Chapter 8

Isabelle stared out the back window as the carriage rumbled down North Road. They'd left London in the dead of night, not even lighting the carriage lantern until they'd crossed the Thames, London Bridge far behind them.

Neither had spoken, while Bode kept watch through the window. Was he checking to see if they were being followed?

Isabelle drifted in and out of sleep, the motion of the carriage and the quiet of the night lulling her, until the sun began to rise.

"I don't think we're being followed," Bode said breaking the hours-long silence.

"That's good," she answered, pushing straighter in the seat. She hadn't a clue where they headed but she wasn't certain she cared. The more distance between her and Makem, the better.

And somehow, she trusted Bode to choose the right path.

He continued to peer out the back window, his gaze sharp, as he moved to her seat, his features drawn into hard lines. Had he been awake all night? His face was drawn in tight lines of exhaustion.

"Do you need to sleep?"

"I'll be fine," he answered quietly, his eyes never leaving the road. "This first day will determine if we left without being seen."

She let out a rush of air. "Where will we go?"

He frowned. "Part of me thought we might go to the Duke of Upton's. But that's where everyone goes when trouble finds them so it will be the first place Makem looks. It's where Makem attempted to attack Lockton, not that he succeeded."

"I'm glad Lockton defeated him once. But I'm caught on the word everyone…. How many is everyone? How often are your friends in trouble?"

He gave a small smile at those words, the kind that stole her breath. "Often enough. No. I think we'll keep pushing north, all the way to Scotland."

Leave England? A cold shiver passed through her. That's how far she had to go to escape Makem? "What's in Scotland?"

"Lockton's home," he answered, finally looking away from the window.

"The Lockton we left in London? The one in whose carriage we are riding?"

"That's the one." His smile had faded. "If Makem hasn't killed him, Lockton might murder me."

"Why?" she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

"I jest," he said, holding out a hand to her. She slipped her fingers into his. "But he did leave his new bride to come help me fight. And I think once he recovers from the fact that I abandoned him to the hunt?—"

She gasped, her insides lurching. "I'm sorry you had to choose."

His brows lifted. "You asked me to take you out of Makem's house and lock you in my attic? I made my choice. No one else."

"Fair point," she returned but she didn't regret that he had. He was right. He'd saved her and this was a mutually beneficial relationship.

Well, actually, it now mostly benefitted her. She did not point this out—why rub salt on a wound—but he'd been wrong yesterday. He was the hero. She was certain of that.

He eased back into his seat, his head resting on the back. "And honestly, it's the choices I made even before that. Duke's mother, she started the whorehouse. She was a fallen lady, one who needed to provide a home for her son. She and Duke slept in their fair share of doorways."

Isabelle's heart climbed into her throat. She couldn't even imagine…

"I grew up there, so it seemed normal to me. But the older I get, and as much as I've tried to be as honorable as I can, it's this business. Illegal activities invite trouble. One villain after another has tried to steal what's ours, hurt the ones we care about."

He still held her hand in his and she found herself settling back on the seat as well, resting her head on his shoulder. "Maybe it's time for a new career."

Bode nodded. "Duke has gone legitimate. Maybe I'll follow him. It's worked for me before, following my friend."

She looked up at him. "Solid plan."

"What about you? If we catch Makem, what will you do?"

"If I survive?" She shook her head. "I don't know. I'll settle my sisters first. Once they're married I shall…" She looked up at him then, her face likely as blank as her thoughts. "Rest."

He smiled again. His features were softer in the early morning light. He let her hand go to wrap an arm about her shoulders, her head coming to his chest. "Resting does sound nice."

She'd never really been able to rely on anyone. Not her parents, and certainly not her husband. Just now, it was so nice to lay with her cheek on his hard chest, knowing that he would keep her safe. Cared for.

As if to emphasize her belief that she was secure with him, his other arm came about her, folding her into the circle of his arms. She sighed, settling closer. "I don't mind being busy, having a purpose, but it would be nice to feel secure. To have a routine and a…" She stopped before she said, partner.

Odd. But she had this feeling that she belonged here in the embrace of this large, strong man. She'd been fighting alone for so long.

"Routine is nice. I had that until trouble knocked on the front door. That's the part I could do with less of."

"You've always been a warrior, haven't you?" she whispered as much to herself as to him.

"I suppose I have."

"And you'll give that up?"

He gave her a small squeeze. "I'll still be fighting but it will just be a more…wholesome fight. The houses Duke is building will service the most downtrodden. Those women need someone to help them find a path in the world."

She lifted her head to look at him. His eyes were closed, his body relaxed. He might be the best man she'd ever met.

He opened his eyes, turning toward her so that their mouths were now only a few inches away.

She had a memory of the kiss they'd shared, the way he'd felt. Would he kiss her again? She wished he would.

"You're going to fight for them." Her gaze caught on his scars. They'd never discussed them, but they had clearly shaped him as a man. She lifted her hand, tracing one of his marks across his cheek. The muscles of his face hardened, a slight wince pulling at his cheeks, but he didn't turn away. When she reached the bottom of the mark, her fingers danced over his cheek. "Your father really did this to you?"

Pain rippled over his features making them taut. "So many men take advantage of their strength."

"Or their influence." It wasn't lost on her that she was held in the arms of a man who used his strength and influence to protect those weaker than himself. That he planned to use his future to do more good.

Especially for her… He'd set aside his own agenda to keep her safe.

Her real goal crystalized like water turning to ice…she did have a goal for the future. She wanted Bode Armstrong in her life. "May I call you Bode?" She touched another scar, tracing its line as though she might erase the foul mark, the pain that it had caused him.

His eyes opened again. "You don't already?"

"I don't know that I've called you anything. Well, except for a few names in my head." But her voice was soft, and she gave him an equally gentle smile.

He rumbled out a light chuckle. "Why don't you try and get a bit more sleep, Isabelle? We'll ride for most of the day and won't stop until tonight when I'm sure we're not being followed."

"How will you check while you're sleeping?"

"I won't sleep." He used his very large hand to push her head back down on his chest. Why did even his hand on the base of her head feel amazing? "I simply thought to help you relax."

She opened her mouth and then closed. Finally, she just lay her head back down, the weight of his palm only making her that much more comfortable. She could get used to having his chest as a pillow…

* * *

Just as the sun set, they arrived at an inn. Bode sent the driver, Mr. Wiggins, inside to book their rooms as he and Isabelle remained in the carriage. She ached to stretch her legs, walking out the stiffness, and then lay down on a real bed. "Why aren't we going inside?" she whispered, worried that something was wrong.

Bode grimaced. "My scars make me rather memorable," he quietly answered back. "Easier to track."

She winced, realizing that he was trying to protect them both by remaining in the carriage. She was still cradled in his arms as her hands spread out over his chest. "You're smart to hide them on this trip."

He looked down at her in the growing darkness. "You ought to have chosen a different man to hide you from Makem."

She wrinkled her nose, her voice still soft. "I didn't choose you. If anything, you chose me."

His eyes widened for a moment before his mouth tightened. "That's true."

"But there isn't anyone I'd rather be with," she added, knowing she was giving her feelings away. But he needed them in his moment, and he'd given her so much, this was a very easy way to give back to him. "You're the best man I've ever met."

He stared at her in the growing darkness, his gaze unreadable as she shifted in her seat. Silence stretched between them, and Isabelle pushed out of his embrace. Had her admission made him uncomfortable?

A knock sounded at the door, the driver's voice penetrating the interior. "The rooms are ready."

With a nod, Bode pulled his hat lower, stepping out of the carriage and then helped her down as well.

He held out his arm and she threaded her fingers through his elbow, feeling the muscles underneath.

Her breath hitched, but she managed to walk at his side without doing or saying anything else that might alert him to just how much she liked the feel of his muscles, the strength of his resolve.

They passed the small desk where the innkeeper sat, Bode ducking his head and whispering in her ear. "Is he looking this way?"

"No," she replied, squeezing his biceps to reassure him. She angled her body to block the view of him as best as she could until they reached the stairwell. Blessedly, it was a narrow set of stairs, just off the entrance, which made it easier for Bode to hide. And their room was just on the left.

Bode immediately opened a door inside the room that led to another. "Connecting," he murmured as he gestured for her to enter the other space.

She nodded her appreciation, stepping inside the small room.

No candles were lit, only a low fire burned in the grate.

"I have dinner in here, the innkeeper brought it up when he readied the rooms."

Isabelle turned back, her stomach giving an eager rumble at the idea of food. "Wonderful."

"The accommodations are simple. All I could afford."

She walked back into his room, noticing the small table near the window that already held two bowls of some sort of soup or stew and a large hunk of bread. "They are excellent," she answered honestly. "Thank you."

Isabelle had a growing list of accommodations she required for life and none of them included luxury.

She sat at the table, Bode following suit. She reached for his hand across the table, giving his fingers a light squeeze. "I'm so glad to be out of London."

"Me too," he said, squeezing back before he let go.

They ate in relative silence, both finishing their bowls of beef stew. "We'll leave the rest of the bread and cheese," he said, wrapping the bread in a kitchen cloth. "And eat it while we drive tomorrow."

"Good idea," she said, setting down her napkin. It had grown quite dark and the quiet of the street below had her letting out a long sigh.

"We'll be up and on the move before the sun rises tomorrow," he said. "Perhaps it's best if we both retire?"

"Of course," she said, rising from the chair even though inwardly she protested that she didn't wish to go anywhere. She wanted to remain by his side.

But pushing the thought aside, she started for her room. Bode followed, stopping in the door. "If it's all right with you, I'll leave this door open."

"I'd like that," she answered. "Thank you."

He disappeared and with a heavy sigh, Isabelle removed her jacket and her boots and then lay down on the bed. In the carriage, she'd been looking forward to this moment, but here in the dark…

What she wanted most was to be by Bode's side.

It took her ages to fall asleep, her gaze upon the open doorway.