Winston had one hand to the strap and one braced against the seat before the final jolt came. The carriage pitched once, twice, and settled then stopped so fast the footman in the boot shouted an oath.
“What is it?” Adeline asked, already leaning to the window.
Winston pulled the blind cord. Through the rain, the road ahead had ceased to be a road. Where it ought to have curved between two old oaks, a great slump of earth had slid off the bank. Water still ran through it, brown, muscled and impatient. The far verge, intact, carried the deep, wet ruts of the coach that had passed on before them.
“Louisa and Cordelia’s carriage made it,” Winston said.
“And ours will not,” Adeline answered. “Can we go round?”
“Not without wings.”
Hartley’s face appeared at the side window, rain carving paths down his cheeks. “Your Grace, the lane’s gone for ten yards at least. I’ll not risk the team. There’s a vicarage a half-mile back. We passed the lane to it. Smoke in the chimney. I suggest we go beg their hearth and wait on the storm.”
“Do it,” Winston said.
They backed the team, turned them in the tightest space he’d seen Hartley take, and made for the narrow lane. It climbed a little and then ran level along a low wall. A square house stood at the end of it, neat and plain as a good suit. A vicarage with a kitchen garden was tucked behind. The gate was tied with rope. The vicar was a stooped man with quick eyes and a wife who had already put a kettle on by the time Hartley knocked.
“You’re welcome to our roof,” the vicar’s wife said at once, seeing the soaked coats. “We’ve a fire in the parlor and a second in the little room. There’s a pork joint. Say no more.”
Winston bowed his thanks. They went inside, finding immediate warmth and shelter in the little parlor with its gloriously crackling fire. They were served tea and dried themselves before the fire as best they could, the smells of cooking emanating from the kitchen tantalized them both.
Winston looked at Adeline more than once and caught her looking at him. They shared smiles and blushes, feeling protected and safe in this snug haven they had stumbled upon.The vicar chattered while his wife bustled in the kitchen with the help of the house’s single servant. Both sat on a settle with the vicar in an armchair opposite. The settee was large enough to accommodate two people, if they knew each other well.
Winston’s thigh pressed against Adeline’s. His fingers brushed hers where she held them on her knee. Each contact sent a frisson through Winston, set his heart to racing as though he had not touched her before. When she spoke, he used it as an excuse to look at her. But his eyes took in her swan-like neck. Her delicate ears and apple cheeks. He found himself watching the movement of her lips.
The wind changed before the door opened. It struck the vicarage windows with such force that the fire guttered and flared blue. A heartbeat later came the thunder, rolling so near that the air itself seemed to shake. Adeline rose instinctively.
The parlor was close and warm, the storm beating at its edges. Winston had been speaking to the vicar in low tones when the latch lifted and the world outside rushed in on a wave of rain and cold air.
“Good heavens,” said the vicar’s wife, bustling forward. “You’ll be drowned, sir! Come in, come in at once!”
A man stepped over the threshold, water running from his coat, his hat clutched in one gloved hand. The light from the fire caught his face. Adeline froze.
“Come in, we have two more stranded travelers here,” the vicar said, startled. “You’ll find warmth enough in this house and welcome.”
Every drop of blood in Adeline’s body seemed to drain away. It was her father. The sound of the storm receded to a single, terrible silence. Lord Harston looked around the room and found her at once.
“Adeline,” he said.
The syllables landed like claps of thunder. The teacup slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor. Winston turned at the sound. The color in his face changed, but he did not show surprise. Something in the stillness of his body told her what that meant. He had known who the man was from the moment he stepped through the door.
I told him something of my past. But how? How can Winston recognize my father so readily? Do they know each other?
“Your Grace,” Lord Harston said, setting his hat aside. “I’m pleased to see you again.”
The civility was thin as paper. Winston’s bow was nothing like polite. “Harston.”
Adeline barely saw them. Her vision had narrowed to the one man she’d sworn never to face again. He looked older. The hair at his temples had gone almost white, but the eyes werethe same. The eyes that had once looked at her mother with contempt and then, in one flash of madness, with hate so pure it had burned itself into her soul.
She saw it all again. The candlelit drawing room, the overturned chair, her mother’s hand slipping from the table’s edge, the dark stain spreading across the rug. She heard her own voice, small and useless, calling for help no one came to give. Her father took a step forward.
“You’ve caused me a great deal of trouble, Adeline. Mr. Pike tells me you’ve been living under false names. You’ve been impersonating members of the peerage. That’s a crime, you know.”
She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The sound of her name in his mouth filled her with the same paralyzing dread she had known as a child, the dread of footsteps in the corridor when she’d hidden beneath her bed, praying not to be found. Winston stepped between them. “You’ve travelled far, Harston. Perhaps you’d like…”
“I’ll have words with my daughter,” Lord Harston said, his tone cutting. “In private.”
“She’s under my protection, as my employee,” Winston said evenly. “You’ll speak with me first.”
