Page 66 of A Bluestocking’s Secret Courtship

Evangeline plopped the pot at his feet and sat beside him in the dirt, retrieving a handkerchief from her waistband to wet it. “You’ve overtaxed yourself. You’re burning up.”

He shook his head. He should be reassuring her and taking charge, but he closed his eyes as she drew the damp cloth across his forehead, along his feverish skin, washing away the grime.

With each gentle pass over his face, shoulders, and chest, his mind quieted. The sound of water dripping each time she wrung out the handkerchief. Timothy’s muffled chewing as he ate from the feeding bag. Evangeline’s tender murmurs.

Every sound, every breeze on his face soothed his soul—carrying him back to evenings around the campfire with his parents. When life made sense and all was right.

She draped the handkerchief across the back of his neck, holding it in place. He blinked, found himself staring into her eyes illuminated by the firelight. She was beautiful, so very perfect in every way.

A crack split his heart, leaving a wound of aching loneliness. Because of who he was—what he had been ordered to do—she could never be his.

“Evangeline…”

She shushed him. “We will make it. I’m stronger than I look.”

He opened his mouth, but he couldn’t speak. When her lips brushed against his, he accepted the gift, and for this brief moment, he was just an antiquarian drumming enthusiast, sharing a kiss with the most brilliant woman he had ever met.

And the only one he had ever loved.

The realization didn’t shock him. It had been a whisper at the back of his mind, amplified by their time together today.

He deepened the kiss, savoring the faint sweetness of the figs she’d shared with him earlier. She sighed, sagging into him. Regretfully, he broke the kiss, still cradling her nape. Her riotous curls tickled his cheek as he rested his forehead against hers.

He should tell her the truth—including how he no longer intended to carry out his mission—but what if she didn’t believe him? She was vulnerable in the wilderness with him. And after what she had witnessed in the village, he might terrify her. He would never hurt her, but she wouldn’t know his intentions. What if she tried to escape in the night and landed in a truly dangerous situation?

Her skin heated against his. “Evangeline,” he whispered.

“I need a bath.” She sprang to her feet and bustled to their supplies, retrieving soap and a clean handkerchief.

He grabbed his shirt and slowly followed her toward the stream. “I will keep watch.”

“That is unnecessary,” she called over her shoulder without looking back.

He sighed. It wasn’t really. There were wolves and wild boar, but he didn’t want to concern her. “I would feel more comfortable. I will keep my back turned.”

A jackal yipped in the distance. She drew up short.

“It’s harmless,” he said.

She glanced back, studying him. “Very well,” she mumbled.

As she reached the bank, she draped a throw over a tree limb, waiting for him to turn his back. He searched the area to be certain it was secure and nodded before turning away.

The rustle of her removing her gown and trousers drowned out the night noises. He held very still. A breeze carried the earthy scent of sunbaked dirt and slightly bitter smokiness of the olive tree leaves.

Water lapped as she walked into the stream, followed by a gentle swish of submerging herself in the deeper waters. Every drip echoed, vibrating through him.

“This work is more dangerous than I expected,” she said softly. “Uncle Charles never let on. ”

The vulnerability in her tone almost made him turn, but he forced himself to stay.

“I have dreamed of leading my own digs for as long as I can remember,” she said. “But now…”

He dragged his fingers through his hair. “Expeditions have their risks, but you can minimize them. Once you build a trusted team, it won’t feel as daunting.”

She sighed, quiet again.

“I’ll share what I’ve learned if you like.”