memory.
Chapter 6
E va couldn’t speak as they flew over the Yorkshire moors. The moon hung like Matthew’s lantern, throwing its rays down on the snow. The cold white surface glittered hard as diamonds and rolled on for miles.
The little iron charcoal burner tucked in the corner on the floor couldn’t penetrate the cold. It couldn’t penetrate the veil she’d woven so thoroughly over her past.
And the sway of the coach. Oh, God. The sway of the coach made her sick.
If she closed her eyes for a moment, she’d feel the rain. The panic. The mud sucking her down. The curricle in the mire . . . and the feeling of flying before she crashed down hard to the earth . . . lifted her eyes and saw.
She gulped back sickness and her eyes snapped open. “We have to stop.” She panted.
“We can’t.” Ian gazed fixedly out the other window. Every muscle in his face was hard, his lips a rigid line.
“Yes.” She gulped again, saliva filling her mouth.
“No, Eva.” Each word bit out of his mouth. “We must go—as far as possible.”
Her stomach rolled with each bob of the vehicle over the rough terrain and the thought of the little white bundle. The little white bundle so far from her grasp. Unmoving, soaked by cold, lifeless rain. She lurched forward and twisted the brass door handle.
“What the hell are you doing?!” He slammed his fist to the ceiling and they came to a jerking halt.
She shoved the door open. Without even climbing down, she pushed her face out into the cold air and vomited. Her body heaved and her arms could barely keep her from falling face forward into the snow.
“Damn it,” Ian hissed behind her, grabbing her and trapping her against his strong body.
She groaned, her mouth acrid and her body clammy despite the sudden ice cold circling her.
His large hand caressed her back and his other hand came to support her head, brushing back her feathery hair from her face. “There you go, love. There you go.”
Eva leaned out the coach a little farther, her hands braced on the door ledge, and savored the cleansing sensation of the bitter cold. White flakes piled up in the banks before her. She let her eyes trail to the miles of it stretching out forever. It was so frozen, so perfect. So unlike the pain and wild unhappiness flooding her.
Why had she been so stupid? So foolish? That reckless stupidity of hers had ruined her life . . . and her baby’s. Pain racked her heart and her face twisted into a grimace before she shook the hideous thoughts out of her head.
Ian slipped a handkerchief before her face and she took it. “Thank you,” she murmured as she dabbed it at her mouth. She pressed the square of linen to her lips, then leaned back into the coach. His hands helped ease her back onto the soft seat.
“Forgive me,” he said softly.
She blinked at his words, hardly understanding how he could speak them. “Why? You’ve saved me.”
“It wasn’t enough. I should have come sooner.”
She could have sworn the words
I never should haveleft
passed his lips. They hadn’t. It was only a phantom. A wish, made by her wrecked brain.
She stared back, finally capable of truly seeing him. On the last edges of her medicine, her mind was almost fully sharp. His black hair teased his forehead. The only boyish thing about him now. Slightly almond-shaped green eyes probed her. There was nothing soft about his face. His cheekbones were two hard slashes and his jaw looked as if it dared one to punch it. A slight shadowing of black beard dusted his skin.
His white linen shirt was mussed, as was his burgundy cravat. He’d opened his champagne-colored waistcoat and his black coat was unbuttoned and splayed about him like great wings. Muscles filled out those clothes. He was almost twice the size of the young man she recalled.
This was not the wild and carefree youth she remembered. The boy she’d wished she could marry though duty forbade it. But it was still Ian. She could see it lingering in his
Chapter 6
E va couldn’t speak as they flew over the Yorkshire moors. The moon hung like Matthew’s lantern, throwing its rays down on the snow. The cold white surface glittered hard as diamonds and rolled on for miles.
The little iron charcoal burner tucked in the corner on the floor couldn’t penetrate the cold. It couldn’t penetrate the veil she’d woven so thoroughly over her past.
And the sway of the coach. Oh, God. The sway of the coach made her sick.
If she closed her eyes for a moment, she’d feel the rain. The panic. The mud sucking her down. The curricle in the mire . . . and the feeling of flying before she crashed down hard to the earth . . . lifted her eyes and saw.
She gulped back sickness and her eyes snapped open. “We have to stop.” She panted.
“We can’t.” Ian gazed fixedly out the other window. Every muscle in his face was hard, his lips a rigid line.
“Yes.” She gulped again, saliva filling her mouth.
“No, Eva.” Each word bit out of his mouth. “We must go—as far as possible.”
Her stomach rolled with each bob of the vehicle over the rough terrain and the thought of the little white bundle. The little white bundle so far from her grasp. Unmoving, soaked by cold, lifeless rain. She lurched forward and twisted the brass door handle.
“What the hell are you doing?!” He slammed his fist to the ceiling and they came to a jerking halt.
She shoved the door open. Without even climbing down, she pushed her face out into the cold air and vomited. Her body heaved and her arms could barely keep her from falling face forward into the snow.
“Damn it,” Ian hissed behind her, grabbing her and trapping her against his strong body.
She groaned, her mouth acrid and her body clammy despite the sudden ice cold circling her.
His large hand caressed her back and his other hand came to support her head, brushing back her feathery hair from her face. “There you go, love. There you go.”
Eva leaned out the coach a little farther, her hands braced on the door ledge, and savored the cleansing sensation of the bitter cold. White flakes piled up in the banks before her. She let her eyes trail to the miles of it stretching out forever. It was so frozen, so perfect. So unlike the pain and wild unhappiness flooding her.
Why had she been so stupid? So foolish? That reckless stupidity of hers had ruined her life . . . and her baby’s. Pain racked her heart and her face twisted into a grimace before she shook the hideous thoughts out of her head.
Ian slipped a handkerchief before her face and she took it. “Thank you,” she murmured as she dabbed it at her mouth. She pressed the square of linen to her lips, then leaned back into the coach. His hands helped ease her back onto the soft seat.
“Forgive me,” he said softly.
She blinked at his words, hardly understanding how he could speak them. “Why? You’ve saved me.”
“It wasn’t enough. I should have come sooner.”
She could have sworn the words
I never should haveleft
passed his lips. They hadn’t. It was only a phantom. A wish, made by her wrecked brain.
She stared back, finally capable of truly seeing him. On the last edges of her medicine, her mind was almost fully sharp. His black hair teased his forehead. The only boyish thing about him now. Slightly almond-shaped green eyes probed her. There was nothing soft about his face. His cheekbones were two hard slashes and his jaw looked as if it dared one to punch it. A slight shadowing of black beard dusted his skin.
His white linen shirt was mussed, as was his burgundy cravat. He’d opened his champagne-colored waistcoat and his black coat was unbuttoned and splayed about him like great wings. Muscles filled out those clothes. He was almost twice the size of the young man she recalled.
This was not the wild and carefree youth she remembered. The boy she’d wished she could marry though duty forbade it. But it was still Ian. She could see it lingering in his
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