She could hardly blame James for that, though. Fate had dealt the cards. And she’d taken some comfort in the fact that while Andrew might have died far from home, at least he hadn’t been alone.
James crossed the clearing and held out his hand imperiously. “Here, let me carry that.”
With a sigh, Kitty surrendered the basket.
“Where are the hives?” he asked.
“This way. On the edge of the woods.”
Thoroughly flustered, and certain that her pink cheeks must betray her agitation, Kitty strode back to the path. James fell into step just behind her, and she cast around for a suitable topic of conversation.
“Have you heard the latest news? Wellington’s taken Salamanca.” She risked a glance back, and saw his features tighten.
“I heard.”
She bit her lip at his gruff tone. Was he frustrated that he wasn’t out there with the rest of his regiment, facing the enemy? She couldn’t help but be glad. She didn’t want him facing death again. To lose him, too, would be unbearable.
Perhaps he felt guilty because he was safe here in England? As the first-born son of an earl, he hadn’t needed to join the army at all. Like Lord Locryn or Lord Somerton, he could have stayed in England tending to his estates. Instead, he’d helped Wellington capture Ciudad Rodrigo, in Spain, but had been wounded during the assault of Badajoz, and invalided home. He’d said it was his patriotic duty, and Kitty couldn’t help but admire him for not taking the easy route.
“Why are you getting honey?” he demanded suddenly, as if insulted on her behalf. “You’re a guest here, not a servant.”
“The Earl’s steward, Mr. Drake, isn’t well, and all the servants are busy, so Gwyn asked me to collect some. It’s no bother. I help father care for our own bees at Longmeadow.”
James gave a non-committal grunt.
“The Earl, I’m told, has been experimenting with new European-style hives. I’m most interested to see them.” Kitty gave herself a mental slap herself on the head. Apiary design? Really? What kind of scintillating conversation was that? James probably thought she was a gibbering idiot.
She always talked too much when she was nervous, and the ease of long-acquaintance that had once existed between them seemed to have disappeared. In its place was a strange, stinging tension, a prickling awareness. She knew to the nearest inch how close his body was behind hers.
She wanted their old camaraderie, the teasing, back again.
Mercifully, the woods thinned out, and they emerged on the edge of a glorious flowering meadow. A sweep of bobbing flowers spread out before them, sloping away toward the turquoise sea. The waist-high grass was dotted with blue cornflowers and ragged white cow parsley. Bright yellow cowslips, white daisies, and nodding red poppies added further splashes of color.
“How lovely!” Kitty exclaimed, turning her face to the breeze.
“Beautiful,” James murmured, coming to stand at her side.
Something about the tone of his voice made her turn, and her pulse leapt as she realized he wasn’t looking at the view, but at her.
Her cheeks heated again. His steady regard gave her a strange, weightless feeling, as if she’d been swept off her feet by a wave. What on earth was he playing at? He was probably trying to discompose her, because she’d surprised him in the woods, the beast.
Flustered, she set off toward the cluster of white-painted hives, like little houses on stilts, on the edge of the field. When she got near, she slapped Gwyn’s enormous straw bonnet on her head, then retrieved the gauzy fabric from the basket. She tried, unsuccessfully, to throw it over the top of her hat, but the wide brim made it impossible for her short arms to manage it. The stupid netting kept slipping down.
James gave a soft snort of amusement. “Here, let me.”
He pushed her hands away, and she stood stock still as he draped the cobweb-thin material evenly over the hat, arranging it over her shoulders to her elbows. The contrast of his strong masculine hands, and the care with which he handled the delicate fabric, made her a little light-headed. Those hands could wield a weapon with deadly force, but they were also capable of extraordinary gentleness.
What would they feel like on her skin?
From beneath the brim of the hat, she caught a glimpse of his face, set with concentration. Her gaze dropped to his mouth. What would it be like to kiss him through the veil?
Her heart gave a lurch as she allowed herself a moment of wicked fantasy. It would be such a strange sensation. She’d feel the warmth of his breath, the contours of his lips through the thin gauze, but it would be tantalizingly incomplete. A half-kiss, the ghost of a kiss?—
“You make a very unconvincing ghost.”
Kitty jumped at the uncanny way he seemed to read her thoughts.
“I know Castle Keyvnor’s rumored to be a hotbed of the supernatural,” James continued, a laugh in his voice, “but I’ve never heard talk of a pale pink specter. You’re unlikely to instill fear in anyone—unless you pretend to be a ghostly bride.”
