His face was only inches away, and she held his gaze, but for only a moment.
That black stare of his was too intense—too unnerving. He rubbed the corner of her mouth with his thumb as he seemed to be examining her.
“I’m fine,” she insisted, resorting to study the short whiskers around his mouth, his chin, and along his jaw. His mouth was grim, and her fingertips tingled. Was his lower lip as soft as it looked? She’d seen him smile, but only at her expense. Did he ever smile for the sheer joy of it?
Those massive arms had soothed her. He was a criminal, wasn’t he? How did he manage to seem good and bad at the same time? Hard and soft? Kind but mean?
Was there more to him than muscles and brutal practicality?
Even limp and exhausted, looking at him, she felt things she’d never felt before. Her heart squeezed a little, and as much as she’d like to, she couldn’t blame it on the corset.
Which reminded her again that she was only half dressed—in a filthy gown. One might imagine she had a nest in her hair, and she would kill for a hot bath.
Up until now, she had taken those conveniences for granted. She’d even resented Miss Henrietta. The sudden insight into her character was unsettling.
She’d never considered herself to be selfish. Had her cousin viewed her like this? Was that why Clementine wanted to leave her?
While Amelia suffered this myriad of self-revelations, Mr. Beckworth had opened the window to address the driver, and a moment later the carriage came to a halt. From what she could see, they’d not quite arrived at the next village.
With some of her fear creeping back in, Amelia backed into the corner, hiding her back, holding her gown up. She needed…
She couldn’t begin to catalogue all her needs in that moment.
Mr. Beckworth, however, had already opened the door, looking quite purposeful, really.
“That gown, I think, is done for,” he said. He paused, the wind ruffling his black hair, looking momentarily torn. Standing just outside the door, fists on his hips, he tilted his head back and when he leveled it again, let out a loud breath. “Give me your word,” he said. “That you aren’t going to try anything stupid.”
For most of her life, no one ever consulted her regarding… anything, really. So she oughtn't feel so untethered.
Except she was a prisoner. No matter how kind Mr. Beckworth might seem now, he’d taken her against her will.
He wanted her to promise she wouldn’t try escaping again. In answer, she gulped out a very unladylike sound. She doubted she could walk right now, let alone run.
But he was serious.
He was speaking her language, so to speak.
So she slowly nodded. “You have my word.” She held his gaze. She’d been raised to believe that honor meant everything. What did it mean now?
She rolled her lips together. She couldn’t promise she’d never try running again, but for now, it seemed best to wait until she was feeling more herself.
And dressed properly.
After a few seconds, he winced, dipped his chin and then disappeared.
Outside, horses had gathered on the side of the road.
She’d known they weren’t traveling alone, but knowing there were at least five riders shuffling a few yards away, plus the driver and possibly an outrider, she marveled that she’d been brave enough to even try getting away the day before.
She hadn’t been acting bravely, or enacted any sort of plan. She’d simply had the thought of jumping out and acted upon it.
And Mr. Beckworth was not wrong. She was lucky she hadn’t really hurt herself.
Luck! Was that what it was? She barely contained another gulp of what could easily turn into hysterical laughter.
Male voices drifted through the windows. It was odd, being surrounded by men when all her life she’d been protected from them. Even odder, she didn’t really care.
Gravelly footsteps heralded Mr. Beckworth’s return. When he appeared, he wasn’t emptyhanded.
