Her heart tripped over itself, then stumbled forward again. She covered her mouth, and delight broke across his face.
She lowered her hand. “Fox?”
He grinned and gave a small formal bow. “At your service.”
All those coded messages. All those nights wondering whether the man behind the messages was reckless, brilliant, impossible, or all three.
James.
It had been James.
“You ignored my margin note about the Portsmouth cipher.”
“I did not ignore it. I objected to your unnecessary interference.”
“My interference saved your life.”
“Repeatedly, I suspect.”
Her smile faltered. “You waited for me to tell you about Raven,” she said with a touch of reproach. “But you kept Fox to yourself until now.”
His amusement faded. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Cowardice, I suspect. And fear. I had spent so long believing I had to stand alone that I did not know how to let you stand beside me.” He raised her hand to his lips for a brief kiss. “Even though, in truth, you have been beside me for longer than either of us knew. I have long admired Raven’s codebreaking skills. I simply had no idea you were on the other end of those missives. Youhavesaved me, Kate. In more ways than you know.”
“Does this mean you want me to start calling you Fox?” The dying embers settled behind them with a hiss, and the library felt impossibly still.
His eyes grew dark, and he drew her closer. “You know what I want to hear you call me.”
Her pulse beat hard at the base of her throat.
“Please, Kate.” His voice broke on her name.
She lifted her face to him.
“James.” A whisper.
He let out a soft exhale and leaned in, their breaths mingling for a heartbeat, then two.
“Say it again.”
“James.”
His lips found hers before she could finish, stealing his name from her mouth as he kissed her with aching gentleness, his touch sayingI choose youin a hundred different ways. A tear escaped before she could stop it, and he pulled back.
She wanted to stay there, caught in the impossible sweetness of being known and desired. It was something she never thought she would find. But being wanted in the moonlight was not the same as being chosen in the light of day.
“James,” she said, though his name trembled in her mouth now for an entirely different reason. “Before you say anything more, I need to ask you something.”
His hand stilled at her waist.
“Earlier in the study, Westmarch said you made progress toward the steadiness he required of you.” Kate drew a slow, trembling breath. “And I know from my father that you were hoping to marry quickly. So, I need to know, was I ever really your choice? Or was I simply a means to satisfy a condition?”
His answer lay in the silence that descended like a wall between them. She backed away, out of his touch. She spun to face the moonlit window, her thoughts and emotions tumbling around one another. His warmth pressed against her back as he closed the gap between them, but he did not touch her.
“Kate, when I came to you—when I tried to propose—I did so because Westmarch had made marriage a condition of restoring my standing as an agent. He worried my reckless ways were going to get someone killed, and he was right.” His voice broke. “But that was never all of it, as much as I told myself it was. And it has not been the reason for some time.”
