Chapter 22
Kate
Kate released a breath of frustration as she rolled over, adjusting the pillow with a firm pat. The bedsheets twisted in a knot around her legs. She had no notion of the time, but the hours had stretched without end since she retired shortly after dinner. She had thought she needed to be alone to consider all that she had learned, but that had been a mistake. Now her mind would not stop long enough to let her sleep.
She folded her arms behind her head, searching for a more comfortable position.
Her emotions were even more tangled than her bedsheets, caught between hope that Hugh might finally confide in her, fear over the revelations about the Arcadian Circle, and hurt that James did not trust her enough to be honest.
Yet she could hardly resent him for what he had kept from her while she was still withholding the whole truth of Raven from him. If they were to proceed together, he needed to know.
And then there had been Westmarch’s comment about James’s progress toward steadiness. Toward a requiredcondition. She did not pretend to understand the whole of it, but she had understood enough to fear she had been part of a bargain and nothing more.
As she moved to adjust the bed quilt, her fingers caught in her single plait, tugging at her scalp. She managed to free her hand, though not without ruining most of Tess’s careful work. Sitting up, she tugged at the ribbon, unraveled the full length of it, and let her hair fall loose. She blew at a strand that landed in her face.
Sleep had deserted her entirely. It was time to try something different.
She crept out of bed, the floor chilling her feet, and slipped into her dressing gown, leaving the front open. She would not be gone long. Lighting a candle from the twisted paper spill by the fireplace, she edged the door open and made her way to the library. On sleepless nights, poetry made the best company.
When she turned the corner, light spilled through the narrow crack of the library door. The servants must have forgotten to douse the hearth.
She opened the door just wide enough to slip inside, then shut it without sound. The room smelled faintly of leather and old paper, and amber warmth danced across the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Setting down her candle on the table, she walked toward the nearest bookcase, running her fingertips along the spines as she read their titles. The shelves offered books on agriculture, Greek history and mythology, and even a travel guide to Bath.
She searched the higher shelves and almost let out a triumphant shout when she spied several poetry books. Seeing no ladder, she rose on her tiptoes and nudged a volume toward the edge with one finger. She was so close, so—
“May I offer my assistance?”
She gasped and whirled around. James stood by the fireplace, one arm resting on the mantel, amusement plain on his face. His dark hair was mussed, just how she preferred it, and his loosened cravat and missing coat made the late hour plain.
She cleared her throat. “I could not sleep and came in search of some poetry to calm my mind. Were you unable to rest as well?”
“I have not even retired yet. Apparently staring into the embers does not, as I had hoped, solve any of my difficulties.”
She laughed softly. He pushed off the mantel and approached her.
Standing near enough to touch, James reached above her head and easily retrieved the poetry book. She took it from him, clutching it to her chest. His proximity made the late hour suddenly seem far more improper than it had upstairs.
“Were you planning on reading it in your chambers? Or would you like the use of the library?”
Firelight reflected in his dark eyes. All thoughts of returning upstairs vanished.
“This room is quite cozy, but I have no wish to intrude upon your privacy.”
“Perhaps we might share it for a time.”
Pleasure flickered through her at his invitation. She held the leather-bound book against her chest, weighing impropriety against the need to finally share the part of her past she had kept hidden.
“Yes, I would like that.”
James gave her a dimpled smile, and she moved around him toward the fireplace. Before she had walked more than a few steps, his arm encircled her wrist, stopping her.
“And where exactly do you think you are going?”
“To the sofa.” She waved her book in that general direction.
He tugged her back toward him, and the hem of her nightdress touched the tops of his boots. “I do not think that is a wise idea.”
“And why not?” she asked playfully.
