He’d considered taking the damn thing with him, but determined such a measure an unnecessary risk. If he were stopped at any point, it would be far too easy to discover something of that size in a mere carriage.
The real question, at this point, was: Where to now?
Although there was no more physical evidence linking him to any crimes against the Crown—save whatever was buried beneath the area where one of his mares currently relieved herself—remaining in Bournemouth was no longer wise. Though generally close-lipped, too many of the town’s inhabitants traded in smuggled French goods. Were they to be questioned by anyone intelligent as to the origin of such items, Evan’s name might be mentioned. He preferred not to be present should that come to pass. There might be suspicion forever, but without proof, he could at leastattempta normal life. Somewhere.
Perhaps Bath. The cottage there was far enough from the town center that he wouldn’t have to see or speak to anyone if he didn’t wish to.
And he definitely would not be attending the stupid assembly.
A wry quirk lifted the corner of Evan’s lips, then died. Now that he was no longer engaged in piratical pursuits, his weekend had become free of commitments. Had the situation unfolded differently, he could’ve escorted Miss Stanton to the festivities after all. Fetched her dry biscuits and warm punch to her heart’s content. Held her to him as they swayed and swirled with the music.
Disgusted with his inability to stop fantasizing over the impossible, he strode into the stable and hung his shovel on the wall. He might as well face the truth. He was in love.
He might reminisce about his escapades aboard the captain’s ship, but he wouldn’t feel as if he’d been robbed of an important part of his life.
Miss Stanton, however, would be missed something fierce.
He could be content enough, he supposed, without illegal adventures bringing drama and excitement to his life. But he would never be truly happy without Susan at his side.
This realization should have had him trembling in his boots. And, to be honest, it did. For the first time, however, his fear was not due to the heretofore heretical thought of a man needing a woman to be happy. The erratic beating in his heart was due to the terrifying thought of not being able to have her.
Evan quit the stables and headed toward his house. His problem, he realized clearly, was that he was hopelessly lovesick, and there was nothing to be done to cure it. He’d alienated her so thoroughly—at the point of a pistol, no less—that she would undoubtedly prefer to press her knife to his throat than grant him a moment’s audience.
He pushed open his front door and came to an abrupt halt to find the object of his desires trapped against the far wall by two footmen.
“Release her,” he said softly.
They did.
She yanked her hands up and lashed out at them with closed fists. They’d apparently anticipated this move, for they’d already hurried out of range. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Evan defiantly, her chin held high.
Such bravado might’ve had greater impact, were she not garbed in a much-mistreated version of yesterday’s costume, every fiber of which was frayed or spackled with sand and dirt. Her hair was a tangled blonde mess of fallen curls and bits of leaf. What was hopefully just a bit of mud streaked across the dull lenses of her spectacles.
Yet she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
“Why are you here?” he asked, unable to keep the wonder from his voice. Perhaps he’d been wrong not to believe in Fate.
The look she cast him was withering at best.
Ah, right. The strongbox. Well, she couldn’t have it. She was just going to have to trust him.
He stepped forward and tried to take her hands.
She pulled away.
“I’m leaving,” he began, then paused when she let out what sounded suspiciously like a snort. He raised his brows in question.
“Really?” she asked sarcastically, gesturing at what he belatedly realized was his completely vacant anteroom.Allthe rooms were empty.
“I won’t be coming back,” he started again. He gazed at her earnestly, determined to make her understand. “And I want—”
Whatdidhe want? Did he dare verbalize his desires?
“Come with me,” he said in a rush. “I know I’m not as well-heeled or well-behaved as the upstanding Society gentlemen who pursue you back home, but their staid little hearts cannot possibly feel the passion for you that I do. I know I can’t offer the precise life you had in mind, but we would at least have each other. Perhaps someday, we could—”
She laughed.Laughed.With patent incredulity etched across her face.
The insidious sludge of defeat smothered his last strand of hope. He had expected her to refuse because she thought him beneath her, not because she didn’t believe his love was real.
