Ciaran woke much later, and for one groggy moment he thought his dreams had come true. Lucy was beside him, still wrapped in his arms.
Hours had passed. The one window in the tiny room was dark. Ciaran blinked at it, confused, until understanding dawned.
They’d slept the entire day.
He glanced down at her. She was clinging to him, her head on his chest, a handful of his shirt clutched in her fingers. Her face was turned up to his, her eyes wide open. “I wondered when you’d wake. Your stomach has been rumbling for half an hour now.”
She gave him a sweet smile, and Ciaran’s heart melted. Unable to resist, he leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. “Are you hungry?”
She nodded, but she made no move to pull away from him. She seemed perfectly content to remain in his arms. She did loosen her grip on his shirt, then dragged her fingers over the cloth, smoothing it. She did this for a long time, and Ciaran remained as still as he could, hypnotized by the soft stroke of her fingers. He would have stayed with her like this forever, but then one of her fingernails scraped lightly against his chest. He caught his breath, and her hand stilled, as if she’d only just realized she was stroking him.
A flush spread over her cheekbones, and then she did pull away from him.
“Lucy.” He tried to hold onto her, his fingers tightening over hers, but she swung her legs over the side of the bed and rose before he could stop her.
“I’ll ring for a servant.” She escaped to the other side of the room, beyond his reach, and pulled the bell. A serving girl appeared after a short time, and Lucy asked for the fire to be tended and a supper tray brought up.
After the door closed behind the girl, an awkward silence fell.
Lucy wandered aimlessly around the room, darting anxious glances at him, glances he returned with anxious ones of his own. They seemed not to know what to say to each other. There was too much to say, and neither of them knew how to begin.
Or maybe they both knew once they did begin, there would be no going back to who they’d been on that beach in Brighton, when they’d sworn to be friends.
Friends. The idea seemed ludicrous to Ciaran now. He should have known from the start he’d never be able to settle for mere friendship with Lucy. That he’d grow to want her with a soul-deep ache he’d never be free of. He’d already been half in love with her by the time she left Brighton; he just hadn’t known it.
And he’d thought Markham was the oblivious one.
He and Lucy dined in front of the fire, the scrape of their forks across the plates the only sound in the room. It wasn’t awkward, precisely—he and Lucy had spent many moments on the beach in comfortable silence—but the space between them was heavy with unsaid words.
He half-expected her to banish him to the pallet for the night, but when he spread the pillow and blankets across the hard floor in front of the hearth Lucy fetched them back again and returned them to the bed. She didn’t insist he join her—she simply curled up under the coverlet and waited, her dark eyes on his face.
Since there was nowhere else in the world Ciaran wanted to be than tucked into a warm bed beside her, he also didn’t say a word. He simply crossed the room, climbed into the bed, and held out his arms until she nestled against him with a soft sigh, her cheek pressed to his chest.
* * * *
The next morning, they left Windsor before sunrise and pushed relentlessly toward Aylesbury, stopping only briefly to dine and change horses.
It was an eleven-hour journey. By the time they reached Huntington House, the sky had gone dark. Lucy should have been exhausted. Perhaps shewasexhausted, but at the same time she was wide awake.
Wide awake, and panicking.
“There’s no reason for you to look as if you’re facing the gibbet, Lucy.” Ciaran frowned as his gaze roamed over her face, lingering on the marks she’d bitten into her lower lip. “My family will welcome you here. They won’t credit any of the rumors about your father, if they’ve even heard them at all.”
“My father?” Lucy had been staring out the window at the grand estate spread out before her, but now she jerked her gaze to Ciaran and a despairing groan left her lips. “I’d forgotten all about that! As if it weren’t bad enough a strange lady appears out of nowhere on their doorstep in the middle of the night, but now there’s a mad father thrown into it, too!” Why, the Marquess of Huntington would likely send her back to Oakwood Asylum without so much as a by-your-leave.
“I wouldn’t say you’re strange. A little unconventional, yes, but not strange.” Ciaran tried a tentative grin, but when he saw the expression on her face he sobered again.
“Are they even expecting us? That is, I know they’re not expectingme, but did you send word you were leaving London?” Lucy asked, twisting a fold of her cloak between her fingers.
Ciaran shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Well, no. That is, there wasn’t time to—”
Lucy closed her eyes and fell back against the seat with another groan. “This couldn’t be worse, Ciaran!”
“Lucy.” Ciaran plucked her wrinkled cloak from her fingers and took her hand in his. “It’s going to be all right, I promise you. Do you truly think I’d bring you here if I didn’t think it would be?”
“I—no. No, of course not.” Lucy clutched at his hand, trying to absorb his warmth into her chilled skin.
Ciaran let her pet and squeeze him as the carriage made its way to the end of the long drive and stopped in front of a set of wide, stone steps. Lucy had regained some of her courage by then, but it fled again when the front door opened and a small group emerged, astonishment plain on their faces.
