CHAPTER12
The ride through the hills had been punishing. Neither spoke of the betrayal. It sat between them, unspoken, a reminder that even amidst growing closeness, the world still hunted them. The landscape had offered no comfort—just endless wind, moor, and the threat of riders in the distance that may or may not have existed.
Frances’s legs ached. Her throat burned from the cold air. Her shoulder throbbed with every jolt of her horse’s gait. But she did not complain. She did not have to. Johnathan had kept glancing at her, his jaw tight, his eyes scanning the horizon. She saw the tension in every line of his body.
They reached the first village shortly after sundown.
The inn was modest—two stories, one hearth, and a lopsided sign that creaked in the wind—but it had a roof and a warm fire, and for that, Frances could have wept.
“We have only the one room left,” the innkeeper said as she wiped flour from her hands.
Frances did not even blink. “We will take it.”
Johnathan paid and nodded curtly, then guided her up the narrow stairs without a word. She kept her eyes fixed forward, her heart thudding. They had shared proximity before—sleeping near one another, huddling for warmth—even a room. A bed.
The door creaked open to reveal a small chamber lit by a single candle and the dying glow of the hearth. A washbasin stood in the corner. The bed, wide and low, was covered in woolen blankets, the sheets freshly turned down.
Frances stepped inside.
Johnathan lingered at the threshold, silent.
She turned to him. “You can stop pretending this is the first scandal we have shared.”
He exhaled, closing the door behind him. “This one feels more permanent.”
She walked to the hearth and crouched to warm her hands.
“Will you share the bed with me?” she asked eventually, glancing over her shoulder.
“You are injured,” he said. “I will take the floor.”
She looked at him. “I am mostly recovered.”
He looked at the fire.
“I will take the floor.”
Frances stood slowly. “That is idiotic.”
“Frances—”
She took a steadying breath, feeling her pulse flutter like wings behind her ribs. “I wish to share.”
His gaze snapped to hers. And for a moment, all the tension between them gathered in the air, thick and electric.
She crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. “Lie beside me. Or do not. But stop trying to protect me from something I have already chosen.”
Johnathan hesitated for a beat. Then he moved to the basin, splashed cold water on his face, dried it with a cloth, and finally—finally—came to her side.
He sat. Slowly. Carefully.
The mattress shifted beneath their weight.
They lay down, side by side, backs turned, a solid ocean of blankets between them.
Frances stared at the wall.
The candle guttered low.
