Chapter Fifteen

The next morning

T heodosia glanced at the once again brooding earl opposite to her. She supposed it couldn't really be called brooding, since he was resting with his eyes shut and looked more tired than anything else. But not one word had left his mouth since he'd bribed Sandgrove's driver and they had set off for Ashford in the early hours of the morning, leaving a note of thanks for Mr. and Mrs. Bell and the promise to repay them for all that they'd done for them. And that was rather unlike him.

Perhaps he was still out of sorts about his admission last night. Now that she thought about it, he hadn't talked all that much after declaring they would leave for Ashford.

It must be about his father, then.

Her heart melted all over again.

Lord, she never thought this man would have such a painful past. She would be lying if she claimed she didn't want to know everything that had happened to him as a child, but she would never ask him to crack open the painful parts of his soul lightly. Yesterday, he had merely admitted that his father had beat him, but that was more than enough to know that what happened to him as a child was painful to a degree that even admitting to it out loud caused pain.

But he had.

It must have been such a lonely burden to carry. And she would hold that admission dear and share the burden he carried as much as he allowed her to.

On another note—and welcoming the distraction of the thought—servants were too easily bribed.

And if her brothers by some stroke of luck still didn't know that she'd yet to reach Brighton, and that she'd been betrayed by their servants, they would soon enough. Sandgrove would certainly let them know as quickly as he was able—and a few other things besides—and remaining in his company wouldn't do them any favors. They had dawdled and been distracted for long enough—they had a quest, and he was not part of it.

She should have boxed Sandgrove's ears when she had the chance. The man left a sour taste in her mouth after his cruel comment, and just knowing he could tattle to her brothers set her teeth even more on edge. Honestly, what had gotten into the man? What had happened to the pleasant neighbor from the past? Anyhow, good riddance!

And now here she sat with a silent Saville.

It seemed almost miraculous that she had gone from trying to rid herself of Field Savage to voluntarily staying at his side. She never thought such a day would come.

Yet, Field was the least of her worries.

Well, not the least. Her body was so vividly aware of him that goose flesh had trailed over her skin the moment they'd entered the carriage together—alone once again—and continued to flare up again at virtually every movement the man made. Which made her biggest worry all the more alarming.

Her brothers.

What would they do once they discovered that she had been alone with Field for days and nights? They would be livid. And running off after Sandgrove found them, stealing his carriage... Her brothers would never understand.

They would pressure her to marry.

They would pressure Field.

They might do more than that to him.

Now, given what she knew about his past... Urgh, she didn't want to think about that! Fortunately, neither of them was the sort to be browbeaten into situations. But neither did she want to fight with her brothers. It seemed unlikely to be helped, however. Consequences had to be faced.

She studied the man across from her. He didn't want her pity, so she wouldn't give it. in any event, pity was the last thing on her mind when she looked at him. In fact, seeing him, understanding him, a bit better now, she found him more... endearing.

Her gaze dropped to his lips and flicked across his jaw before lowering slowly to his ungloved hands. Beneath his clothes was a body too magnificent to be described by words. A body that had loved hers to extraordinary heights.

She suddenly recalled his pale look when he'd been nicked with a knife. It seemed rather impossible that such a big, blusterous man could ever faint from the sight of blood. But then, she'd never truly taken the time to try to understand him before. She'd always just found him annoying.

But there was much more to him, a much deeper depth, than she'd first believed. In a way, he reminded her again of Seth—stubborn, overbearing, and so damn male that it made her want to grit her teeth most of the time, but beneath all that lay a soft, sweet center.

But enough of this silence!

She narrowed her eyes on him, and nudged his foot with hers. "Why aren't you saying anything? Did Sandgrove anger you to the point that you've lost your tongue?"

One eye shot open. "No."

She arched a brow. "Then what?"

He rubbed his temples, his eyes closed again. "I don't have anything to say, so I'm not saying anything."

Theodosia blinked at him. "That is a first. If it's about Sandgrove and our disc—"

"That fool has nothing to do with it. Nor what we discussed. I'm merely tired, 'tis all."

That could be true. But she sensed something different beneath this exhaustion of his. If not Sandgrove or his admission, then... She regarded him a moment before asking, "Is this because of what happened between us? Me asking that you pretend that the matter never happened?"

His lips quirked. "The matter?"

Theodosia grimaced. Well. "What else would you have me say?" That they had made love? The mere word kissed her body with chills.

Hot eyes locked with hers. " The matter is our engagement in pre-marital affairs."

Pre-marital affairs? Lord, and here she was worried about the love in "made love." How foolish of her. How inexperienced of her.

Oh, yes. That's right.

This man must have much more experience than she did, and yet he seemed the one most plagued by what had happened between them. Not that she wasn't plagued at all. There were just too many things to be plagued about. However, one thing she could not deny; she regretted the entire pretending conversation, but it was already out in the air and she couldn't take it back now.

Theodosia parted her lips to respond but shut them when he added, "Let us get one thing straight, however. I never agreed to pretend it never happened."

"I know you didn't, Field." She inhaled deeply before admitting clearly. "I don't regret it, you know."

"Lying little minx."

"I don't!" She couldn't help a smile from forming at the obvious suspicion on his face. "God's truth. I don't regret our pre-marital affair."

"Then why make such a request in the first place?"

"I don't know. I panicked. I was in shock. I was embarrassed at my boldness in the name of freedom. I was most certainly feeling the aftereffects of the gin. It just seemed... the best thing to say at the time." For both of them.

"Then how do you feel about it now?"

She met his gaze. "Like I cannot discuss it yet." She wasn't ready for that discussion. She hadn't even sorted through all her thoughts yet.

"Why not?"

Because then I fear I'd want to do it all over again. This time sober. This time with all my faculties intact. Where would they go from there?

She gave him a long look. "Let me ask you this, Field. What happens if we don't pretend that night didn't happen?"

"I can't just forget out it."

"Meaning you want to do something about it, correct? Like what? There are only three options here, don't you agree? Move on and remain friends, continue the pre-marital affair with unimaginable consequences, or marry and continue an after-marital affair with little to no consequence." Theodosia blinked to herself. Had she just said after- marital affair?

Field arched a brow, yet it appeared lined with a smidgeon of amusement. "Well, I can't say the after-marital affair sounds all that bad."

Her eyes widened. " Us? Married? The two most hot-tempered people in England? What would our life look like?"

That brow remained high. "What, indeed?"

"Do not give me that tone. We claimed a moment of freedom. You, more than anyone, should know once you claim a moment, any moment, you must live with it."

"But are you allowing any of us to live with it if you wish for us to pretend it never happened?"

"Then pretend or don't pretend, but we still have to live with it separately."

He studied her. "So the choice is my own, but whatever choice I make, it has nothing to do with you. Is that what you are saying?"

Theodosia nodded slowly, her heart pounded in her chest. Do not look away. She had to be clear. She already knew how difficult that would be to pretend or to try to forget, because she couldn't free herself from that night either. It had almost completely taken over all of the space in her brain.

But her and Saville?

What future could they truly have? She didn't like him. Or hadn't at least. And he didn't like her. So they had discovered that they were somewhat attracted to each other. That wasn't affection. That was an inflamed sort of madness that would die out until nothing but their incompatibility remained.

She didn't want that.

Perhaps one day they could be friends. Friends who had once known each other intimately. Friends who were bonded over a shared secret. Didn't those sometimes become the closest of friends?

One glance at his face and she scratched that notion. Even if they had started to form a sort of bond, albeit a reluctant one before, it had been crushed by one bottle of gin. Field wasn't the sort of man to be friends with a lady whose innocence he'd taken and who had rejected the possibility of an after-marital affair. It would probably drive him mad, and he would look like he looked now. Rather exhausted by it all.

The aftertaste truly was bitter.

"He might be fool, but Sandgrove seems to be your ideal match, does he not?"

His remark snapped her right out of her reflections. She caught the slight tilt of his lips, as though he was trying to lighten the mood somewhat. Well, he should have chosen a better topic! "Why on earth would you say that?"

"He is a farmer."

"He is not a farmer."

"He owns farms."

"He has tenants who farm his land. Don't you own farmland, as well? Does that make you a farmer?"

He pursed his lips, and some of the tension seemed to leave his face, though Theodosia could never be entirely sure. For all that he felt free in expressing his emotions, his face could be remarkably difficult to read.

"I suppose you are right," he said after a moment. "I'm a farmer, too."

Her heart caught in her throat. "I..." She inhaled deeply and smiled. "I cannot imagine you as a farmer." The memory of him atop Dream, sleeves folded back, hair windswept, flashed across her mind. "It's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

"And the country would never suit your vibrancy."

They stared at each other, and Theodosia was reminded of that night, when he had looked away, and she had won. She had thought herself powerful at the time. But that power had been short-lived. What did she even win? What was there to lose? This time...

She averted her gaze first.

*

Field couldn't exactly describe the emotion that pressed against his chest at that very moment, only that it resembled a fiery hot whirlpool of fire and brimstone.

Hell. It felt like hell.

It also felt damn good. But in a way that would bring trouble more than it would bring peace—the threat of an obsession to keep this warmth from burning out. It would run out soon enough the moment they separated.

And they would separate.

She had made that clear.

Damn it. Even though he felt like shite, her move on and remain friends, continue the pre-marital affair with unimaginable consequences, or marry and continue an after-marital affair almost made him laugh.

Probably because it was true—those were the options forward. And he might have teased her about each one if had he not, in the little sleep he'd managed to get before setting out, had a nightmare about the late earl. One he hadn't had in years, though it was always the same. He could never recall every detail of the dream in perfect clarity, but what remained clear long after he'd awoken was the sound of fists hitting flesh, bones cracking, and cries of mercy.

Damn Sandgrove.

His underhanded comment was responsible for this.

He peeked at Theodosia, who was staring out of the window in thought. She hadn't given him any pity. Not yesterday. Not today. Christ, that made him want her even more. Even though he was in the mood to brood, one look at her and all the nightmares faded until nothing remained but her voice.

So damn beautiful.

She was not afraid to march into danger for what she believed in. She was impatient as hell, yes, and also had a viperous tongue, but she was trustworthy and dependable. Kind, loyal, and a touch mischievous with those she deemed her friends. She was a partner who would kick foes in the crotch and ride on the back of a horse for hours without complaint.

Perfectly flawed.

And flawlessly perfect.

He certainly didn't want to continue on to be friends. In time, they would revert right back to what they were before. He wanted more—he knew that now. He just didn't know what to do about any of it.

So for now, he'd wait.

He would bide his time until they had delivered the book into Lady Louisa's hands, sent word to the duke, and he'd escorted her to Brighton. That ought to be, if he were a lucky man, enough time to persuade her that a conversation about their mutual options was the best option—better than pretending or not pretending. By then they'd have no mission between them then and could talk about how to manage the future with clear minds.

Good plan.

If only patience were one of his virtues.

"Halt!"

Field stiffened, his gaze whipping to the window. "What the hell now?"

Theodosia straightened up. "Sandgrove couldn't have caught up to us, could he?"

"No," Field said. Then muttered, "I never trust a man with such rotten taste in waistcoats to behave sensibly, but I am certain that I left him with no means to be able to catch us."

"Lord, were you a peacock in your last life? Why are you so pompous and proud?"

Peacock? Well, he supposed it was better than being called a weed. He leaned over to peek through the window. "Damn it. I can't see who dares to stop us."

"The highwaymen?"

"I don't know."

She leaned over to peer out the window as well. "If not them, then who? Certainly not my brothers?"

God, he hoped not.

The carriage drew to a halt. "We're about to find out." Field didn't stall like the first time. He opened the door and stepped from the carriage, shaking his head when Theodosia would have followed.

"Wait!" she hissed softly, grabbing his arm while reaching into her satchel and pulling a pistol from it.

Field cursed. He'd forgotten about that damn pistol. He accepted the weapon from her hand and tucked it in the back of his trousers surreptitiously before turning fully and facing two men atop horses, staring down at him.

Not highwaymen, from what he could see.

Not gentlemen either.

They wore rough country attire and both sported beards that should have been shaved months ago. They very much reminded him of the people on the farm outside the abandoned village.

"Gentlemen," Field said imperiously by way of greeting. His tone made it clear: Why the devil are you bothering me?

"Sorry to trouble you, sir," the older of the two said. His hair was nearly completely grey. "But I must ask, is that your horse?"

" Who is asking?" Field countered.

"Watchmen, sir," the younger, brown-haired lad answered.

Watchmen? In the countryside? Didn't they patrol towns at night? These parts would have parish constables or landowners who kept an eye out for suspicious activities. Instinct warned him. No. Which meant they were more than likely the Black Knight's men or in league with them in some way.

"It's my horse," Field played along. "Is there a problem?"

"This horse fits the description of one that was reported stolen."

What in the everlasting hell was this strategy? "By whom?"

"We can't reveal that information, sir."

"Well, there are many horses that look like mine. I assure you, I am the owner. I have his papers."

The gray-haired man nodded. "Do you have the papers with you?"

"Who the hell carries such papers with them?" Field snapped. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Earl of Saville, and you can enquire after my horse from my man of affairs in London."

"I'm afraid we shall have to bring you and the horse into our offices while we confirm your identity."

They had offices? He snorted. "Are you even watchmen or are you just posing as watchmen?" he sneered. Both men reached for their belts, but Field was faster. His pistol clicked. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The men froze mid-action.

Field inhaled a deep breath. "Toss your weapons to the left, dismount to your right, or else I shall shoot now and ask questions later."

"You are outnumbered."

"Am I?" Field asked, glancing to the driver. "The way I see it, we are three against two."

The driver nodded, reaching beneath the seat and pulling out a shotgun. Thank God.

"And I've another in the carriage," Field said calmly. "Do you really wish to take the chance of starting a bloodbath in the middle of a country road in broad daylight?"

"You will be committing the gravest of crimes. We are watchmen."

"But you can't prove that you are, now can you? So I'd be a fool to take your word for it. I'm no fool. Remove your weapons slowly and drop them to the ground."

The men did as he asked, and two pistols hit the ground with a thud.

Theodosia stepped around the carriage and retrieved the men's pistols. Field stiffened, and she shot him a grin. "The more pistols the better."

"How the devil did you do that?" he muttered. "I didn't even hear a sound."

"I can be quite light-footed when the occasion calls for it."

"Good to know."

"Besides," she strode over to his side, "you're the one who said three against two. I'm part of that three."

Field had to admit, Theodosia was impressive on a normal day, but when she was determined, she practically glowed.

"How many more of you are out there?" she asked the two characters.

The men remained silent.

She looked at Field. "We should take their horses."

"Good idea." Field turned to the driver. "Do we have rope?"

He nodded.

Field grinned at the men. "Tie them to the back of the carriage and head to the nearest real constable you can find. Tell them we send them two possible highwaymen posing as watchmen."

"You will regret this!" the gray-haired man roared.

"I doubt that."

"Field, what if they are watchmen?" Theodosia murmured.

His scalp prickled at her use of his name. It wasn't the first time, but damn it, why did it sound sweeter? "Then I'll be proved wrong. In the meantime, it will keep them off our backs while we continue on horseback." He took one of the pistols from her. "Keep that one trained on them while I untie Dream and retrieve their horses."

"It would be my pleasure."

Field gave them a deadly stare. "I wouldn't act out if I were you. Not even a bit. The lady has a sharp aim." He moved to Dream. "And I have a fast hand."

He tucked two pistols into his waistband—one courtesy of Theodosia and one from these brigands—while he collected Dream and both of their horses. Fortunately, he was no longer in a dress, and Theodosia wore her trousers again.

They had come a long way and made a smart team on the road. All he had to do was make her see that they could be much more than that. And they could be that way forever.

Let's first make it to Ashford.

That damn Black Knight.

He was proving to be quite the thorn in his side. Was the damn highwayman going to follow them into hell if they decided to rush there with Dream in tow? The man had lost all his damn common sense.

Field half wished the man were standing before him now so he could watch Theodosia jerk a knee into his crotch. Wouldn't that be a glorious sight to witness?