Something flickered in Harston’s eyes then, recognition of a kind, and dislike. “A protection that includes falsehood, I see.Do you know what you’ve brought into your house, Your Grace? That girl is a liar, a thief…”
“Enough.” Winston’s voice struck through the room with a resounding force.
Adeline didn’t hear the rest. She turned and ran. The parlor door crashed against the wall, and the cold seized her at once. The storm outside was ferocious. Rain slanted in wild sheets across the yard. She didn’t stop to fetch a cloak or hat. She barely knew where she was going, only that she had to get away, away from that voice, that house, that name.
Mud clung to her skirts; the wind tore at her hair. The vicar’s hedge gave way to a path that led toward the open fields beyond. She stumbled once, caught herself, and pressed on, sobbing without sound. Behind her, the door slammed again. Winston’s voice cut through the rain.
“Adeline! Stop!”
She didn’t. It wasn’t Winston’s voice she heard but her father’s, alive with rage.
“Adeline!”
His shout came nearer.
She turned, half blinded by the rain, and saw Winston, coat streaming, hair plastered to his forehead, moving with the uneven gait she’d come to recognize when his ribs pained him.
“Leave me!” she cried. “Go back!”
“Not without you.”
She tried to run again, but he caught her arm. His grip wasn’t harsh, only desperate.
“Let me go!” she said. “I can’t…he’ll…”
“He won’t touch you,” Winston said, pulling her closer so she could hear him over the storm. “You’re safe. Do you understand me? You’re safe.”
Her strength broke. “You don’t know what he is!” she gasped. “I ran away from him. I should have told you everything when we were in the carriage together. I should have shared the truth months ago…years ago, but I couldn’t, not when you’d been so kind.” She broke off as a sob of grief made her shoulders shake. “He killed my mother.”
The words ripped free of her. “He killed her, Winston. She tried to leave him, and he…he…” Her voice failed. “I saw it. I saw it, and I couldn’t stop him. That’s why I ran. That’s why I lied.”
Rain stung her face. She didn’t know if she was crying or if it was the storm. “I took a false name, a false history, everything. If I’dtold you who I was, you’d have sent me away. And I couldn’t bear that. I couldn’t bear it after Louisa, after your mother…” She pressed her hands to her face. “Tell them I’m sorry. Tell them I never meant to hurt them. I’ll go now before I do any more harm.”
Winston took her hands from her face, steady and firm. “You’ll do no such thing.”
“I have to!”
“No,” he said, his voice low and absolute. “You’re done running. Do you hear me? You don’t need to go anywhere.”
She shook her head, trembling. “He’ll come after me. He always does.” She dared to peek around Winston’s broad shoulders. “He must be only paces behind us now.”
“Then he’ll find I’m standing in his way,” Winston said. “He can send every clerk and constable in London, and I’ll still be there. You have my word.”
She looked at him through the rain. The certainty in his face undid her.
“You don’t understand,” she whispered. “He’ll destroy you.”
He gave a small, grim smile. “He’s welcome to try. But I won’t let him destroy you, Adeline. Louisa’s already lost one mother. I won’t let her lose another.”
The words stopped her breath. The rain fell harder, flattening the grass, filling the air with noise.
“Don’t say that,” she said, her voice breaking. “You can’t mean…”
“I do,” he said.
He reached for her then, not with the urgency of desire but with the steadiness of a promise. His hand came up to her cheek, rough from rain and cold. Her lips parted, a question half-formed, and he bent to answer it. The kiss was brief, rain-swept, tasting of salt and lightning and everything they hadn’t said. When they parted, the storm seemed quieter for a moment, as if the world itself had drawn breath.
She leaned into him, her forehead against his shoulder, the heat of his body cutting through the chill. He held her close until her shivering eased. When at last they turned back toward the vicarage, the wind had begun to drop. The lane was slick with mud, their footprints washing away as soon as they made them.
