He groaned. Though they’d lit lamps within the carriage, which made looking out the windows quite useless, shadows still lurked in the corners. He leaned back, letting the gloom hide his face. “There were times the need got a bit too much, I’ll admit that. But I never fell in love, Sally. Never once.”

“Oh heavens, Lyan. I wish you had.” For then she could have forgiven herself. “How much longer until we reach the border?”

“We’ll have to stop for the night. We’ll find an inn along the road, and leave in the morn, as early as possible.”

“An inn.” She took a deep breath. “Separate rooms, of course.”

“Of course? We made marriage vows. We had a wedding night.” He leaned forwards. The teasing note in his voice did not reach his eyes, which glittered in the lamplight like cold glass.

“Ten years ago,” she said. “And our vows were not spoken in a church or before a vicar.”

“The passing time makes no difference. And the intention of marriage vows, love, is for husband and wife to make a promise to each other. Does it matter if it is not in a house of God?”

Estelle trembled. He had always been able to do this to her. Bring out emotions — or desires — she did not want to face. “Legally it does. I am not your wife, Lyan. I will never be. I do not consider our marriage to be valid. I ran away from you. Isn’t that reason enough for you to think it invalid too? Don’t you want to admit our vows meant nothing? For that means you would be free.”

“Ah, Sal, but that’s the irony. I’ll never be free of you.”

The Rose and Crown was the third inn at which they’d stopped. It looked more prosperous than the other two, with many coaches rumbling in and out of the yard. Coachmen drank ale around the water troughs, singing to the tune of a jauntily played fiddle.

Estelle had been commanded to stay in the carriage. But she ignored Lyan, hopped down, and hurried inside after him. He was leaning on a counter, in deep discussion with the innkeeper, a thickset bald man with a large stomach and enormous arms.

Lyan turned at the sound of her footstep. “Ah, my wife.” He did the introductions. One key dangled from his hand.

“I said two rooms,” she muttered.

“And there is one available. You can sleep in the stable if you’d like, but I’d prefer a bed.” Then his voice dropped even lower. “They were here two days ago. Peabody and Lady Maryanne. She wore a heavy veil, but the man matched the description of her suitor. He took a room for them as husband and wife, and she was seen fiddling with a wedding ring.”

Estelle felt such relief; it was like taking a long breath of air after loosening a corset. It surged in so quickly it left her light-headed. She wanted to believe she had rescued Maryanne. She wanted to believe she had carved out another happy ending in a world sadly lacking in them. But relief, like a breath, ended. “They could have been posing as married but had not yet—”

“After heading to Gretna six days ago? I suspect they would have raced up there, stopping only when necessary. They could have reached it in two days. No, I think they were wed and were returning to London.”

“But why didn’t they get there?” Estelle whispered. Her body ached from the tension of sitting in a carriage and trying not to look at the man who had sat opposite.

“That’s the mystery,” he agreed. “But dinner first, and a night here. You look as though you are ready to fall to the floor. And you, my love, can have the bed.”

It was unsettling to have him lying on the floor. Rather like having a sleeping tiger in the bedroom. Moonlight slanted in through a space between the threadbare drapes. Estelle hadn’t slept. She lay on her back, staring up at the silvery light that flickered over the dark ceiling. She wore a thick, unflattering flannel nightgown, buttoned to her throat.

“You aren’t sleeping.”

Lyan’s matter-of-fact statement had her jerking up the worn sheets. He was on his knees beside her bed, elbows resting on her mattress. Watching her. He had stripped to his trousers. The last time she’d seen him, he had been a lad of seventeen. Strong and well built, but nothing like … like this.

“I’m intrigued,” he continued. “Why do you help young women run away? Is it because it worked so well for you?”

She flushed. “No. It’s because I want them to find the one thing I turned my back on. Love.”

In the stark bluish light, he looked haggard. Haunted. “Before I caught you in your house, I took a peek at your daughter.”

Indignant, she sat up, fisting her hands at her sides. “You had no right—”

“She was sleeping — didn’t see me. I know she’s mine, Sal. I wanted to see if you would finally tell me. But you won’t, will you? You’d have let me go to my death without knowing I have a child.” He shoved back his hair. It was loose and fell in coal-black waves around his shoulders. “Why, Sal?”

She hugged herself. This was a mistake. She should never have put herself in a position where she was alone with him. She’d believed she trusted him. But she’d never seen any man look as wounded, as tortured as Lyan did now.

“I … I have finally given her some happiness.”

“You don’t want her to blame you for the choices you made. When did you know you were pregnant? Before or after you ran away?”

“After,” she whispered.

“You could have found me. I would have married you then. If there had been the three of us, Sal, you wouldn’t have had to work your fingers to the bone as a seamstress. You would have known I would always be there for you.”

“I didn’t know that then,” she cried. “All I knew was what I’d seen of my mother and men. I vowed I would never be dependent on anyone.”

“You cost me ten years, Sal. Ten years I could have had with my child.”

“I suppose you hate me.” It was too late to run now. “What are you going to do to me, Lyan, after we find Lady Maryanne? Do you plan to hand me over to Cavendish? That would give you what you must want — revenge.”

He jerked back. Anger flared in his green eyes. “Jesus, Sally. I suspect Cavendish might have plotted to murder the girl.”

She was moving away from him, trying to scuttle across the bed. But he grasped her wrist and pulled her back with such force, she squeaked in pain, and fell across the mattress.

“I would never betray you. Understand that.” He cursed and let go of her. “And if Cavendish conspired to kill his ward, I intend to see him pay.”

“He is too powerful, Lyan.” Her bitterness rang out in the room. “Men like him are never punished. He’ll be free.” Icy panic rushed to her heart. “Did you tell him I helped Maryanne?”

“I didn’t. But he suspected you of helping her. He knew she had appointments with you.” His eyes narrowed. “Cavendish seems to think you would have helped Maryanne to spite him.”

Spite him. She would like to see him rot in Newgate for what he had done. For the way he had left Rose with fears and nightmares.

“What are you afraid of, Sal? Cavendish?”

Yes, she was terrified. But she couldn’t let him see it. That was how she had always survived. By never allowing anyone to see her fear.

“Maryanne is likely a married woman by now,” Lyan said. “She will have her fortune, and she can buy herself a lot of protection with money. How will you protect yourself, Sally?”

“I … I will do it somehow.” For Rose. She would protect Rose. In every way and at any cost. But she was afraid. Cavendish was capable of anything. And if she were to make a mistake, if he were to kill her, Rose would be vulnerable. And she had no doubt that Cavendish, the evil blackguard, would take delight in hurting Rose too.

“There is a solution, love. Marry me.” He smiled, and had never looked more devastating, more tempting. “Again. As your husband, I can keep you safe. Cavendish, for all his threats, his bluster and his arrogance, would never try to hurt you if he knew I’d rip him apart over it.”

“You are going to be an earl. You can’t rip men apart.”

He lifted his brow in a way that warned he could do anything. “Oh? You just told me peers are above the law.”

Her heart thudded in fear. “Not for killing other peers.” He couldn’t throw his life away over her. It was bad enough that he had waited for her. He couldn’t give her any more. She couldn’t live with that.

“It was Cavendish, wasn’t it?” Low and dangerous, his voice made her shiver. “He was the man who attacked you. Who made you afraid.” He had never spoken like this. Never so terrifyingly.

“Yes.” She had to give him the truth. And she feared he knew anyway — that she had shown something in her eyes. “But you cannot do anything rash. Or foolish.”

“I don’t do foolish things, love. I wouldn’t have survived so long if I did.”

“You just proved that isn’t true, Lyan.” She managed a wry smile. “You just asked me to marry you.”

“Not foolish, Sally. But I’d like to postpone the moment when you tell me ‘no’.” He rolled her on to her back, and crawled over her, his tawny gold body supported above hers on his powerful arms. Her breath caught. He grasped the neckline of her nightgown and pulled hard. Three buttons popped free and clattered to the floor. Her gown gaped to reveal her bosom.

Lyan captured her mouth, all the while stroking her breasts, making her feel like molten gold. She had once seen a jeweller turn the metal to liquid, had seen it splash, scalding hot, into a mould. That was how she wanted to feel — like something strong and solid which could turn to fluid with all this heat, which could be changed, reshaped, transformed into something new.

How could he kiss her like this when he knew she would turn him down?