Page 1 of What the Heart Knows

Chapter One

Queen’s Barque Inn, Fenwick on Sea, Mid-August 1815

In his private parlor at the Queen’s Barque Inn, Captain Christian Ellis Copefort reviewed several sworn accounts of profiteering witnessed during the wars with France. The man accused of the crime lived in Fenwick on Sea, hence Kit’s reason for being here. That his valet, George Brewster, wanted a visit with his father, who owned the Queen’s Barque, provided a handy excuse for a retired Captain’s journey to this all-but small coastal village.

Outside the parlor, loud barking announced a series of bangs, thuds, and cries of pain.

Shoving the documents into their oiled leather packet, Kit ran to open the parlor door.

A large brindled dog raced for the stairs. Kit’s valet lay in the middle of the floor surrounded by suitcases and hatboxes. At a nearby door stood two women. One with a pair of gold-flecked blue eyes stared over the hand covering her mouth. Rich brown curls peeped out from beneath a shallow brimmed bonnet. A pretty flush decorated each cheek. Her much older companion leaned against the wall.

“Mr. Brewster, are you alright?” asked the blue-eyed woman, lowering her hand from her face to reveal berry-hued lips forming a moue of warm concern.

“I’m fine, miss.”

“Niece, please.” The older woman lifted the back of one hand to her forehead. “My smelling salts. Margaret, I feel faint.” She began to sway.

The niece fished in her reticule, retrieving a small vial. Putting one arm around her aunt, the young lady applied the hartshorn.

Kit moved to help George, as the ladies had no immediate need. “Are you hurt, my friend?”

“Nay, sir. I attempted to carry more than I should at one time, and Hector, bless him, jumped on me to welcome me home.”

“Here, Aunt, let me help you to lie down,” the dark velvet resonance implored. A note of repressed vibrancy skittered over Kit’s skin. How different that sound from any feminine voice he could imagine. Not simply soft and pleasant, nearly hypnotic in its quiet cadence, but also rich with a uniquely soothing timber and texture.

Giving his friend a hand up, Kit shook off the urge to follow. Then he began collecting parcels and cases.

“You shouldn’t do that, sir,” George said.

“Nonsense. Soonest done, soonest mended. You and I have much to discuss this evening.” Arms full, Kit straightened.

The young lady occupied the open doorway.

He blinked at the sight.

She’d removed her pale gray cloak and dark bonnet. A slim column of yellow muslin fell from a high waist topped with generous curves. Graceful arms stretched toward him.

He needed an embrace from those arms, needed to be held close to that lovely body where he could plumb the depths of those gold-flecked eyes.

“Thank you, good sir,” the dark velvet voice murmured. “Allow me to relieve you of those.”

Kit stared.

Beside him George gathered the last of the cases then cleared his throat.

Kit shook his head, clutching the items he carried. “No, no,” he protested. “My man and I have them in hand. Show us where to put them, please, miss …?”

“Fenneman,” she replied.

The name jolted through him, chasing off the effects of voice and vision.

“Please, set all on the parlor table.” She stood to one side of the door and gestured within.

Kit hurried to deposit his items. “Good night,” he said.

“And you, sir,” the dusk-hued voice responded. “Thank you.”

He bowed, more to evade that entrancing gaze than out of courtesy. “You are most welcome.” Turning on his heel, Kit fled.