Love's Labyrinth

Author:Anne Kelleher [Kelleher, Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: eFitzgerald Publishing, LLC
Published: 2015-03-08T05:00:00+00:00

They walked back to the inn in silence. The common room was crowded with red-faced men in bleached-out clothing—sailors from the ships. Molly met them in the door and, with a shrug and a nod of her head, indicated the parlor. “Master said to set yer dinner up in there, Master Steele. ‘Tis overcrowded in here for your goodwife.”

With a nod of thanks, Nicholas navigated their way through the crowded room and pushed open the parlor door. He stood aside to let her pass before him. A table had been laid for them before the fire. Olivia walked into the room, stripping off her gloves, and pushed the hood of her cloak off her face. Flames danced in the hearth. She spread her hands before it, delighting in the heat. She felt him come to stand behind her. She took a quick intake of breath as she felt him slip the cloak off her shoulders.

All day they had pretended to be friends, all day they had successfully tried to put the morning’s kiss behind them. But now, in the shadowy room, with the flickering firelight washing across the white walls, she was once again aware of him, of his body, of his scent, of his very self. His hands hesitated on her shoulders for just a split second too long, and she tensed. Then he was gone, the cloak swirling in his arms. He tossed the bulky garment into a chair and indicated the table before the fire with a bow. “Will you sit?”

She gathered her skirts and swept to the table, sinking down into the chair he held out for her. She glanced up at him and saw that his eyes were averted.

“Wine?”

She nodded silently and realized she was clutching the arms of her chair.

“Are you cold? I’ll fetch you a shawl—”

“No, no, I’m fine.” Her fingers shook a little as they closed around the pewter goblet he held out for her. The scent of the dark red wine filled her nostrils, heady and sweet, reminding her of the way the taste of the peach had inflamed her senses that morning. Or maybe, she thought, glancing at Nicholas, it wasn’t the wine or the peach.

“To a successful venture.” Nicholas raised his own goblet and touched the rim of it to hers.

Startled, she smiled and drank. The wine flooded her mouth, tangy with the taste of sunshine and the orchard. He only sipped from his and set it down, staring at some point beyond her. “You look troubled. Nicholas.”

He shook his head. “I was unsettled to see Sir John here in Dover, that’s all. And last night… Last night I saw Walsingham’s man—Warren—here, in this very inn. He didn’t speak to me and I wondered what was afoot.”

“You think it was strange, that he didn’t speak to you? Maybe he was afraid to give away your identity.” Nicholas sat back in his chair with a shrug and a sigh.

“Who knows, lady. What do I know of spy—” He broke off as the door opened with a sharp rap, and Molly peered inside.

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