Chapter Forty

Had he seen her? The moment Flora decided to look again, Lawrence was gone.

But he’d been heading the same way, toward Fortuneswell. Pray heaven he wasn’t going to meet up with the wreckers. If the man was unable to reform himself, she’d much prefer it if he went somewhere else to be a felon. Preferably so far away she would never hear of it when he was caught and hanged.

For the remainder of the journey, she sat as quiet and tight-lipped as the poorly Joanna Lovelace.

There was no further sign of Lawrence on the road. Fortunately, there was no sign of anything dramatic having taken place, either. No soldiers, no revenue men, no mob of desperate-looking ruffians with heavily laden pack ponies. Whatever he was up to, it appeared to be nothing about which she need worry.

Despite that comforting thought, her hands were trembling as she was helped down from the carriage. The conveyance had already pulled away by the time she managed to get the house key out of her reticule.

“Flora!”

The sound of Lawrence’s voice startled her so much that she dropped her key with a clatter onto the path.

“Mercy! Do you mean to stop my heart?” she squeaked.

He seized her in his arms and pressed her to his chest. “No, but I intend to make it beat only for me. Don’t be alarmed. I’m so relieved to find you unharmed.”

Hope, despair, fear, and love washed over her in a maelstrom of emotion. Despite the abysmal terms on which they’d parted, he was now holding her as if she were the most precious thing in the world. She couldn’t work out what to feel, or what to think.

“Thank God.” He kissed her hair and ran his hands up and down her arms as if to reassure himself she was all there.

She managed to say, “I’ve only been to the Delgardes’ supper party, so I was hardly in any danger.”

His hands tightened on her arms. “Thank God they don’t yet know where you live.”

“Who? Who doesn’t know?” He was making no sense.

A sharp hiss of breath escaped his lips. “The wreckers,” he said, and his tone set the hairs standing up on the back of her neck. “Not the common folk who just pick up the flotsam and jetsam. But the men prepared to kill for profit. They know you helped Major Wilberforce. One of your servants must have told someone. They could be coming for you, even now.”

She heaved a calming breath. Lawrence hadn’t abandoned her. He cared for her safety. He was apparently prepared to risk his life to protect hers. Did that mean he’d been considering her demand that he give himself up? Had he finally chosen the side of right?

“How do you know all this?” she asked, trying to make out his expression in the gloom. It felt so good to be held by him again. But she mustn’t let down her guard.

Yet.

“Nat Pryce let it slip when I went to pick up a consignment of silk from him.”

“Nat?” The man whose tooth she’d help remove. “But he only knows me as Madame Julietta.”

“Not any longer. He now knows you are a single gentlewoman living on the outskirts of Fortuneswell by the vicarage. It won’t take him long to track you down. Judas! I’m so glad I got to you first.”

He proceeded to show her just how pleased he was by ensnaring her lips with his, and kissing her as if his very life depended upon it. Her head was forced back by his ardor, her lips bruised by the pressure of his kiss, and for a moment, as she willingly surrendered to his onslaught, she forgot all about the dire situation she was in.

He held her close, his breath coming hard and fast. Recalling the sensation of his firm body thrusting into hers, in the wagon at the meadow on that treasured, blissful day, she felt a flush of heat wash over her.

No. She must not succumb. It took great willpower, but she eased out of his embrace and let the night air cool and calm her.

“What do we do now?” she asked.

He seemed to pull himself together. “A fine rescuer, I am,” he said, “standing and kissing you on your lighted porch, making a perfect target of both of us. I think we’d better go inside and make sure Nat, or one of his henchmen, isn’t lying in ambush. No, wait, I’ll go inside. You must stay right by the door, and if you hear anything untoward, scream louder than you’ve ever screamed before.”

He gave her no time to dispute his plan but grabbed up the key from the path and let himself into the house.

She glanced around anxiously. If there was an intruder in her house, she could always dispatch him with a warming pan. She’d done it once before, last year. Except, she had no such weapon now.

Lawrence must have good eyes, for he struck no light as he disappeared into the depths of the cottage. He also seemed blessed with an ability to move in complete silence…although the loud thundering of her anxious heart might easily have drowned out any small noises he was making.

She was getting more nervous by the second.

The night remained tranquil, and no alien or fearsome noises reached her ears. A hound bayed somewhere, but it wasn’t the sound of fear or anger. A shepherd whistled to his dog in a distant field as he headed home for the night, and a tawny owl kee-wicked from one of the oaks behind the cottage. Even so, a wash of foreboding stole over her.

In minutes, Lawrence was back, carrying a covered lantern in his hand. “Nothing,” he told her.

“Are you sure?” Despite the comfortable security of his presence, and the innocent stillness of the night, she couldn’t shake her growing sense of dread.

“I’m sure. Trust me. I’m quite experienced at locating people in the dark. It comes of a lifetime essentially living out of doors.”

“Or getting up to felonious deeds in the dead of night,” she suggested wryly.

“Let’s not raise that issue again. You’ve already made your feelings very clear on that score.”

“But—”

He stopped her protest with a kiss.

Very effectively.

When he finally released her lips, he said, “Well, we have a light, I have Belle, and there is moonlight enough. I’ll take you to Major Wilberforce at Oakwood Grange. You’ll be safer with him.”

“Do you mean to throw yourself on his mercy, and turn King’s Evidence?” Hope fizzed through her like heady champagne.

“You know I can’t— Wait, what’s that?”

Before she could register her disappointment, she was hauled off the path into the shadow of a thick laurel bush growing by the front door. He thrust the shaded lantern into her hands with a whispered command to hide it behind her back, then stood in front of her, shielding her with his body.

The blood sang in her ears, and she scarce dared breathe.

He stood still and silent as a stone, and as her pulse gradually calmed, she finally heard what had caught his attention.

The sound of stealthy footfalls approaching the cottage gate.