He eyed her with disbelief. “What are you doing out here?” He took the jacket he was holding and draped it behind her, creating a canopy above her head.
“Our wheel broke.”
“That isn’t a reason for you to be wandering in the mud and rain.” The raw concern on his brow released a flutter in her chest.
“Where is your carriage?” she asked.
“The coachman is currently digging the wheel out of the mud.”
Sophia laughed. The tension and fear she had been holding released slowly from her shoulders. Isaac’s eyes gleamed with amusement, and then he laughed too. They were both soaked. From under the jacket, she stared up at his face. He looked as exhausted as she felt, and at least equally delirious.
The caution she had been feeling toward him for years had been torn out from under her with their conversation at the party. Now, she had nothing to grasp but her feelings for him—and they were far stronger than she was comfortable with. She had seen him soaked through like this before, when he had gone for a swim in his clothes in one of the coves by Morvoren. She hadn’t even reached Cornwall yet and she was already repeating all those memories in her mind, like rereading a favorite book. She thought she had glued the pages closed, but now they ruffled open in front of her, begging her to read the story again. Tolivethe story again.
But with a new ending this time.
Sophia felt the warmth of Isaac’s body radiating toward her, trapped beneath the canopy of his jacket. His arms must have been tired from holding the jacket above her head for so long.
Her laughter subsided, and she smiled up at him. “I suppose we shall have to wait, then.”
Isaac’s lips twitched with a curious smile. “In the rain, or in the carriage?”
“Which would you prefer?”
A trickle of rain fell from his hairline, and she had to hold herself back from wiping it away. He leaned an inch closer. “Well, I know you have always dreamed of being trapped alone with me in a carriage during a rainstorm.”
How had she known he would say that? Her heart pounded, but she laughed. “We wouldn’t be alone. My aunt is there.”
He grinned. “But you don’t deny that you dream of it?”
“Of course I don’t!”
He laughed, his wide smile creating creases around his mouth and eyes—quiet, soft signs of the years that had separated them. She couldn’t believe that all this time, someone else had been responsible. Where would her life have taken her if she and Isaac hadn’t been given those forged letters? They could have been married years ago. They could have built a life in Cornwall, surrounded by the sea and mines and small children to care for.
Was it too late for that future?
The very idea of it made her heart ache with longing. How could she break off her engagement to Lord Finchley now? Her stepfather would be astonished—and his relationship with the earl would be sure to suffer. But wasn’t her future happiness worth it?
Isaac spoke again, tugging her from her thoughts. “If you had been honest that day at the picnic, would I have won the game?” Had he leaned closer? His light tone encouraged an honest reply, but his closeness made her words lodge in her throat.
“Yes.” She could barely hear her own voice above the rain. “I was surprised by how much you remembered.”
“You’ve proven yourself quite impossible to forget.” His eyes matched the night, his mouth just a whisper away from hers. He was smiling, but his gaze was serious as it roamed over her face, as if he were searching for an answer to that question he had posed during their dance. He must have still been wondering if he had a chance against Lord Finchley.
Her heart pounded hard against her chest.
Isaac was the only one who had ever had a chance.
He stared down at her, his lips just inches from hers. Her honor conflicted with her desire, her head with her heart. She had left Lord Finchley in London without a word. It wasn’t fair to engage herself to him and yet be standing this close to Isaac, wanting him more than she could ever want anyone else. Shehad embarked on this journey to save Prudence’s reputation, not to ruin her own in the process.
She looked down at her feet, half buried in a puddle of mud. “Perhaps we should go to the carriage.”
Isaac glanced up at the sky. The rainfall had subsided, but only a little. If his coachman succeeded in freeing Isaac’s carriage, then they could at least ride to the posting house rather than walk. Isaac had always been a gentleman. He didn’t object to her request, but kept his jacket positioned over her head as he led her to the carriage where Aunt Hester awaited them.
Sophia took the seat beside her aunt, but Isaac stayed outside, closing the door behind her.
She cast him a curious look from the window, but he jogged in the opposite direction. He must have been going back to help his coachman free the wheel from the mud. Lord Finchley, on the other hand, would have been the first inside the carriage. And he certainly wouldn’t have sacrificed one of his finest jackets to the downpour in order to keep her head dry.
Aunt Hester was bundled in a carriage blanket, only her face visible above it. “Perhaps Mr. Ellington’s constitution is not strong when it comes to exotic foods, but he does seem quite capable of enduring the weather this evening.” She offered half the blanket to Sophia. “You haven’t fooled me, my dear.”
