Page 54

T he following morning found Mrs. Bainbridge walking along the cliffs.

She didn’t see the black-headed or European herring gulls doing their acrobatics over the relatively calm water.

Nor did she see the rose gold clouds painting the sky.

Every so often, she glanced at the path that went down to the beach, the one that the Commander always came up at the end of his morning walk.

She had timed her walk precisely to be at this point when he arrived, though she wouldn’t admit to herself why.

A woman was allowed a bit of curiosity, wasn’t she?

Really, there was no reason to feel self-conscious. She was simply enjoying the fresh air. That Mr. Kenworth happened to walk this way every morning was a mere coincidence. A fortunate one, at that.

Before she saw him, she entertained the thought of turning back. But she kept going, and soon, she happened upon Mr. Kenworth, exactly as planned.

Then again, what harm was there in a morning walk? She wasn’t some infatuated girl chasing a schoolgirl fancy. This was nothing more than pleasant company. A harmless meeting.

And yet, when she saw him round the bend, her breath caught despite herself.

“Ah, Mrs. Bainbridge.” He tipped his hat. “What a delightful coincidence to see you here.”

His lips twitched as though he were fighting back amusement. He knew. Of course, he knew. And yet, he let the moment play out, his eyes bright with mischief, as though he rather liked the game.

She tried not to smile but quickly lost that contest. One look at his eyes, and she knew he was well aware she had forced the coincidence.

And truthfully, she didn’t care. She hesitated for only a moment before slipping her hand through his offered arm.

A simple gesture, yet awareness curled through her as though she had stepped across an invisible threshold.

This was different. This was deliberate.

“It appears we are both creatures of habit, Mrs. Bainbridge.”

She glanced at him. “Oh? And what habit would that be, Mr. Kenworth?”

A smile that lit his eyes bloomed on his face. “Taking morning walks, of course. Or perhaps,” he paused. “Taking the same morning walks.”

Mrs. Bainbridge came to a stop, her hand on her throat. “Surely, you’re not suggesting I orchestrated this meeting?”

His eyes widened as he faced her, never dropping her hand. “Perish the thought.” They continued walking. “Though I will note, you did time it rather well.”

“Oh, dear. Are you accusing me of strategy, Mr. Kenworth?”

He looked straight ahead with a rather content look. “No, merely admiring it. I do respect a well-executed maneuver.”

“And what of your own habits? Are you always this observant, or just when it suits you?”

He stepped closer to her, his brow arching. “A good commander never misses details, Mrs. Bainbridge. Never.”

She stopped. He turned and faced her. “And am I,” her voice softened, “merely another detail to assess?” Her heart thumped so loud she was certain he could hear it.

He held her with his gaze, one that made her yearn for something just out of reach. “Hardly,” he said, his low baritone voice silky, soft, almost reverent.

Something flickered behind his expression, hesitation, restraint? Or was it temptation?

For a moment, she was certain he would step back and put a proper distance between them. Instead, he reached up…

He reached for a stray curl that had escaped her bonnet and brushed it away. His fingers were warm against her skin, brief but deliberate. He could have stepped back, could have let the moment pass unspoken.

Instead, his gaze lingered, watching her as though waiting for what she wasn’t sure.

The world was still, save for the rhythmic crash of the waves below, the salt-laced breeze teasing the edges of her bonnet. She should say something, step back, break the spell. Instead, she simply looked at him, realizing with quiet certainty that she did not wish to move at all.

Mrs. Bainbridge wet her lips and took a steadying breath. “A habit of yours, Mr. Kenworth?”

He hadn’t taken his eyes off her. He was just as taken back as she was. “Only just acquired.”

His words seemed to surprise even him. A flicker of something unreadable passed over his face. Uncertainty? Restraint? Or something far more dangerous?

*

He had spent years in war and mastered discipline under the burden of command. And yet, standing here with her, he found himself dangerously close to forgetting why he had always kept his distance.

The air between them was suddenly too still, too fraught with something unspoken. The sound of the waves against the cliffs faded, leaving only the space between them, tinged with an intensity she dared not name.

At last, he exhaled, stepping back just enough to restore a sense of propriety, though the moment had already shifted into something neither of them could deny.

“Will you be at the resort dance this evening, Mrs. Bainbridge?” His voice was measured, casual, too casual.

She hesitated, just long enough to make him wonder if she would refuse.

“I had not planned on it,” she admitted, adjusting the ribbon of her bonnet.

“Perhaps you should reconsider.”

Her eyes flicked to his, filled with something unreadable. “And why is that, Commander?”

“Because,” he said, offering her his arm once more, “if you do not go, then whom shall I dance with?”

He thought she would refuse, laugh it off, and let the moment pass with a polite remark. Instead, she hesitated, the invitation settling into the space between them like an unfinished thought.

“We shall see,” she said at last, though the words sounded oddly hollow to his ears.

He smiled, a knowing sort of smile, as though he had already won. And perhaps, in some small way, he had.

*

As she turned away, making her way back toward the inn, she was keenly aware of every step she took, as if leaving something behind. She did not look back, but she felt his presence linger. Whether in her mind or still watching her, she could not say.

She had every intention of avoiding him for the rest of the day. Truly, she did. And yet, fate had other plans.

She had just stepped into the bookshop when the door swung open behind her, the bell jingling in a way that felt suspiciously like fate laughing at her. The presence at her back was unmistakable.

“Ah, Mrs. Bainbridge,” Mr. Kenworth murmured, stepping past her with a slight, knowing smile. “We must stop meeting like this.”

She lifted her chin, feigning calm. “It is a public place. Surely you do not think I’m following you?”

He paused as if considering it. “I have learned not to underestimate your strategy, madame.”

She bit her lip to keep from smiling, shaking her head as she turned toward the shelves. She did not need to look to know he still watched her.