Page 56 of Fair Weather Enemies
He lifted his chin and looked away from her. “I will never forgive you for that indiscretion.”
She quickened her pace so she could look back at him as he attempted to remain affronted and aloof. “Never? You will never forgive me?”
“Never.”
“Then I question the effectiveness of your confirmation. Should not a pious man be willing to forgive anything? Have you not actually read the Good Book?”
He cut his narrowed eyes toward her with one eyebrow cocked. “Are you challenging me?”
“Most assuredly. Does my inappropriate forwardness offend you?”
His expression softened into a smile. “No. Have we not already discussed my preference for backbone over the lack of it?”
“We have.” She stared at the road ahead and sighed deeply. “However, my backbone is particularly weary today.”
Before she knew what was happening, Adam’s hand wrapped around the back of hers, gently. She inhaled a stuttered breath and stared down at the layered hands, his tan with long fingers, hers encased in a worn riding glove faded from use. She swept her gaze upward to lock with his. She must have appeared the very picture of startled panic, for he abruptly released his grip and dipped his forehead.
“My apologies, Jane.”
She continued to watch him intently. “Mr. Ashford. Are you not promised to Miss Rutley?”
“I am.”
“Then why did you take my hand just now?”
He expelled a frustrated breath. “Because when this journey ends, although we may no longer be mortal enemies, neither can we maintain a friendship. We have only this moment and nothing more.”
The woeful nature of his statement aroused a powerful yet indistinct response in Jane. She blinked rapidly. “Do you consider us friends at this moment, then?”
He gazed at her intently. “I do.”
A wave of relief swept through her soul as the burden of the feud abruptly lessened. Without thinking, she took hold of his hand, this time palm to palm. His long fingers responded, interlacing with hers to form a sacred pattern of tan and ivory. They smiled foolishly at each other while exchanging shy glances, bereft of sensible words. With her hand firmly locked in his, she focused again on the road ahead. Her head seemed to swim, and not solely due to weariness.
Chapter Twenty-Three
For most of his life, Adam’s concerns had proved mostly selfish. As a child, he had basked in comfort as a son of gentry, preoccupied mostly with his next diversion. For the previous ten years, his interest had turned to whatever expanded the prominence of his family. At times, the rise of his family had required the reduction of another, most notably the Hancocks. Only during the past few days had the limited confines of that life begun to weigh on his conscience. Such an existence proved miserable in its meagerness. In that context, he found only mild surprise in his worry over a particular Hancock.
By the time the traveling party entered the picturesque village of Grasmere during early afternoon, Jane was looking rather flushed and struggling to maintain pace. He continued to grip her hand as he had for much of the past three hours. The excuse he recited silently stated that the hand-holding was merely to keep her steady along the path. He nearly believed it. Only with some reluctance did he release his grip.
“Jane,” he said, “wait here with your aunt and Mr. Barlow. I will inquire about a place for you to rest.”
Until a half hour earlier, she had refused coddling of any sort, insisting that she was perfectly well. However, this time she nodded and leaned against Hester. He left them on the main street of Grasmere and knocked on the door of one of the houses crowding the road. An elderly man opened the door and squinted at him.
“Can I help you, lad?”
“Yes, sir. Might you direct me to a nearby inn?”
The man cupped an ear. “Eh? You’re near buying what?”
Adam raised his voice. “No. An inn. Is there an inn nearby?”
“An end? An end to what?”
“An inn,” he shouted. “A place to sleep!”
The man’s face lit. “An inn! Why did you not say so?”
Adam sighed heavily. “Apologies, sir. About that inn. Where is it?”
