“Oh?” Penny stepped back to give me room to stand. He looked a bit skeptical at having his concerns dismissed but followed readily when I slipped my hand into his and led him toward the bedroom.
“I packed everything we’ll need for the trip, but you’ll want these on the way. It was a fight to keep the kittens from making it into a bed, so don’t let them follow us in here.”
He snickered as we dodged swatting paws to squeeze into our room through the smallest gap possible and close the door behind us. I kept hold of his hand and brought him to the edge of the mattress. Confusion crinkled his forehead until he realized what he was looking at.
“Where did you get these?” he asked as he ran his fingers over the furred collar.
“The tailor.”
His gaze cut over to me. “When?”
I retrieved one of the gloves and held it up in offering. Penny extended a hand, and I tugged it down over his fingers. A smile lit his face.
“I picked them up this afternoon on my way home,” I explained. “But I ordered them when we got back from Wendwood, the day I went out to the market.”
I set the wool stockings aside and picked up the cloak while Penny pulled on the other glove. I swung the heavy garment around his shoulders and thumbed the buttons at the throat through their corresponding loops to secure it in place. He was grinning, now, and suffered through me flipping up the collar and tugging the hood up so it hung low over his eyes.
“No more getting sick on the road,” I said, then stepped in so I could wind my arms around his waist inside the warmth of the cloak.
His smile softened, and he leaned his forehead against mine to whisper, “You’re my beau.I’msupposed to be the one doing the spoiling, not the other way around.”
“Too bad. You can’t stop me.”
“Well,” he said, pulling back, “Idoactually have something for you, too. I was waiting for the right time to give it to you, and now seems good.”
He stepped away and crouched in front of the dresser. He dug into the back of the bottom drawer and pulled out a bundle of burlap tied with a length of twine. When he turned back to me, his smile was sheepish, and he held it out.
“It’s not much. Certainly nothing like all of this, but…”
I took the offered gift and tugged the twine loose. Nestled inside the folds of fabric was a coil of dark oiled leather, the color of strong black coffee. I ran my fingers over the neatly carved juniper branches heavy laden with berries that stretched the entire length of the belt. It reminded me of home, of Forstford, and a pang of bittersweet longing for that peaceful place made my chest ache.
“Pen, this is beautiful.” I met his expectant eyes and closed the distance between us so I could lean our heads together again. “Thank you.”
His gloved hands crept up my back beneath my shirt, and I leaned in for a needy kiss, happy to put the events of the evening out of my mind.
“I think it’s my turn to spoil you now,” he murmured.
I grinned against his lips. “Dinner first. Then I’m all yours.”
22
Penny
After a warm meal and a roll in the sheets, I should have been ready for sleep. Instead, good thoughts collided with bad ones to form a maelstrom in my mind. Kit had sensed it for himself: I was anxious about going on the road again. Worried about the cold and the distance, but also fretting over the poor family about to be visited by a plague of rats. It was a cruel task, likely to devastate the livelihood of some innocent, unsuspecting folk. People like my own family who depended on their winter stores and the seeds soon to be put in the ground.
As the hours wore on, Kit dozed, and I found myself farther and farther from rest.
If the fifth Oath hadn’t been troubling enough, I also had Violette’s house call to consider. Sent at Merrick’s behest, it seemed, to stir up trouble for Kit.
By kissing him?
Why?
I’d had a similar run-in with Tessa a few months back, and I remembered how the woman’s hands on me had felt like a stain, something that tainted me somehow. I wondered if Kit feltthe same, worried he was sullied now or that Violette’s actions reflected on him. The thought made my blood burn.
If Violette had been a stronger woman, or Kit a weaker man, would she have taken him to bed? Forced herself on him in even more intimate ways? I supposed she still might. Nothing stopped her from trying again, making a return visit, or haunting our home like a lecherous ghost.
There was something to it. Something she and Merrick stood to gain. But what, I couldn’t begin to guess.
