Unlike here.
With his tears, Penelope’s tears, the fire, and Pen’s desperate wishing that he was who he really was. His terror would shrink against the vast horizon, the churning waves.
“Ride with me?” he asked.
“Pardon?” She hiccupped again.
“Ride with me. Under the moon. Come with me to the seaside. It’s a different world out there. A new world. Can’t you ride?”
She held his gaze for a long, solemn moment. “I can. Mostly, I prefer to walk.”
“But why? You used to—” He cleared his throat. “You seem like a woman who would enjoy a gallop in the moonlight.”
“I don’t have a horse.”
“I do.”
Her eyes dropped to his arm.
“I assure you,” he continued, “I can manage.”
“Yourself, certainly, but two? With your injury?”
“Yes.” Damn his injury.
He lifted them both to standing. He held out his hand.
Everything depended on her answer.
He wanted her to place her hand in his.
He wanted her to give him her trust—the same as he had given her his.
And—by God—he wanted so much more.
She placed her fingers into his and stared down at their joined hands with a riveted, peculiar expression.
“Let’s go,” he said, pulling her to the door.
He helped her up first, and then swung up onto the saddle. Tentatively, she placed her arms around his waist, careful to avoid his wound. But her hold tightened as soon as they started to move.
They made their way slowly through the wood to the field, while his horse became accustomed to two, and he became accustomed Penelope’s warmth against at his back.
She held him like she had those last few miles of their mad dash to Gretna Green, when they’d had to abandon the stolen carriage and the four of them—Chev, Pen, Ash and Hurtheven—had ridden through the darkness on three horses as his father’s men searched the inn.
As soon as they reached the field, Chev urged his horse to gallop.
Pen yipped involuntarily and buried her face into his neck.
His spirit soared. And that wasbeforeshe started to laugh.
Her startled laugh rang out like crystal bells—free, full-bodied, whole.
Her laugh rent him straight down his center and sewed him back up with a new kind of hope. He’d forgotten the sweetness of feminine joy. The rare beauty of a woman’s bliss.
The moon shined down. An effervescent moon. Bubbling all around like champagne, dissolving what was past.
Chapter Thirteen
