“Probably.”
Taking them from his palm, she lifted the lantern from the floor and lit it.
The light showed that Bex chuckled even as he yawned.
“Is there anything I can do to help you stay awake. Can we recite lines?”
Bex stuck his hand out to her. “That will only tire my voice. Would you mind pulling off this glove? My knuckles are starting to sting.”
With great care, she slid the worn leather off his fingers. His hand seemed swollen; one knuckle looked cut. “What happened, Bex?”
“Nothing really.”
“Bex. Have you been in a fight?”
“A small one.”
Without a thought, she tucked his hurt hand against her chest, cradling it as if it were a babe. “Who did this? Are you much hurt?”
He tugged at his hand but then stopped. He must have become resigned to let her keep it. “Well, your drunk came back to say a few more words to me after you left.”
“He said something dreadful, and you decided to do more fisticuffs.”
He leaned closer. “Miss Croome, you might want to be careful where you hold my hand. Your party gown has a thin lace up top, not enough to keep my fingers from wandering. You truly should have changed into something sturdier, particularly when you are concerned abouttworooms.”
Flinching from her thoughtlessness, she released him. “I brought a carriage dress, but that doesn’t answer my question.”
His dark rich laughter surrounded her, and it took at least another minute before his hand moved. “It was a small fight. A few punches.”
“You could have been hurt. Bex, those kinds of men don’t play fair.”
“What do you mean, those kinds of people?”
He didn’t know what he’d face with her as his wife. She folded her arms. “The loud ones, the ones who think it is their right to say whatever mean thing they think. Don’t they know we just want to be let alone?”
Bex put a hand upon hers. “I won’t allow him to disrespect you, Miss Croome. And I’m not one to walk away from injustice. I’m big enough now… If I turn my eyes away, who will help? Who will make things right?”
Could she admire the man more? What a pleasure it was to know that he wasn’t just handsome with a voice as sweet as honey, but he was kind and forthright—everything she ever wanted. “Making things right—is that why you are so passionate about abolition?”
As if he was startled, his palm flew away, back to the reins. “Yes… Yes. If no one says anything, the practice will continue.”
“Your voice, Bex, as lovely as it is—you think your lone arguments will be enough?”
“It was enough for you, a prim and proper miss, to accompany a stranger at night on a long and dark road.”
She wanted to roll her eyes, but it was probably too dark for him to see her displeasure. “It’s not as though I took off with a highwayman. Just London’s most famous actor.”
“Well, some say the price of admission to the Covent Theatre is highway robbery.”
“Bex, don’t even joke about that. Mrs. Fitzwilliam-Cecil, she says it’s not safe on the road at night. She says highwaymen or thieves could lurk in the shadows.”
“Things can be dangerous, but that is why I’m careful. I’m careful in London, too.”
“You’re not being serious, Bex. I know of families whose loved ones never came home because they upset the wrong person. My uncle never came home, just his battered coat. He upset the wrong man. Abolition upsets a great number of people. Bex, why does it have to be you leading the fight?”
“Because.” His voice lowered as he sat up straight, as if a hot poker had touched him. “It just is. We’ll keep going as long as we can, but why don’t you settle in. We’ll be at a coaching inn before you know it. I’ll get us two rooms. We aren’t marriedyet.”
She’d upset him. When they’d stopped at the warehouse, it felt as if she’d passed some sort of test, but now she’d failed one. She didn’t care. His safety was important to her. She folded her arms about her. “Arthur Bex shouldn’t be engaging in common street fights, no matter what someone says about me. You’ll have to learn that. It’s what we all learn, even my father. It’s the price of the freedoms we do get to enjoy.”
