Free The Heartbeat Thief by AJ Krafton, Ash Krafton Page B

discomfort melted into a memory beneath his fingers.
    Her neck thusly ministered to, he slid his hands to each of her arms with the same careful touch, the same chilly treatment.
    She examined her left arm when he had finished and gone on to the right. The redness had faded along with the pain. She lowered her brows as she scrutinized her arm. She’d gotten sunburns as a child, and all the cold compresses in the world hadn’t done more than provide temporary comfort.
    Who was he?
    He kept his gaze on her arm, stroking it gently, a long slow sweep. He looked very reluctant to let her go. “There. That should do, I think. How does it feel?”
    “Better,” she whispered. “But, how…”
    His only reply was a tightening of lips, an ironic smile, a quick shake of his head, and a huff through his nose. When he raised his eyes to meet hers, they held a strange mixture of challenge and sadness, the emotion so plainly etched into his eyes that she had no words.
    “I told you already.” He began packing the basket, stowing the fruit and recapping the bottle. “Come. I’ll see you home. You can eat on the way.”
    He whistled to the horse, which had been cropping the grass nearby and answered dutifully to his call. Once he’d hitched the beast, he stowed her carefully once more into his phaeton, the hot sun blazing overhead in its tower of blue. They did not speak on the journey back. She only nibbled the plump apple he’d handed her, as well as a large portion of food for thought.
    The latter kept her quite sustained long after he dropped her at the gate.

 
    An unfamiliar carriage stood in the stable yard. Through the trees that lined the driveway, Senza spied the coach, as well as the man who’d presumably driven it.
    Hmm. They had company. Important company, if the quality of the carriage was any indication. The driver was finely dressed, too, and didn’t even water the horses himself. He stood to the side, speaking to the horse master, while the stable boy tended to the team.
    Must be business for Father. A frown darkened Senza’s expression when she remembered meeting Mr. Isling at the train station. How would she explain being there with her “father” if her father were home meeting with an associate?
    She bit her lip, her cheeks warming when she thought of Mr. Knell. Oh, that man. Why did he seem intent on turning her life upside down?
    One thing was certain. He was within their circle of society, and he was a man of means. Certainly her mother would approve of such a match. And all that talk of magic—why, it was nonsense. Simply a fantasy.
    She shook out her skirts, dusty from the walk up the dry lane. Too much had happened to fool herself into believing that lie. It did little to dissuade her.
    A proper introduction with her parents. She’d decided. Magic or no, if she had to be married off to someone, it should be the man who called her bien-aimé . It should be the man who haunted her every thought. It should be Mr. Knell.
    For the first time in her life, she locked eyes with destiny, stared it down, and did not cringe. If her fate lay in the arms of Mr. Knell, she’d charge headlong into it.
    Hoping to avoid any uncomfortable interrogation, she slipped inside and closed the door quietly behind her, heading straight for the steps.
    Her mother appeared like a lightning flash in the parlor doorway, her whisper as harsh as her expression. “Where have you been? We have a caller! Upstairs and change. You have five minutes, and that is five minutes longer than any of us should have had to wait.”
    Mrs. Fyne took a deep breath and put on a more pleasant tone. “Senza, dear, do join us in the parlor.”
    With a swish of skirt, she disappeared into the parlor again. “Out in the garden, as usual. Only needs a moment to freshen up…”
    Murmurs of replies, unintelligible but for their owners’ genders. Senza crept up the stairs. Whatever the business, it had her mother in rare form. That couldn’t be