Page 83 of Rival to Resist
“I must think on it. How to tell him—and when. I have a bit of time, at least, for he does not return from Truro until Monday.”
Frederick went to pick up the brush he had dropped. “I am surprised he agreed to leave you for so long, particularly with an infamous rake so nearby. I fully intend to take advantage of his absence.”
She smiled, some of her worries disappearing from her brow in favor of a light that invited his teasing. “Do you?”
He walked around her to set down the brush. “I shall forever be on your doorstep”—he turned and stepped behind her—“following you like your shadow.” He wrapped his arms around her, and she settled into his embrace, turning her head so that her temple rested against his cheek.
“Does this mean I shall see you tomorrow at church?”
His lips brushed her ear. “Does this mean you wish to?” His fingers splayed across her stomach, and he felt her breath catch as her hand covered his.
“That depends upon whether you can behave.”
“Of course I can,” he murmured, lowering his head and pressing his lips to the hollow beneath her ear.
“Is this your idea of behaving?”
“Believe me.” He kissed her again. “I am showing great restraint.”
She gave a little sigh of contentment, then slowly turned and broke away from him. “Perhapsseeingone another is all weshoulddo at church.”
“No, no,” he pleaded, reaching for her hand. “I will do better.”
Her mouth lifted at the side. “I do not believe you. But if youcanbehave yourself, I promise to meet you afterward. On our beach.”
Our beach. The words brought a smile to his lips, and inCaroline’s eyes, he saw a ghost of the kiss they had shared there.
“I will be a model of decorum,” he promised.
Her eyes twinkled. “Then tomorrow shall be a day of miracles. Goodbye, Frederick.” With a last smile, she disappeared from the tack room.
Frederick stood in place for some time, a small, content smile on his lips and an intense impatience for the next morning.
Time was no friend of lovers. The hours without Caroline crept by with a torturous slowness, while the minutes with her had slipped through Frederick’s fingers like sunlight on a wave.
Had church services always begun so late in the morning? Ten seemed unnecessarily delayed. Surely, if the parish needed religion, earlier was better.
He had never in his life arrived in advance of a church service, but when he peeked inside, the only person within was the sexton.
Rather than sit down in an empty nave, Frederick took a stroll up the lane, forcing himself to walk slowly.
He was obliged to move out of the road for an approaching traveling chaise. There was a man riding on horseback behind—broad-shouldered, hair going silver at the temples, and sun-browned skin.
The man slowed as he neared, his sharp, blue gaze fixed on Frederick.
“Good day,” the man said.
Frederick inclined his head and offered a polite smile.
“Is this the way to The Silver Pilchard?”
“Yes.” Frederick pointed ahead. “You shall see it when you reach that bend.”
“Thank you, Mr….”
“Yorke. Frederick Yorke.”
A novel interest entered the man’s eyes as his mouth drew into a smile. “Just the man I have been hoping to meet.”
