My own restlessness has made me weak. I don’t like being stuck in this room, either, and after last night, I don’t want to deny her this simple pleasure.
It doesn’t matter that it’s a terrible idea—staying in this room and watching her stretch in her underwear is not an option.
“Fine.”
She straightens, and her face is immediately brighter. “Really?”
“Really. But you have to listen to me. You can’t just run off, and if I tell you to do something while we are out there, for the love of the Divine, don’t fight me. Just do it.”
She smirks. “Of course. I wouldn’t dream of disobeying my husband.”
I huff a laugh. “Get changed and I’ll run with you.”
By the time I walk back to my room and change, Harlow is waiting at the threshold of my closet, practically bouncing on her toes with excitement. If I knew that this was the thing that would make her agreeable, I would have considered it sooner.
Her dark hair is pulled back, and she wears a pair of fitted black pants, a wool sweater, and a pair of boots. I’ve seen her sleep-mussed, post-orgasm, and meticulously styled, but there’s something about seeing her in casual clothes, lit with excitement, that makes me feel like I’m seeing the real Harlow Carrenwell for the first time.
She looks down at her clothes. “Is this not appropriate attire for a run?”
I shake my head. “It’s fine. Let’s go.”
Gaven is waiting for us outside the bedroom door.
“We’re going for a run,” Harlow says.
A hint of surprise flashes on his face. “Are we?”
“You can stay here,” I say.
He crosses his arms. “I go where Miss Carrenwell goes.”
Harlow waves a hand. “We’ll run a loop. You can time me, Gaven.”
He gives her a long, hard look. “Fine. Tell me where you’re going and how long the loop is.”
“Is five miles too long?”
Harlow smiles widely. “Not for one loop.”
Fuck me. I wasn’t counting on running more than five miles. This is going to be painful, but maybe it will wear me out so I can get some sleep tonight.
“Fine,” Gaven says. “Check in after each loop, and if you’re more than two minutes off time, I’m coming to find you.”
Apparently, he knows her well enough to know her five-mile time.
Harlow starts down the hall without waiting to see if either of us is following. Several servants give us startled glances as we pass, but no one asks why the newlyweds are out of their room and dressed in activewear.
We head downstairs, and I stop in the kitchen for a water pouch, and then we head out into the cold morning. As I explain the loop to Gaven, Harlow stretches her legs and tightens the laces on her boots.
Then, we’re off, and I’m lost in the discomfort of the first mile of arun. Despite the fact that I’ve been running for years—that running distance is the first survival skill everyone at the fort learns—the first couple miles of a run always feel like I’ve woken up in a new body that I don’t know how to work. Every step feels out of time, my entire body in rebellion to moving at such a rapid pace. It takes the first few miles to settle into a rhythm.
Harlow doesn’t seem to suffer from the same discomfort. She’s grinning, her body moving with rhythmic grace as she jogs along the wooded trail behind the manor.
The run wouldn’t be a problem, except Harlow is fast. She starts at a sprint, and I have to race to keep up.
She dodges tree roots and low branches with ease—as if this is her normal trail and I’m the interloper. I struggle along, trying to breathe through a cramp in my side, pine-scented air sawing in and out of my lungs.
I keep expecting her to fade, but she just seems to get stronger and steadier as we go. Everything about it kicks my hunter’s instincts into high gear.
