Page 92 of A Bluestocking’s Secret Courtship

His complexion paled beneath his tan. “I didn’t expect Beatrice to take you and your sisters to London while I was still gone.”

“It was Sophia’s debut—or maybe you wanted to keep putting her off, too. It doesn’t matter now. Your lies made us vulnerable.”

“I’m sorry.”

She set down her spoon and wiped her mouth with the napkin. “It changes nothing. Don’t you understand? We almost lost Regina because of your secret life.”

He winced and apologized again.

She rubbed her fingertips over her heart to ease the pinch there. It was the same pain she had experienced after the riot at the market place, when she realized what her parents had endured before their deaths. Part panic, part sorrow.

“Tell me what happened in London,” he said softly. “How did your sister cross paths with Farrin?”

Evangeline took a deep breath and told him about the night Farrin sent Xavier into Wedmore House to recover a map and all the events leading up to the confrontation at the docks.

“We thought he was looking for a map to a new dig site,” she said. “I’d been reading your journal about the Black Death.”

“That was locked in my desk.”

Heat washed over her. “Yes, but you were away longer than expected, and I was searching for a clue as to where you’d gone. You taught me how to pick locks.”

“Fair enough.” He smiled. “It’s a useful skill. I assume you found my other journal by picking the locks on my trunk.”

“Yes, and you’re lucky I applied my skills. Otherwise, we never would have found you, and you would be wasting away at the Semkari camp.” She paused, tapping her finger against her lip. “The Black Death is such an unbecoming name, and undeserved. They were hospitable to Jonathan and me.”

“As long as they haven’t been hired to annihilate you.”

She frowned. “Uncle Charles.”

“Believe me, they earned their name. They could slip into any enemy camp and assassinate targets without anyone ever seeing or hearing them. They were like the plague, leaving nothing but dead bodies behind. They still operate that way.”

She nodded slowly, trying not to dwell on what could have happened at the Semkari camp. “Do you believe we’re safe with him?”

“Safer than on our own. Until I rebuild my strength, we need Hackberry, but I’m watching him.”

Jonathan entered the tavern a few moments later.

“I’m unsatisfied with our conversation,” she said to Uncle Charles, “but it must wait.”

Jonathan pulled up a chair so they were crowded together. His knee bumped hers. She shifted away, her blasted heart beating faster.

“I found two oxen and a cart for the rest of the journey,” he said.

She startled. “What about Timothy?”

“I found a good home for him. The poor fellow deserves a rest.”

She pursed her lips. “I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye.”

“He’s waiting by the cart with his new owner. I anticipated you would want to see him off properly.”

Uncle Charles’s eyebrows ticked up, and he lifted his bowl to drain his broth, hiding his face.

Thirty-six

Later that night, Jonathan sat across the campfire from Evangeline and her uncle as they shared smoked goat that was as tough as leather and bread that could be used as a weapon. It was the best he could find in the last village.

His and Evangeline’s gazes clashed over the flames. Her silence was killing him. He had grown accustomed to her cheerful discourse and the warmth of her laughter. On the journey into the mountains, they spent hours discussing tactical warfare of the Spartans and exchanging ideas on how their individual studies intersected.