Or caught.
Or washed away.
Julia’s harebrained decision to begin this journey had been bad, but his decision to continue had been worse. He couldn’t even decide exactly what part he was currently playing in this farce.
A violator of Julia’s innocence?
A victim of Julia’s persistence?
Julia’s abductor?
Or her accomplice?
All of the above had only one thing in common—Julia.
He stole a sideways glance. Though they had changed horses several times, for the life of him, he hadn’t been able to draw more than a perfunctory phrase from her lips. Since this morning, she’d remained pale and unnaturally quiet.
Was she silently cursing him for being crude, mauling?
Was she dreaming of finally being reunited with Cracked-skull?
Or was she simply hollowed out by the aftermath of a narrow escape?
The latter, he hoped.
That, he understood. This wasn’t his first flight, after all. He knew once the thrill of freedom petered away, only uncertainty remained.
The last time they’d kissed, he’d dodged the expectations banging on his door like snaring beasts. He’d abandoned his position, his lifelong friends, and their fury. With barely a thought for his future, he’d purchased his tickets. After he’d boarded the ship, he’d watched as England became nothing more than a gray-hued slug on the horizon, and then…
Silence.
Recrimination.
Consequences.
Less rousing triumph than the precipitous letdown of an arduous journey never properly envisioned nor rationally chosen. The yawning emptiness had been paralyzing.
Both that desperate flight and this one had been precipitated by the same pleading look in the very same pair of dark eyes.
He snuck a sideways glance.
His “footman.”
She should have chosen the rector. If she hadn’t already, eventually she’d realize her rational priorities had been overtaken in a moment of senseless weakness.
He leaned back against the cushions and rolled his neck.
This morning, he’d made the decision to flee just after her breasts crushed against his waistcoat. He’d touched her hip—an unconscious but singular act of possession.
In that moment, his full attention and his fealty had fixed to Julia, even though mere minutes before she’d reacted to his kiss with an unequivocal command tostop.
This time, hemustremember.
She’d cursed him to the devil, and that might be where he belonged.
He knew the fruit of the tree of knowledge, of good and evil. Justification—not an apple—had caused original sin. Not the kind of deliberate justification that manifested as “I know it’s wrong, but still…”but the kind of justification he was tempted to cling to now, the kind woven so tightly within the heart the liefeltlike truth.
The kind infused with righteous indignation.
