“You haven’t met my brother.” His half-smile didn’t reach his eyes. “He doesn’t have the best opinion of me—there’s a good chance he will turn you away.”
“Or perhaps your brother loves you,” she said, leaning her cheek against his shoulder for a heartbeat, “and wants the best for you. Perhaps he wantsyouto find the best for yourself.”
“Perhaps.”
They reached the cart. Oliver helped Emily climb into the back, and Oliver followed clumsily, trying to avoid knocking his bad arm. Six days into healing, and she could tell it still pained him, even if he did his best to hide it from her.
She wished she could magically make it better. Unfortunately, that was not how the world worked.
They settled themselves against the side of the cart amid bags of grain and old pieces of straw as Old Tom flicked the reins and urged the donkeys at the front into motion.
All around them, the melting snow dripped and pattered, and the watery sun bathed them in its indifferent light as they waved goodbye to the farm that had housed them for so long.
Oliver’s warmth pressed into her side, a reminder that no matter what, she couldn’t ignore his presence. They were soon to bid each other farewell, and the thought made her stomach twist a little.
This is what you wanted.
“What do you intend to do once we reach Bridekirk?” she asked.
“I doubt there’s much to be done.” He took her hand, enfolding her fingers in his. “It’ll be too late to easily travel back to Dalston, so I’ll take a room for the night—or two—and after a hearty breakfast tomorrow, I’ll hire a carriage to deliver you home.”
If she wanted, shecouldinsist on separate rooms, or for him to deliver her back to Dalston tonight. He watched her as though he half expected her to demand such a thing.
One last night together. Would that be so bad? Isabella needed her, but what was the difference between late one night and early the next morning? Isabella was not an early riser; she would barely notice the difference.
“All right,” she said, and his shoulders relaxed a fraction.
“Do you regret it?”
She eyed their linked hands pointedly. “If I did, do you think I would be here like this with you now? No, Oliver. I don’t regret it.” She felt as though a door in her mind and body had been opened. Things would perhaps have been easier if it had remained shut, but when had the best things in life ever been easy?
“Good,” he said, exhaling. “Then I don’t have to, either.”
“What made you change your mind about me? When we first met, I don’t suppose you intended for this to happen.”
He grinned, the contemplation sliding from his face to be replaced by wickedness. He unhooked his fingers from hers, then slid his palm against her cheek. His thumb brushed her lower lip, the way it always seemed to when he wanted to entice her into doing or saying something inappropriate. No one had ever made her feel like this before. “Not when we first met, admittedly,” he murmured, leaning in. “But darling, may I remind you that on occasion of our first meeting, I had just been driving for hours through the night and you held a gun to my head.”
“After you ushered me into your carriage thinking I was my sister!”
“Not my finest hour, I’ll admit. And yet, I can’t bring myself to say I’m sorry for it. Are you shocked?” He brushed his mouth over her cheek, and she threw all resolutions about kissing, and the quantity thereof, away.
One more night, one more room, one more time.
“Very shocked,” she told him. His nose brushed hers. They swayed with the motion of the cart. A stray piece of straw poked her in the back, and she knew the steady breeze had turned her neat bun into a frizzy mess. Yet for all that, she felt overheated, her skin sensitive under her clothes.
“Liar,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her neck.
She shivered. “What if Old Tom sees us?”
“He’s not looking,” Oliver said. “And he appears to be as deaf as a post.”
“Don’t point out his deficiencies when he’s driving us.”
“The horses are driving; he’s merely pretending to guide them.”
“Much you would know on the subject,” she retorted, her words breathy at the feeling of his mouth moving against her skin. He kissed her pulse point, trailing his tongue up the column of her throat.
“I like it when you’re shrewish,” he said, looking at her again, hazel eyes sparking. “I like it rather a lot.”
