know my brothers,” Fancy said. “Anyway, the cakes are for your tea, but I brought you some now in case my brothers got to them first.”
Instead of waiting for tea, Knight lifted a pastry to his mouth. His white teeth sank into the cake, buttery flakes drifting to the ground. He chewed, swallowed, and took another bite. She watched in surprise as he finished the pastries in rapid succession.
“You like Eccles cakes, I take?” she said, bemused.
He wiped his mouth with the napkin.
“I like sweets in general,” he admitted. “And your delectable Eccles cakes in particular.”
At the compliment, her tummy turned as gooey as the filling of the cakes when she’d pulled them from the oven.
“I’ll make more,” she offered breathlessly.
He shook his head, the smile still lurking in his eyes. “Trying to fatten me up, are you?”
She stared at his long, hard, virile physique. “You couldn’t be anything but perfect.”
Blooming ’ell…please tell me I didn’t say that aloud.
The crease between his dark brows told her that she had.
“I mean, um, you being tall, you ’ave room to spread it around.” Cheeks on fire, she floundered on. “Unlike me. Being short, um, everything shows.”
Room to spread it around? Everything shows? A swirling vortex of embarrassment engulfed her. Sweet Jaysus, could I embarrass myself anymore?
“Fancy.” His voice, gentle yet firm, anchored her. “Thank you for the cakes and breakfast. Before you came, I was about to look for you.”
Breathe in, breathe out. You can’t die from ’umiliation.
“You were?” she managed.
“Yes. I wanted to tell you that I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“Leaving?” she echoed stupidly.
He gave a brisk nod. “I spoke with the Taylors this morning. Since your father informed them of what happened at Lady Beatrice’s estate, they are anxious for your wellbeing. They’ve decided to accompany you to Northumberland and stay as long as necessary. Mr. Taylor said that he and his boys will keep a lookout for any troublemakers. Between them and your own kin, you’ll have a veritable army looking after you.”
She blinked, trying to take in the words. What they meant.
“So you’re going.” Her throat clogged. “Just…like that?”
His eyes were unreadable. “It is best that I go. For both of us. You have the Taylors now…and Sam, in particular, gave me his word that he wouldn’t let anything happen to you. As for me, I have neglected my affairs for too long and must return to London.”
What did you think ’e would do, you nitwit? Stay forever? Propose and carry you off to a castle in the clouds?
She didn’t know why it hurt so much. He was only departing a few days earlier than planned. It was better to make a clean break of it, she told herself numbly. For both of them to go on their separate ways as God intended. He was a duke who needed to find himself a duchess in London.
She was a tinker’s daughter…who was going to live out the rest of her life alone.
Because, in her heart, no one could ever measure up to Knight. Not ever.
“O’ course you must go,” she forced herself to say. “You’ve stayed too long already.”
“Fancy…I wouldn’t go, if I thought you were not safe. But you’re in good hands,” he began.
“I understand.” She fixed her lips into a smile. “And in case I forget to say it—thank you, Knight. For everything.”
After a pause, he said quietly, “It was my pleasure and my honor.”
“I’d best go find Da. ’E feels a storm coming on and wants to fix up the barn for Bertrand and the ’orses. I promised to ’elp ’im.”
Knight gave a nod.
Shoulders straight, acutely aware of Knight’s gaze upon her, she walked away from him and back to the world where she belonged.
Half past midnight, Severin left the makeshift sleeping quarters of his coach with a lamp in hand. It was clear that he would not find sleep that night, and he would rather take a walk than toss and turn on the squabs. As Milton Sheridan had forecasted, a storm was nearing: the air was humid and heavy, the moon playing peekaboo behind drifting clouds. Animals and insects rustled with anticipation.
Severin walked on. As he strode past the Sheridan caravan and past the dark farmhouse where Fancy slept, he told himself that he was doing the right thing.
You have to leave. Before you do something you’ll both regret.
Yesterday, he’d come too damned close to kissing her.
He didn’t know what it was about Fancy Sheridan, why she roused his basest instincts. A part of himself that