Page 23 of Horsemen and Hot Chocolate

Something shifted in his stance. He took a step closer, his boldness drawing her speechless with his proximity. Though he had no expression, she sensed hesitation, a yearning to grow closer. Then, slowly, his smooth, gloved hand rose to her cheek. It hovered there, asking for silent permission.

Her heart hammered in her chest. This was inappropriate between two friends, but she couldn’t help but lean into his offered hand. The cold met her skin, and she shivered for reasons entirely beside the chill in the air. Her eyes fluttered shut briefly before they focused on the emptiness at his neck.

“You are warm,” he murmured.

Katrina’s cheeks heated even more. She wondered if he could sense the increase of warmth against his hand. “I suppose being alive helps,” she said.

“I feel alive,” he said. “With you.”

Her mouth grew dry, and in the darkness, a silver light traced the vague shape of a face above his neck. She blinked, wondering if her eyes were deceiving her, but she could not deny the subtle glow.

Before she had time to process the light, the image disappeared into a shimmering dust.

Chapter twelve

Katrina had seen the Horseman’s face. It had been a shrouded haze of an outline, but she couldn’t refute what she’d seen. All night, she pondered the moment his hand connected with her cheek. Did her touch inspire his face to reappear?

What could it mean?

A faint meow jolted Katrina from her reflections. She looked around the dining room, half-expecting to see Smudge weaving between the chairs, but he was nowhere to be seen. Shrugging, she sipped her hot chocolate.

The house was unusually silent. She sat alone, as Mother tended to some errands and Father was undoubtedly occupied with overseeing the shipyard, busy with the merchants coming down the Hudson River. Greta placed a plate of cinnamon scones served with clotted cream and jam in front of her.

“Here you go, miss,” she said.

Katrina thanked her, and Greta excused herself, leaving her with her thoughts about the Horseman and his elusive face. As she continued to ponder, another meow and scratching sounded. She lowered her scone and peered around the room once more, trying to locate the source. Perhaps he was outside and asking to come in, but when she looked through the window, Smudge was not there.

When the meows grew louder and more urgent, she stood and raced toward the sound. The paintings and mirrors on the walls blurred as she rushed into the halls, only pausing to see if she was getting any closer to his location.

“Smudge?” she called out.

A shrill mew answered, and she pressed her ear against her father’s study. Smudge’s frantic cries rang behind the wall, and without hesitation, she threw the doors open. Large, orange eyes met hers, and she sighed.

“Oh heavens,” she said, crouching before the black cat. He purred, vibrating like an ecstatic beehive when she petted him. “How long have you been trapped in here? Did Father forget you?”

He rubbed his cheek against her hand in response, and she scratched under his chin. Something caught her eye beyond the eager cat, and she gasped. Loose papers were scattered on the ground, and ink spilled over the desk, dripping onto the floor.

“Oh, you’ve been naughty,” she scolded him with a tap on his nose. He blinked at her innocently.

Sighing, she righted the inkwell and grimaced at the black liquid seeping into the floral rug. Greta would not be pleased, but perhaps she could offer to assist her with removing the stain. Katrina crouched, picking up the various papers, until her hand hovered over a document. As her eyes scanned the words, her breath quickened.

A chill coated her skin with dread.

“Katrina, dear? Where are you?” a voice called out, but she could not move. Her gaze remained glued to the paper beneath her trembling hands. “Katrina? Oh, there you are. Why are you in here?”

Mother stepped into the study, and Smudge pranced away, as if sensing the tension thickening the room.

“Oh dear. What a mess.” Mother tutted behind her.

Katrina slowly stood, extending the document. “What is this?” she asked, her voice quivering.

Mother’s brows pinched in confusion as she peered at the paper before a resigned sigh escaped her lips. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way. We didn’t wish to trouble you.”

“Why does this say Papa’s health is failing?” she demanded, the document crinkling beneath her fingers. “What are you hiding?”

Mother gestured to the chair. “Perhaps you should sit down.”

“No, tell me what is happening!”