“I never said that.”
There was a look in his eyes, half teasing, half unreadable, that made her heart do something entirely irrational in her chest.
Moments later, they were mounting their horses, with Evelyn adjusting in the saddle while Robert swung onto his with practiced ease. He gave a short whistle, and the stable doors were opened by a young groom. Sunlight poured in and with it, the promise of something new.
They rode side by side down the winding path that led away from the estate. The wind tugged at her hair, and the rhythm of hooves on damp earth became its own kind of music. Evelyn hadn’t realized how tightly wound she’d been until she began to laugh, the sound escaping her freely as Storm surged forward.
“Careful,” Robert called over the wind. “You’re going to start enjoying yourself!”
“Too late!” she called back, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright.
She didn’t know what the town would bring or what truth lay ahead in Robert’s past, but now, with the morning sun caressing her face, Evelyn felt, if only for a fleeting moment, a sense of freedom.
The ride had started under a sky smeared with lazy clouds, harmless and slow-moving. But as they passed the wooded rise above the southern meadows, the wind shifted and the first patter of rain struck Robert’s shoulder.
He tilted his head up, squinting at the thickening sky. “We should take cover. That oak there,” he pointed off the road, “will do until it passes.”
He turned in the saddle to find Evelyn had already drawn her eyes to the same sky, the corners of her lips curling upward, only not in concern but rather with mischief.
“Oh, come now,” she said, spurring her horse forward. “You’re not going to melt, Your Grace.”
Before he could protest, she was gone, laughing over her shoulder as her horse galloped past him.
“Evelyn!” he exclaimed, but her name was lost in the wind.
He should have called her back. He should have reminded her that her boots were thin, that she’d catch a cold, that they were too far from shelter for foolishness. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.
She rode with reckless joy, the kind born of rare freedom. Her loose chignon had come undone in the wind and rain, strands of hair escaping like wild ivy. Water soaked through the thin material of her cloak, clinging to her frame. She was drenched, radiant, untamed and utterly beyond his reach in that moment.
A wood nymph, he thought, utterly enchanted, chasing some mythic joy he hadn’t believed in for years.
He urged his horse after her, rain slicking his shoulders, stinging his face. The road curved downward toward the town where the shape of the inn came into view like a promise on the horizon.
By the time they reached the inn’s modest stables, they were both soaked through, their horses lathered and snorting. Evelyn slid off her mare with an exhilarated laugh, her cheeks flushed, and raindrops clinging to her lashes.
“You’re mad,” he observed, dismounting beside her.
She looked up at him, eyes shining. “Yes, but admit it, you needed it.”
He wanted to kiss her then. It was a wish not born from desire but from something deeper, something unspoken, something fragile that stirred in his chest like a whisper of what he’d once called hope. Instead, he offered his hand, and she took it without hesitation.
They must have looked like a pair of strays, all soaked through, cloaks dripping, boots muddied, and faces flushed from wind and rain. The innkeeper, a round-bellied man with a face like a weathered apple and kind eyes, blinked at them as they stepped into the warm, firelit entryway.
“Bit of a storm to be caught in, eh?” he said cheerfully. “You two look half-drowned.”
Before Evelyn could open her mouth and announce their titles, Robert saw the instinct rising in her, like the duchess she was. He stepped forward, brushing a wet curl from her cheek and offering the innkeeper a polite, sheepish smile.
“Yes, we seem to have lost our way,” he said simply. “Didn’t mean to ride so far in this weather.”
The innkeeper nodded in understanding. “Happens more than you’d think.” He handed over a heavy brass key. “Simple room, top of the stairs. We’ve only got one left, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, that’s quite all right,” Evelyn chimed in. “We’re married.”
She looked at him with a faint blush, and Robert couldn’t help but feel a pang deep down where his heart used to be.
“All right then,” the innkeeper grinned. “If you two are hungry, the missus makes a heavenly soup. It is said to bring back the dead.”
“Oh my,” Evelyn chuckled. “Then we must try it, indeed.”
