Читать книгу Brazen in Blue - Rachael Miles - Страница 15

Chapter Eight

Emmeline was cold and tired of waiting. She’d walked a dozen slow circles around the altar stone, and she’d examined the oak’s giant trunk in careful detail. She’d even amused herself by singing the tune that her mother claimed called the faeries into the human world.

Neither faeries nor Adam appeared.

She started another circle. At the house, she’d thought only of escape, to go somewhere, anywhere that would keep her from marrying a man she loved both too much and not enough.

For the last hour, she’d considered where she might go. Until Colin had brought up a wedding trip, she’d never thought of herself as a traveler, despite all the books she’d read of other places and peoples. For years after the accident she’d refused to travel in any carriage, and later, she would only travel distances that allowed her to go and return before nightfall. Broad daylight or ride horseback—that’s what she needed to avoid the nightmares, though with Bess beside her she recovered more quickly.

Colin, knowing her fears and knowing she’d left Bess behind, would feel compelled to try to find her. That would require hiding—at least until his men, or the duke’s, grew careless. That would add weeks, perhaps months, to her journey. The thought of being away from her estate for so long made her queasy. She breathed in deeply, hoping to settle the tension in her stomach.

Would Adam even agree to so long a journey?

She could travel to her father, as she and Colin had planned. But without Colin to urge her on, she was strangely reticent to do so. She had only two memories of her father. In one, he picked her up and swung her round and round giggling, until she was dizzy with excitement. In the other, he stood, weeping, beside her bed after the accident, repeating the word broken. The word left a viscous blood-red stain on her memory. Then he’d left. She’d tried to call him back, but the laudanum made her tongue feel thick. She’d never seen her father again.

Though her grandfather had been intent on keeping her memories of her mother and sisters alive, he would never tell her anything of his son-in-law. If she asked, he would pat her on the head, saying in a dark burlap voice, “Not now, Emmie, not now.” As a child, she’d realized what her grandfather and the servants weren’t saying: her father had left because of her, because she should have died with the others.

Her grandfather, Lionel Morley, was the one who demanded she walk again, no matter how painful it was to try. She could still hear the boom of his voice—bursting on her consciousness in fifteen shades of red and brown—as he bellowed the first doctor, the one who recommended amputation, out of the room. She’d never seen voices before the accident, and her grandfather had assured her it was only an effect of the laudanum. But when she’d stopped taking the drug, her ability to see voices in patterns and colors had remained.

To care for her body, her grandfather had hired a local woman—a witch, the servants had whispered—while he read everything available on rehabilitating limbs. He’d even brought doctors from Switzerland to advise him. But in the end, her treatment was her grandfather’s own and the witch’s.

She never told anyone the word she’d heard her father say as he left her. But, through her pain, she determined—with her grandfather’s help—to be everything that broken wasn’t. In teaching herself to walk again, she’d taught herself to be resilient, determined, and, more importantly, compassionate to those who, like her, weren’t quite whole. Blind, deaf, mute, limbless, or simply poor, no beggar or traveler ever left her village hungry. Her kitchen and her hearth, everyone knew, were open to all.

But if a father couldn’t love his wounded child, would he welcome her now, with a walking stick and lame dog? Would her successes at managing the estate be enough? Or would he look at her and call her broken again?

In the forest behind her, a branch snapped. She flattened herself against the trunk of the oak to hide. But when she heard the chatter of an angry squirrel, she began her circuit again. It was colder now than before, and she pulled the shawl closer.

Surely Adam would come to her soon.

At least she hadn’t left her estate. If he did abandon her, she could return to the house. With the help of Jeffreys and Maggie, she could hide there until Colin came to his senses and married Lucy. Sam would ensure that the estate crops were planted and that the last of Bess’s pups were trained, but she’d be no better than a prisoner, unable to leave her hiding place while the world turned around her.

No, Adam would come. No matter how much he appeared to dislike her, once he’d made her a promise, he had never broken his word. The unicorn proved that. He would come.

The harsh trill of a blackbird sounded in the bare branches, but no blackbird answered. The sound felt lonely, stealing what little patience she had left. At the spot where two sections of the ancient oak grew together into a sort of niche, she sat down on a large knotted root, tucking her feet up under her skirts. Protected by the tree and wrapped in her shawl, she felt almost warm.

Now that the excitement of escape had passed, she felt tired to her very bones. For weeks, she’d been overseeing the wedding preparations and planning the estate’s schedule and expenses for the coming year. She’d wanted to try some new methods in the land near the river, and she’d left Sam her plans all neatly written out. Sam had promised he would report how her plans were progressing.

Suddenly she realized her escape separated her entirely from her lands. If she told Sam where to send his reports, and Colin found out, he would feel obligated to find her. The realization felt like a stab to her side. She pushed the thought away and the sorrow that came with it. No. She would be back . . . and soon. Colin would realize he loved Lucy, the two would marry, and then Em could come home. But by abandoning Colin, she had forfeited his friendship and that of his family. The consequences of running cut deep.

She tucked the shawl around her and leaned back against the oak.

The light declined in the sky. Soon the rattle and shriek of the barn owls would announce the arrival of night.

Adam still hadn’t returned.

Surely he would come to her soon.

She closed her eyes, intending only to rest.

* * *

Emmeline was woken abruptly by the scrabble of approaching feet. Then suddenly her lips were wet, and her chin, and her cheeks.

“Bess! Stop.” She held her arms up to fend off the big dog’s happy greeting.

Bess sat, but kept leaning forward to nuzzle Em’s face.

“I’d keep my voice low, my lady. As you know, sound travels well from this clearing.”

It was Adam. He’d come.

Relief made her wish to throw herself in his arms, but doing so required getting up. Her hands and feet were stiff with cold, and her knee ached from remaining in a single position too long. She would have to be careful when she rose. But her walking stick was by the table rock.

Relief quickly mixed with annoyance. The winter sun, which set midafternoon, was drawing near the horizon. And her stomach insisted she needed food. All of it together made her petulant.

“The duke appears to have successfully discouraged your betrothed from searching for you.” Adam dropped an overstuffed leather pack beside her walking stick. “But one never knows how quickly a wounded lover’s disposition might change.”

She petted Bess, keeping her voice cool. “I’d expected you sooner.”

“If to disappear you only needed to walk out the door, you would have done it long before today. And you wouldn’t have needed a scoundrel’s help.”

Bess looked from one to the other, as if their conversation were a bouncing ball.

Adam’s eyes, dark as sin, watched her warily, as he held out his hand to help her up.

She didn’t want to touch him, didn’t want to discover that his touch could still melt her defenses. But accepting his help would be better than crying out in pain or stumbling when her knee gave way. At least they both wore gloves.

Bess watched them both, her big black eyes pools of affection.

Emmeline put her hand in Adam’s, and slowly, gently, he pulled her to her feet.

When Em was upright, though, Adam didn’t let go of her hand. Instead, arm outstretched as if they were partners in a country dance, he led her carefully across the oak’s spreading roots. As they approached the table rock, he raised her hand and turned her toward him, her partner in an imaginary waltz. In an instant she wondered how he might respond if she lifted her lips to his. But before she could do so, he stopped, having led her to her walking stick.

Removing her hand from his, she picked up the walking stick and stepped out of reach. She might still long for the touch of his hand on her bare skin or the press of his lips on hers, but she would not forget that by nature he was a chameleon. Like the daemon lovers in the old ballads, Adam was a charmer, able to make anyone believe in him, whether he was telling them the truth or a lie. No, if their lips met today, she would taste only regret.

“We have a little way to go before we reach tonight’s hiding place.” Adam seemed not to notice how quickly she’d stepped away from him, or perhaps he didn’t care. “How quickly can you walk? We haven’t much daylight left, and I hesitate to light a lamp.”

His observation seemed like a criticism. She almost snapped, Whose fault is it that so little light remains? But she caught herself. He had agreed to help her when he didn’t have to, and she didn’t know what troubles he might have encountered on her behalf at the house.

“Set the pace. I can keep up,” she said, testing her knee under her skirts to be sure. Bess, ever Em’s protector, took her place beside Em’s leg, offering comfort and reassurance.

Adam directed Emmeline to the far edge of the forest. “We’ll wait until the morning to travel from your estate. Tonight we’ll stay where we won’t be found.”

“There’s nothing in that direction but forest.” Em folded her arms over her chest. “And while you may be used to pitching a camp in any terrain, I’m hardly dressed for it.”

“Do you intend to be this difficult for the whole journey?” His voice sounded simultaneously amused and annoyed.

Bess tilted her head to one side, her eyebrows meeting as she watched the pair spar.

“If my asking questions strikes you as my being difficult, then I suppose I will be.” Emmeline stared at him intently.

Bess lay on the ground and covered her ears with her paws.

Em ignored the dog’s commentary. “I intend to ask as many questions as I wish.” Though she’d meant to be gracious, her nerves were exhausted. She raised her chin in defiance. “I trusted you once, until I learned that trusting you is a fool’s game. This time I intend to be more circumspect.”

He faced her, his chin set taut in frustration. “It’s not going to be a quick business to avoid Lord Colin’s men. We’ll be traveling together for weeks, perhaps even months, depending on our destination and the weather. If we fight at every step, we’ll only make ourselves miserable.”

“There you are, being reasonable.” But she felt her annoyance fade as quickly as it had flared.

“Emmeline, I owe you this.” He picked up the pack and threw it over his shoulder. “I will help you because you asked me. But if you continue to berate me for the past, I’ll find another way for you to escape Lord Colin.” He paused. “I never meant to hurt you, and if I could change the past, for you, I would.”

She said nothing.

He sighed. “There’s an old folly farther into the woods from here. We can spend the night there, out of sight.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “Where?” But she began to make her way in that direction.

“You curve around those trees there, then . . .” He paused. “Can you simply trust me?”

“I believe I know the place you mean, but it’s a ruin. No walls, no roof.” She looked up into the sky, ever darkening. “And we can’t light a fire, or everyone for miles will know where we are.”

“It didn’t take much to make it habitable.”

“All that time you were living on my estate.” She felt as if he’d hit her in the belly. “Isn’t it time to tell me the truth?”

“I wouldn’t call it living so much as visiting.” He gave the last word a light tone. “I thought it would be safer to remain close . . . in case you needed me.”

“Why would I have needed you?” she asked sincerely, his soft tone having made all her frustration drain down her spine.

“The man you heard giving the orders to the cottagers was neither a rabble-rouser nor a revolutionary. Instead, he’s a very dangerous man, with connections to criminal gangs across Britain and the Continent.”

She nodded, taking it in, then stared him full in the face. “At some point you are going to have to explain to me how you are alive when you should be dead. You know that.”

He held out his hands in petition. “I always intended to explain everything, but once you were engaged, my explanations seemed unimportant.”

“It never felt unimportant.” She heard the pain in her own voice, but she didn’t explain. She feared that if she did, she would open wounds that could never close.

“At some point I will explain everything—I promise—but not tonight. We are tired and hungry, and that makes us both short-tempered and unforgiving.” Adjusting his pack, he pointed her through the forest.

Eventually they reached a section overgrown and impenetrable even in winter, where a thick veil of brambles blocked their path.

“This way.” He pointed into the brambles.

“Through that? You haven’t any way to cut through it, unless that pack happens to contain a machete,” she objected. “Luckily, the ruins are in that direction.” She pointed farther into the forest, away from the brambles before them.

“I didn’t say ruin. I said folly.” He motioned for her to step to the side of a large tree, where the brambles grew up against its trunk. “Follow me?”

“Lovely.” She stared into the thicket. “I’ve recruited Robin Hood to help me escape.”

“I’ve always wanted to be Robin Hood. A gallant outlaw who defends the defenseless. And will you be my Maid Marian, mavourneen?”

She said nothing, just followed him behind the tree. There, at a break in the brambles, he stepped several feet forward, then turned to the side, and disappeared entirely from sight.

She waited a few moments, then called out. “It’s a maze?”

“Nothing so elaborate as that, merely a thick hedge of brambles through which I cut a path at angles. Can you follow me?”

She stepped into the space he’d left, then turned to the side just as he had. She came face-to-face with another hedge of brambles. Bess growled low in her throat and crouched low, as if the brambles were a human adversary.

“Turn back right. Then take two more steps.”

She followed his directions and stepped into a small clearing. Bess, behind her, sniffed the ground. Across from her stood a folly, surrounded by tall trees and the thickets that grew below them.

Em turned around, surveying the area with wonder. “It’s a perfect smuggler’s lair.”

“I was afraid it might become one, if anyone found it. It was one reason I conscripted it myself.”

“Who else knows this is here?”

“Your great-grandfather kept it as a secret hideaway.”

“But who told you?”

“An old man in the village. Your grandfather left him a pension to keep the place up, which he did until shortly before his death. When he learned I was a friend of yours, he gave me directions on how to find my way in and how to trim the thicket to obscure the entrance. After that it was easy. The folly is quite well built.”

“So, let me understand this. My grandfather kept up my great-grandfather’s folly, but never told me about it.”

“He never told your father either. According to his gardener, he wanted a place of peace and calm.”

“Why would his gardener tell you? A stranger, and not me or one of my men.”

“You never offered the right incentive.”

“Which was what?” She rubbed Bess’s ears, the big dog’s head coming roughly to her hip.

“Ah, my lady Marian, would Robin Hood reveal the secrets of those who helped him?”

She rolled her eyes and followed him to the cottage.

After the bramble, their path was easy. The cottage—for it was more a cottage than a ruin—was charming. Built into the side of the hill, the roof was covered with moss and leaves. In the spring, when the grass was full, one could likely stand on the hill-roof and look down into the clearing and never realize there was a lodging below.

The door was heavy, with wide slats nailed together on an angle. The door stuck a bit, but gave way, creaking, when Adam pushed against it with his shoulder.

He stepped back to let her in. “It’s dry enough, and there’s an ingenious fire pit in the wall, allowing you to have a fire without it making too much smoke and revealing your lodging.”

The room was lightly furnished. A heavy wooden table, two open-back chairs, a pot on a spit. In the far corner near the back of the room was a cot. Bess circled the room, inspecting every corner, diligently looking for any hazards.

“I can’t imagine that Robin of Locksley would find this a suitable lodging.”

“Why?” Adam looked around the room, clearly disappointed that she didn’t find it as perfect as he did.

“There’s no escape route.” Em took her seat at the small table. “If the sheriff were to arrive with his men, Robin would be trapped.”

“That is a flaw in the design.” He studied their surroundings, as if he hadn’t seen them before. “But I’m not sure your great-grandfather anticipated this as anything other than a whimsical retreat.”

“I feel neither whimsical nor in the mood for a retreat.” She rested her head on her arms. Bess, unhappy that she couldn’t see Em’s face, stuck her nose inside the bend of Em’s elbow and watched her with one eye.

“We needn’t stay longer than tonight. As soon as the wedding guests have dispersed tomorrow, I can retrieve the carriage and your goods in it.”

“And some other clothes,” she said without thinking, meeting his eyes without raising her head.

His eyes grazed her body, leaving a trail of heat and a melting sensation in her belly. She’d never blushed under Colin’s gaze, but then Colin had never looked at her with Adam’s open hunger. If she’d never known Adam, she wouldn’t have known how much more could exist in a single caress. Or how a single glance would warm her so quickly. She didn’t look away, but instead, gave him her own assessing gaze.

He was handsome as ever, though in a rakish, criminal sort of way. Dark hair curled around his ears and neck, while his eyes—an impenetrable green—seemed to hold all her secrets. His face, though, was thinner, as was his torso. Lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes spoke of pain.

“You’ve been ill. No, not ill. Hurt.” Silently rebuking herself, she wondered how she hadn’t noticed before.

“It’s a hazard of my work. The crimes I investigate often take me to the rookeries and the hells. Death often haunts the places I must go.” His face changed, as if he’d just heard the words he had spoken and wished he could take them back.

“Work. Crimes. Investigate.” She repeated the words, almost to herself, evidence of something she hadn’t seen, but probably should have. She felt her eyes widen as the final piece fell into place. “Which one are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Those names from that silly old book Colin used to name his colleagues in the Home Office.”

“You know about his work for the Home Office?” He watched her face.

“I’ve known Colin Somerville almost my whole life.” She couldn’t keep her voice from sounding annoyed. “I’ve seen him grow from a child into a man. I kissed him goodbye when he went to the wars and woke him from nightmares when he returned. There isn’t a single secret that Colin hasn’t at one time or another shared with me. Who do you think taught me all about breaking codes?” She paused. “So, of course I knew about the Home Office. I simply didn’t know about you. Surely he would have warned me about you.”

He blinked twice but said nothing.

“So are you Lord Pettiwhistle, Charles Daring, Frederick Mortmain, or . . . ?” She looked at the ceiling while she remembered. “Oh, it can’t be.”

He waited quietly.

“A. Fairwether.” She shook her head. “How perfectly . . . apt.” She was too tired, too spent from the day, to find a better word.

Adam stared at her for a moment. Then he picked up his pack and set it on the table across from her. “If you still wish to know tomorrow, I’m happy to tell you. But your majordomo sent you some food. You eat. I’ll air the cot.”

She looked at the bag of food and the cot, a thin, badly stuffed pallet of hay. She couldn’t think; she couldn’t even move. If she had to do one more thing, she would simply sit at the table and cry. She bent her arms to make a pillow and laid her head down on the table.

Adam looked confused for only a moment, then he moved into action.

From the top of the pack, he removed several large packets of food. Bread, slices of roast beef, cheese, assorted sweetmeats, and a very large piece of the wedding fruitcake. He took a plate and fork from the cupboard, wiped both free of dust, then served her hearty helpings of everything.

She took the plate gratefully, eating something of everything. But she was especially pleased when he served her an especially large portion of the fruitcake.

For weeks, she’d been sneaking into the kitchen to pour brandy over the cake and watch it soak. Her mother had made a fruitcake for their Christmas dinner, and it was the one thing about the wedding for which she felt a real excitement. The fruit and spices mingled with the heavy brandy tasted heavenly, and the brandy sauce on top left her giddy.

After she finished her own, she kept trimming pieces off of Adam’s portion, until it grew smaller and smaller. Eventually, with real regret, she felt obligated to leave him a tiny sliver. Then, while Adam wasn’t looking, she took the fruitcake’s paper wrapper and licked it clean.

With the help of the brandied cake, she soon felt in better spirits. Even so she was still exhausted. She needed rest, real rest, before they traveled anywhere, and certainly before she asked Adam to explain why he wasn’t a criminal. He should be a criminal; he kissed like a criminal. She almost giggled out loud at the word, repeating it a few more times in her mind.

Having aired the cot’s mattress, Adam returned to the table, wiping clean her plate, and placing the remaining food on the counter.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” She knew he needed food. Something about his gait suggested that his wound, whatever it was, hadn’t fully healed.

“I will, but I thought you might wish to change out of your wedding clothes. Your butler sent a nightshift and dressing gown as well as a walking dress for tomorrow’s journey.”

Emmeline looked down at her wedding dress, still shimmering to her touch. She hadn’t done any damage that a careful brushing wouldn’t undo. But what would she do with it? It would be a shame to leave it at the cottage for the moths and mice to destroy, especially since it had been one of her mother’s favorite dresses. But she had little desire to wear it again, and even less to remind herself how foolish she’d been in accepting Colin’s proposal in the first place. Perhaps they could find a way to leave it for Jeffreys.

Adam stood watching her. When she raised her eyes to him, he stood still, immobile like a hart in the woods. For a brief instant, she thought she saw desire there—and fear.

“I’ll step outside and let you change.” Adam didn’t wait for her response. He leapt from the room as if he were running from the fires of Pompeii.

Is something wrong? She thought to call him back. But he was unlikely to answer her. Hadn’t he already deflected most of her questions? A criminal, a rake, or a scoundrel wouldn’t have left her to remove her dress alone, so why didn’t he stay? But Adam apparently wasn’t any of those things. Or was he? She couldn’t seem to think clearly. Change and sleep, she told herself.

Tiny covered buttons ran down her spine from between her shoulder blades to the base of her spine. She twisted sideways and unbuttoned the top. But no matter how she contorted her arms, she couldn’t undo any of the others. The buttons were too small, and their holes too tightly fitted. If she weren’t careful, she’d tear the dress at the seams. She stood for a moment, not sure whether to laugh or cry.

She would have to ask for help . . . again.

She opened the door several inches. “Adam, I need your help. I appear to be stuck.” She pointed to her back to show her dilemma.

A pained expression crossed his face, but he did not answer. He appeared to be thinking that if he ignored the problem of her dress, it would simply go away.

She pulled the creaking door open wide. “Adam?”

“Yes, my lady,” he answered without moving toward her.

“I promise I won’t bite . . . unless you do.” She surprised herself with the words, but once they were spoken, she could not regret them. Exhaustion made her giddy.

If he would only look at her with desire, if he would only kiss her . . . she wasn’t certain what she would do if he did, but she knew she wanted it. She’d wanted it since she’d seen him walking through the cemetery to her wedding.

Since her mother’s dress had already been carefully lined with linen, Em’s modiste had seen no reason to leave room in the design for a shift. If he helped her, he would be undressing her almost completely. The thought shouldn’t have thrilled her, but it did. And she put her hand to her lips to hold back the insistent giggle.

He shook his head, refusing to respond. He returned to the cottage reluctantly.

She hurried back into the middle of the room, positioning herself between the table and the cot. She stood so that as he unbuttoned her dress, he could see the cot over her shoulder.

Holding her dress against her bodice in the front, she looked over her shoulder to him. “The modiste chose the smallest buttons available.”

“I can see that,” he growled. Still wearing his gloves, he positioned himself at arm’s length from her dress. He undid the first button with only a bit of trying, but the second wouldn’t give.

“Perhaps you would do better without the gloves,” she said sweetly.

Cursing, he pulled his gloves off and threw them to the floor. Returning to her dress, he undid the first rank of buttons with unexpected precision. The dress released from her shoulder blades to the base of her rib cage. But the buttons against the small of her back refused to give. He tried several methods to create some give in the material, but none worked.

“It might help to hold the material out from my back,” she said even more sweetly. The touch of his hand, even through the material of her dress, made her feel brazen. “You might need to hold the material from the inside.”

He cursed again. But he followed her direction. With delight, she felt the backs of his fingers against her bare flesh. With each button, his fingers brushed down her spine. She imagined him replacing his fingers with kisses, tracing the line of her spine with his lips. She felt her skin tighten with desire.

What would he do if she let the material slide down her hips into a pool around her feet? Would he follow the line of its fall with kisses? Would his face darken with desire as she turned to face him, naked? She closed her eyes, remembering how it felt to love him.

By the time he’d reached the last button, her face felt flushed, and the room had grown stiflingly warm. Even her desire to giggle had faded.

She hesitated, suddenly sober, not knowing what she would do if he rejected her invitation.

She felt the last of the buttons release, her back bare to the cold.

“All done,” he announced, hurrying out the door and shutting it decisively before she could even say thank you.

* * *

Adam walked quickly into the clearing. His healing arm ached, but he ignored it. Em, exhausted and half drunk on brandied fruitcake, was a complication. He didn’t need more complications. He was more comfortable with the Em who revealed her hurt as anger. Anger, he understood. Desire could only lead to more regrets. And he already had enough of those.

He gathered enough firewood to warm the room. But he waited to return until he heard no sound—not even the dog’s gentle snoring—for the better part of an hour.

Inside, the lamp lit the room with a warm glow. Em was no longer at the table.

Her wedding dress lay on the floor in a puddle, as if she’d let it go and walked away. He set the firewood on the hearth, then returned to pick up the dress.

His gloves lay on the floor next to the dress, touching the arm of the garment, as if the two were holding hands. In an instant, he remembered holding her hand, the feel of her flesh against his. The longing that was never far away when he thought of her threatened to overwhelm him. He pushed it away.

He bent to pick up the dress, but stopped. Instead he picked up his gloves and put them on. Then he picked up the dress. He didn’t question the decision: something about touching her dress with or without her in it, carried an intimacy he could ill afford. He laid the dress on the table. Then, as if he were preserving a treasure, he carefully tucked the arms and flounce in, and smoothing it, turned the whole into a neat roll.

He knew it was foolish, but somehow the gloves gave him the distance he needed. Losing Emmeline had broken his heart and spirit, and he’d only felt almost whole again by denying himself any hint of her memory.

He removed the remaining objects from the pack and set them on the table. Then he filled the pack with Em’s wedding dress.

He didn’t know why he saved the dress. Em certainly didn’t seem to care if it rotted on the floor. But it was a beautiful dress, and, if he ignored the occasion, Em had looked beautiful in it. He should have told her. But that would pose yet another complication. She might have run from her obligations, but she was still a manor-born aristocrat, and he was still an agent of the Crown. Some distinctions weren’t meant to be questioned.

Em had taken both the night rail and the walking dress Jeffreys had sent her out of the pack. He hoped to God she was wearing both of them.

It was going to be a long trip.

He pulled a chair to the doorway, an old soldier on night watch once more. He would make sure she reached wherever she wanted to go, and he would send the letters the duke and the Home Office expected. He hoped that, at the end, he wouldn’t be punished for helping her—and that his desire would burn itself out along the way. But he didn’t think either scenario was likely.