Page 27 of What the Heart Knows

“I suppose you’re right. You could leave Fenwick entirely.”

“No,” she shook her head. “Running away is the action of a coward. I’ll not allow Brookbank that much power over my life. Besides, Father will need me when he realizes how truly evil Brookbank is.”

Kit admired her courage and fortitude but knew remaining at Sea Grange was more dangerous than she might imagine.

“The only option I’m willing to consider,” Meg continued. “Is to go home and pretend compliance until Brookbank and his gang are caught. If I am present, I can devise ways of sending information to you, just as was done today”

Kit did not agree. He could compel her to remain in Fenwick proper, or spirit her away by force, but that did not solve the smuggling problem. The potential for disastrous retribution was great. Greater than the risk she took in going home? He could not know.

“Didn’t you tell Beuth, Brookbank’d sent for a prelate from Yarmouth?” Kit asked.

“I did.”

“If that man arrives before the gang’s arrested, how will you avoid the marriage?”

“I’ll become ill and take to my bed.”

“I doubt that’d stop Brookbank.”

“True. However, illness would stop Father. When Mother died of consumption, he couldn’t leave fast enough. He claimed urgent business on behalf of the Crown. However, I saw his reaction when the doctor finally arrived and said nothing could be done to save her.”

“You think the squire will have the backbone to stand up to Brookbank and forbid the marriage until you recover?”

“For a while. A week at best, a day or two most likely.”

The road began to rise, as they approached the center of the empty parcel.

“I hate for you to go to such extremes, but if you can delay until after the new moon, my ability to help’s more certain.”

***

“I hope you plan to explain.” Meg considered telling Kit about Brookbank’s intention to dose her with laudanum. Kit would insist she not risk that danger. She felt strongly the best chance of destroying the smuggling operation lay in allowing Father and Brookbank to believe their plan would succeed. Besides, she knew how to avoid the drugs. Telling Kit was pointless.

Meg pulled the carriage to a halt at the highest point of the rise. “I was able to get a picnic basket from Mrs. Brewster. What do you think about spreading our cloaks beneath that tree where we can have shade and a good view of the stream?”

“Did you bring cider as well?” The smile wreathing his face suggested he thought a picnic an excellent idea.

“Indeed. The basket and jug are in the boot. If you will bring those, I’ll spread our cloaks.”

They spent a quiet fifteen minutes or so preparing their picnic, then indulging in Mrs. Brewster’s excellent repast.

The basket held only one cup, so they were forced to share.

Meg carefully turned the vessel to the same spot where Kit drank. Staring at him across the top of the cup, she imagined the touch of his lips on hers.

She’d been kissed before, but never by anyone she thought about as often as Kit. She stroked the ceramic across her cheek. Would his fingers on her face be as smooth and cool?

Yes, Kit Copefort’s appearance pleased the eye. However, he’d a great deal more to offer a woman, if that woman wanted a thoughtful, careful, honorable man who treated everyone—even Father and Brookbank—with courtesy and respect. That he could respect her father in the same moment that Father threatened him, spoke volumes about Kit’s composure, confidence and strength of will.

“Are you going to hold that cup all day?” His gaze fixed on her mouth rather than the cup. “I find I’m quite thirsty.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Here.” She extended the cup to him. The working of his throat as he drank fascinated her.

“Ah,” he lowered the cup and licked his lips.

She’d just eaten her fill, but hunger grew in her belly.

“Mrs. Brewster makes an excellent cider,” Kit continued. “If I build my house here, I will certainly contract for a large supply.”