Page 69 of A Bluestocking’s Secret Courtship

She didn’t know what to say.

“I tried to change.” He glanced toward the horizon where the sunrise illuminated the sky in shades of purple, then his gaze settled on her again. “When I returned to England a year ago, I thought I was ready to settle at my father’s estate.”

“Were you prepared to give up antiquities?” she asked.

He smiled, but it didn’t light his eyes like usual. “Not forever, but I was prepared to give it up for a while. I didn’t know where my work would take me next.”

It had brought him here, to this moment with her.

She cleared her throat. “How long before you realized you wanted to complete your father’s work?”

“I spent several weeks in London before I left again.”

She nodded, understanding what he didn’t say. His experience with the ton had been difficult, but she didn’t want to pry.

“I think you’ll feel less burdened once you fulfill your father’s dream,” she said.

The lines across his forehead softened, and he captured her hand, bringing her fingers to his lips. Gently, he brushed a kiss to them. “You are most generous, Evangeline. I didn’t know someone like you existed.”

She blushed, growing even hotter—wondering how he couldn’t notice. He pretended he didn’t.

After a moment, he released her hand to drag his fingers through his hair, and he shifted away. The air around them crackled.

“Last night I wasn’t forthcoming,” he said softly. “When I said I was never asked to do anything against my will.”

She held her breath.

“I promise, it’s something I would never do.”

She wanted to ask for more details, but she waited. He met her gaze, his own unwavering.

“I would never hurt someone. Never.”

“Oh,” she muttered as understanding flooded over her.

A fullness gathered in her chest and expanded. He had endured so much—losing his parents, risking his life to serve their country, defying orders that violated his moral code. How he'd clung to his true self during the war was awe-inspiring.

She cupped his cheek. “I see your heart, Jonathan.”

Timothy brayed outside their makeshift shelter, stomping his hoof. Jonathan laughed and pulled away.

“Our travel partner is demanding breakfast,” he said. “Do you want to feed him or take down the tarp?”

She smiled, despite feeling deflated. She had wanted to kiss him again. “I’ll feed him,” she said.

They went about tearing down camp in companionable silence. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine they were on a dig, not preparing to search for deadly mercenaries in a rugged mountain range while hoping they crossed paths with her uncle before actually finding the Black Death.

Twenty-six

It was early afternoon when Jonathan and Evangeline reached the base of the mountain. Drenched in sweat, they started the climb. The gently sloping path wound through a cypress grove and past a broken-down stable, its slanted roof crushed under the weight of fallen rubble.

In the distance, a sun-bleached house sat on the hillside and two figures were working in the yard. The thwack of an ax carried through the air. As they drew closer, the figures came into focus. A girl was spreading feed for several chickens at her feet, and an older man was chopping wood.

The girl, who looked to be about ten or eleven, plopped the bucket on the ground as they approached.

“Papa.”

The man turned, shading his eyes against the sun.