The cutter sailed away, and Davy and Gaz took up their oars.
Perry sat up and rested her face against her cupped hands. “Farnsworth.” She moaned.
Farnsworth. He knew the name. Farnsworth worked with Shaldon.
“Lean back,” he said. “You might be concussed.”
Her head moved side to side. “I am sick from this infernal rocking, is all.”
He draped an arm over her. “He couldn’t see you.”
“He will know. They always know.Youalways know.”
As the boat rocked, she gripped the side.
“I don’t get seasick,” Pip said. The boy seemed completely recovered. Even his teeth had stopped chattering. “Look, we’re almost there.”
They rounded a point and saw the dark mass of Gorse Cottage in the distance. The dimmest of lights twinkled behind closed kitchen shutters. Except for the departing cutter, the coastline was free of vessels.
Farnsworth might wait until the next day to visit. They still had days until the coronation, and then at the very least one or two more before Shaldon could reach the cottage. Fox could put off Farnsworth by hiding Perry away. There must be a smuggler’s hidey hole somewhere in that massive hillside.
They could hole up together until she recovered, and then take a packet over to Holland.
He shook his head at the mad thought. Perry had no place with him, nor he with her. Besides, he would finish this mission. Shaldon had sent him here to find his last spy, Gregory Carvelle, and he’d stay on to solve the mystery of Lady Shaldon’s death.
Perry leaned to the side and gulped air. Her cap had come off in the water, and her hair straggled around her collar, the cut uneven. Her hair, curling down to her waist, had been glorious, ephemeral, turning her into the goddess of the picture he’d painted over, the one he still held in his heart. He’d always see that side of her.
But now, with short hair, men’s clothing wet and plastered against her curves, the bare determined hands gripping the side of this boat, now he could almost believe she was just a woman, vulnerable, real, and accessible, even to one such as him.
Heat coursed through him and he leaned forward, resting his chin on her shoulder.
He felt the shiver that rippled through her. “We must get those wet clothes off you. We must get you warm.”
“Who are they going to kill, Fox?” she whispered.
He saw the slight stiffening in Davy’s and Gaz’s backs.
“The King probably,” she said. “We must send word to my father.”
Perry huffedher way up the hillside path, clinging like a girl to Fox. At the crest, she gulped in breaths that shattered pain through her back, while Fox whispered to Davy and Gaz.
Hunching against the cold, she set out for the cottage. She’d made it this far, she could make it the rest of the way.
Strong arms came around her and before she could utter a protest, Fox hoisted her up like a babe. Her teeth chattered too fiercely for her to object.
The kitchen door opened and the immediate sensation of warmth sent her shivering out of control. Jenny stood wringing her hands, but when the door slammed, just the three of them remained. The two men and Pip had gone their own way.
“Jenny. Bring wood to the bedchamber, and hot water,” he said without pausing, and then she was bouncing against him, his heart pounding, his breath ruffling the hair near her ear.
He kicked open the bedchamber door, and Jenny rustled by. The girl dropped kindling and wood in the grate and knelt before it with the tinderbox, striking sharp flares.
“Let’s get these clothes off.” Fox tore at the knot on her sopping neckcloth. He finally gave up and pulled out his knife. “Don’t move.”
She closed her eyes during the delicate slicing and concentrated on not shivering, letting the first delicate spirals of smoke curl into her with promises of warmth. She heard the knife clatter on the table and felt her neck lighten as he unwound her.
He inhaled sharply and muttered a curse. Strong hands cupped her shoulders.
“Oh, miss,” Jenny whispered.
