“Kate,” he said, closing his eyes for a brief, strained moment. “I am not certain how to explain this without sounding like a cad, but if you stand in front of the blaze dressed as you are, I am likely to suffer an apoplexy.”
Heat bloomed in her cheeks. “Perhaps we should sit on the bench by the window then? Away from the fire?”
He shifted his grip, leading them toward the tall window washed in moonlight. He stopped when they reached the window bench, but neither sat. She set the book of poetry on the bench, fidgeting with the ties on her nightdress.
“Thank you for saving me again, Kate,” he said, a hint of humor in his voice. “That fire proved to be an unkind adversary in my quest to be a gentleman.”
“How convenient that I could help you without having to bring a bottle of wine with me,” she teased back. He let out a deep, hearty laugh.
The laughter faded, but in the silence that followed, she could hear the echo of the secrets that stood between them.
James took her hand, his tone turning serious. “I hope you do not have many occasions to rescue me in the future. And I cannot promise that you will always be safe. Not with what we are facing. But I can promise that you will never have to face it alone. Not while I still breathe.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch skimming her cheek.
The sincerity in his voice held her captive. Moonlight traced faint shadows over his face, but it could not hide what softened there.
“I believe you.” She gathered her courage. “And that is why there is something I must tell you.”
He waited, giving her room to speak.
“I need to explain why I stopped you when you proposed.”
“You did so with terrifying precision, as I recall,” he said, a hint of teasing in his voice.
“How could I agree to marry you when you did not know me? I told you that I had more talent for ciphers than most ladies. And Westmarch told you that I work for him.” She ignored the flutters in her stomach and held his gaze, gathering all of her courage. “But you do not know the whole truth yet. Westmarch required me to use an alias to protect my identity. I have never shared it with anyone, but the name itself is not all that matters. It is the life that name demands of me, a life I have chosen. It may change your mind about everything between us, spoken and unspoken.”
James gave her a slow, reassuring nod, the warmth in his expression deepening. “I have been waiting, hoping you would choose to tell me.” His voice softened. “Raven.”
A gasp escaped her, and she pulled free, stumbling back a step. “But how . . . when?” Shock stole the rest of her words.
“Since the library last night.” A slow, knowing smile touched his lips. “I have spent far too long deciphering your hand to ever mistake it for another.”
“And you said nothing?”
“It was not my secret to take from you.”
She did not know whether to be grateful or furious. “You let me worry all day?”
His mouth tightened. “I let you choose.”
“And that is not the same thing as trust.”
“No,” he said. “But I am trying to learn the difference.”
He knew. He knew when he had kissed her in the fog. When he had agreed to be her partner. He had known everything and still moved toward her.
James’s brow furrowed. “Tell me one thing. If you have been Raven this whole time, does that mean you understood the men speaking French in the library?”
She grinned. “Chaque mot.”
James stared at her, then laughed under his breath. “Of course you did.” His smile widened.
Her mind replayed his words, and curiosity cut through her surprise. “You said you knew my handwriting?”
He raised an eyebrow. She rubbed her temples as the pieces finally clicked into place.
“But if you had seen my handwriting as Raven often enough to recognize it, that would make you . . .” Her mind whirled with possibilities, but there was only one that made sense.
It was impossible. It could not be him.
