The road had stripped away a layer of formality. She had come to trust him in that narrow, practical way travelers trust anyone who shares their dangers. To spot a bad rut in the road, to share a canteen, to watch her back when a crowd grew rough. Beyond that she had felt something bud. Not fully open, not fully safe, but there.
Which made the knowledge of what awaited in York sit all the worse. She had not forgotten the conversation beneath the inn window. Every beat of her heart since had seemed to tap out the rhythm of Edward’s words.
He does not trust me unless I pass a test. And when I pass what will that trust be worth. It is like only having faith in God if you are granted a miracle first.
Lord Deverell was somewhere behind those walls. With his accusations. With his memories of a woman called Isla Drummond who was not her. Edward carried the intention to test her. To make her prove herself to him. She could feel it between them like an extra passenger on the trap seat.
Henry, perhaps feeling the same weight, had grown quieter as the city grew closer. His arm was around Elizabeth’s waist, steady, but his usual stream of commentary had dwindled to the occasional quip. Elizabeth, for her part, seemed content simply to hold on and watch the world pass, face alight whenever Henry turned his head. Isla envied them their simplicity.
She shot a sideways glance at Edward. He was watching the road, but she could tell his thoughts were elsewhere. His jaw was set a fraction tighter. There was a line between his brows that had not been there when he was describing the misbehavior of midshipmen. She forced her gaze forward again. York loomed larger.
“So,” Henry said at last, breaking the silence, “shall we take the great city by storm? I feel sure York is unprepared for the arrival of a duke, a duchess and a future Mrs. Ashford.”
Elizabeth laughed softly. “We shall scandalize the Minster.”
Edward made a noncommittal sound. At the next rise the crossroads appeared. One road bent off toward the city gates, where carts and riders already queued. The other skirted the town’s outer fields, a narrower route that ran past a scattering of trees toward what looked like a smaller settlement further on. Isla tightened her grip. Her heart drummed.
This is it then. Shall I tell Edward his proof can go hang. If he cannot trust me for who he sees in front of him then … I want no part of him.
The choice rose like a wall in front of them. She clucked to Morrow and guided the trap toward the left-hand fork which was marked by a signpost pointing toYorkin neat black letters. Her stomach flipped.
I do want a part of him. I want all of him. And if I must prove myself then … damn it all, then I do what I must!
Best to get it over with. Best to have Lord Deverell’s gaze on her and see it fail to recognize her. Best to force Edward to lookbetween them and choose. Her nerves jangled, but beneath them there was a hard little core of resolve.
“Isla,” Edward called.
She did not look back. “We will be through the gates before dark if we do not dally.”
“Isla,” he repeated.
Something in his tone made her draw Morrow to a halt. She turned in her seat. Edward had reined his horse to a stop at the very center of the crossroads. He had not moved toward either fork. His cloak hung still around him, the wind stirring only the ends. He sat very straight, hands light on the reins, as if the horse were the least of what he was controlling.
Henry drew up beside him, frowning.
“What is it?” Isla asked. Her voice did not quite come out as steady as she would have liked.
Edward’s gaze flicked to the city, then back to her.
“I find,” he said slowly, “that I have very little desire to spend the evening wedged in a noisy inn with twenty other travelers and half the soot of Yorkshire in my lungs.”
She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
He nodded toward the right-hand fork. “That road will take us round the city. There is a smaller inn, a few miles on, that Rearden and I stayed at years ago. It is not fashionable. It is, however, clean, and the mutton pie was not lethal. I suggest we go there.”
Isla stared. “You wish to … skirt York.”
“Yes,” he said.
“But.” She groped for a neutral objection. “Supplies. Your business.”
“My business,” he said, “can wait.”
Henry looked between them, brow furrowing. “Wexford, I thought …”
“I know what you thought,” Edward said, not taking his eyes from Isla. “I know what I thought. I am thinking something else now.”
The world seemed to narrow to the space between them. The road, the city, Henry and Elizabeth, the clatter of distant cartsall faded. Isla’s heart hammered so hard she was sure the mare could hear it.
