Damian squeezed her hands back, his eyes filled with a mixture of love and frustration and resignation. “Very well. But promise me something?”
“What?”
“Promise me you’ll at least consider the possibility that you deserve happiness. That you deserve love. Even if you’re not ready for it now.”
Joan hesitated, then nodded slowly. “I promise to consider it.”
It was a lie, and they both knew it. But sometimes lies were kinder than truth.
Damian tucked Joan’s hand into the crook of his elbow, and together they walked back toward the parlor where Victoria waited—no doubt bursting with questions and commentary about everything she’d witnessed.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Joan! Get up! Now!”
Joan woke to the sound of her door slamming open, her brother’s frantic voice cutting through the fog of sleep. She bolted upright, her heart immediately racing. Damian stood in the doorway, still in his nightclothes, his face pale and twisted with fear.
“What—”
“Julian is here,” Damian said, his voice tight. “He’s at the front door with men. We have to run. Right now.”
The words sent ice flooding through Joan’s veins. She threw back the covers and leaped from the bed, not bothering with slippers or a robe over her nightdress. Across the room, Victoria was already up, her eyes wide with terror.
“How did he find us?” Victoria’s voice came out as barely a whisper.
“It doesn’t matter,” Damian snapped. “We need to leave. Through the back. Hurry!”
The pounding on the front door grew louder—heavy, insistent thuds that seemed to shake the very walls of the manor. Joan heard men’s voices shouting, demanding entry.
“Open this door immediately! By order of the Earl of Aldridge!”
Joan grabbed Victoria’s hand and pulled her toward the door. Damian was already in the corridor, gesturing frantically for them to follow.
They ran through the darkened house, their bare feet slapping against cold floors. Joan could hear the servants stirring in confusion, Sarah’s frightened voice calling out questions that went unanswered.
The pounding at the front door intensified.
“Faster!” Damian urged.
They burst through the kitchen and out the back door into the frigid predawn air. The sky was still dark, stars fading as the first hint of light touched the horizon.
Peters was already there, thank God, standing beside the carriage with the horses harnessed and ready. His weathered face was grim but determined.
“Quickly, Miss Sinclair! Lord Sinclair! Miss Victoria!”
Joan practically threw Victoria into the carriage, scrambling in after her. Damian followed, slamming the door shut.
“Go!” he shouted to Peters. “Go now!”
Peters didn’t need to be told twice. He cracked the reins, and the horses lunged forward, the carriage jerking into motion with enough force to throw Joan against the seat.
Victoria clutched at Joan’s arm, her whole body shaking. “He found us. Oh God, Joan, he found us?—”
“Hush,” Joan said, though her own voice trembled. “We’re getting away. We’re?—”
The carriage suddenly lurched to a violent stop, throwing all three of them forward. Joan heard Peters shout in alarm, heard the horses whinnying in distress.
“What—” Damian reached for the door handle.
