly, allowing him a good view of her profile, and his world lurched with a violent shudder.

It was not her, could not be her, but his heart began a slow, hard thump of recognition. The street sounds filtering in from the open door faded to a dull buzz in his ears.

Her nose was straight and fine. Her lips full and rose red. She was older, certainly. Thinner. But . . . Holy God.

“Katie?” The word escaped his lips before he could form the will to stop it.

She stiffened. It was a subtle movement but obvious to him, he watched her so intently. Odd, though, she did not turn toward him, did not glance up. In fact, she bent a little more closely over her ledger.