Page 108 of The Trouble with Tigers
Kitty’s brows furrowed at her brother’s obvious naiveté. “Collin, I hope you’re under no illusion James will cooperate with such a scheme.”
Collin shifted off his seat to kneel in front of Kitty. His green eyes held hers in an intense stare. “That’s just it, Kitty. He is willing, more than willing, to return the title.”
The dread whispering through her as she paced the corridor outside Zeke’s chambers turned into a deafening drumbeat.
“Why would he do that?” she whispered.
“In exchange for a good faith effort on our part,” Collin said.
She swallowed hard. Tried to clear the buzzing in her ears. “On our part?”
“My darling. He asks only for the honor of your hand.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Zeke ran through a forest so thick with foliage and bracken the light of the moon barely eked through. Pain lanced his head with every foot strike. His lungs burned. Brambles and thorns tore through his clothes, pricking his skin.
But he couldn’t stop. He had to find her.
He came to a place where the treetops merged, blotting out even the meager moonlight. North and south, east and west, vanished in the darkness. He could as easily be running away from her as toward her.
He strained his ears, desperate for any clue of which way should he go. Only the competing chorus of croaking frogs and night crickets answered his silent plea.
Guilt and fear ripped at his insides. He’d let this happen. If he didn’t find her soon, it would be too late.
From nowhere and everywhere, came a swirling, luminescent fog. It closed in on him, congealing before him to form the distinct figure of a man, austere in his officer's garb—the manhe’d dreamed of in Africa. Kitty's grandfather. He knew it as surely as he knew his own name.
Like before, the old man said nothing, just stared, eyes grave. He lifted his hand, pointing at Zeke as if in accusation.
Zeke blinked and found himself flat on his back. The man had vanished. A woman, bathed in moonlight, hovered over him.
Kitty. Touching him with those delicate fingers, cooling his burning skin, soothing his tortured soul. He needed her like air.
“Kitty.”
“I’m here.”
The dream receded. Zeke lay still, eyes closed. His head throbbed, miring his very thoughts in quicksand—as if someone had put a bullet in his skull, then poured an entire bottle of whiskey down his throat.
He inhaled slowly, filling his lungs. For his efforts he caught the subtle but distinct notes of lavender and rosemary. Relief cascaded through him. Kittywashere.
He opened his eyes a crack. Recognized immediately he lie in bed in his private chamber. Night had fallen, and someone had lit the wall sconces. Kitty hovered over him, her cool fingers resting atop his forehead, her creamy complexion bathed in the stuttering golden light.
God she was beautiful.
He liked looking at her, and relished her soothing touch. But why in hell was she here? Something had happened. It was there on the edge of his memory.
She lifted her hand from his forehead and traced her fingers down his cheek, her gaze trailing over his face until she noticed him studying her. Her eyes went wide. Swollen, red-rimmed eyes. She’d been crying. Why?
“You’re awake,” she said softly.
“Apparently,” he rasped out. His mouth tasted like dirt.
She started to pull her hand from his face, and he reached up to press her palm in place. “May I have some water?” came his hoarse plea.
“Of course.” With gentle force, she withdrew her hand from beneath his. She disappeared from his line of vision, returning seconds later. She slid an arm beneath his pillow and levered him up.
She held a glass to his lips and he took a long drink of lemon-tinged water. Some of the cobwebs from his sleep muddled mind cleared. He nodded when he’d had enough and she adroitly lowered.
