“Evelyn,” he murmured, kissing her hair, her cheeks, her brow. Evelyn breathed in deeply. His voice was warm and resonant, full of love, and it filled her with joy and wonder. He loved her, and she loved him. It was the most wonderful thing that she could imagine.
“Sebastian,” she murmured sleepily. She snuggled against him, feeling safe and warm for the first time in far too long. “You’re here.”
He stroked her hair. “Yes, I am. I will always be here,” he promised. Evelyn sighed, warmth filling her and spiralling down to her toes.
“Thank you,” she said softly. It was what she needed to hear.
He kissed her hair, and they sat silently for a moment as they listened to how the coach rattled through the darkened London streets. Sebastian had suggested that they spend the night in an inn that he knew and then make the journey to the manor the following day. It was late at night, and it was far too dangerous to make the journey on the road. Robbers abounded on the stretchof road outside London, preying on the coaches of the wealthy, and it was much more prudent to travel when it was light.
Evelyn closed her eyes, the rocking of the coach lulling her into a half-slumbering state. She was terribly tired. Nicholas had said that he believed it to be from shock, and she was certain that he was right. She had never been as terrified in her life as when Stannard’s men abducted her. She had been absolutely convinced that they would kill her.
Sebastian had explained everything—how James had ridden after her, how he had found the abandoned coach, how he had sought Sebastian out and followed him to her rescue.
Her heart ached. But for James’s desperate courage, she would be dead—she felt that with absolute certainty.
The coach jolted, and she shifted closer to Sebastian, clinging to him. She could scarcely believe all that had happened. Sebastian had come for her—dared everything for her—and he had done so because he loved her. It was more beautiful than anything she had ever hoped or imagined.
She opened her eyes again, gazing around them. Sebastian must have felt her stir because he stroked her hair, shifting his position so that she could lie more comfortably.
“Shh,” he said gently. “All is well now. We will reach the inn soon.”
She sat up. Her gaze met his, and she saw his evident surprise as he saw the joy in her eyes.
“I know all is well,” she said softly. “I am with you. I could not be happier.”
Sebastian looked at her, light in his blue eyes. She smiled to see him so happy and turned so that her head rested against him and she could hear his heartbeat once again.
The coach rattled through the dark, near-empty street. They passed through the city gate, and soon the countryside opened before them. The coach lamps swayed with each turn,casting long, shifting shadows across the fields. Evelyn clung to Sebastian again, a tremor passing through her. She wondered dimly how long it would take before she could travel by coach without fearing ambush.
Sebastian seemed to sense her unease. He tightened his grip on her hand, steady and reassuring, as they drove on through the night.
The coach slowed and came to a stop before a tall, gracious-looking building with two floors and a sloping roof, its exterior glowing in the light of pine torches bracketed to the wall. The paint looked white in the flickering glow, and though Evelyn could not read the inn sign clearly, Sebastian nodded.
“This is it—the White Star Inn.”
He helped her down, and she clung to his hand, needing its steadiness as much as its comfort. Together they crossed the dim yard to the front doors. When Sebastian knocked, the innkeeper opened at once, his face brightening.
“Your Grace! It has been an age since you visited us!”
“It has indeed, Mr Thornton. I will require your finest room,” Sebastian said. He glanced at Evelyn. “And perhaps some supper?”
Her stomach twisted. She knew sheoughtto be hungry, yet the thought of food unsettled her.
“Something small,” she murmured.
Sebastian smiled. “Sandwiches, then,” he said to the innkeeper.
“Certainly, your Grace! And perhaps something sweet for her Grace? My wife makes an excellent syllabub. I will have some sent up.”
They thanked him, and Evelyn followed Sebastian upstairs, leaning on his arm, to a private parlour.
She sank gratefully into the chair Sebastian pulled out for her. The room was clean and warmly appointed:patterned wallpaper, a handsome stone fireplace, slender velvet-upholstered chairs. After the squalid place she had been held—though only briefly—the room felt like a sanctuary. Her body sagged as the reality of safety settled fully over her.
The innkeeper soon returned with a tray: sandwiches, two small dishes of syllabub, and a flask of warmed ale. Evelyn found the syllabub precisely what she needed—light, sweet, and comforting. She ate eagerly, and when she looked up, Sebastian was watching her with a soft, amused expression.
“What?” she asked.
“You have cream on your nose.”
