God, people would already be talking. She knew that. Her running away was too big a secret to keep, especially with the wedding planned for less than a week from now. When she didn’t appear for it, when it was all canceled, there would be no stopping the tale that would rip through Society.

“You look like you have some regrets, Miss Shelley,” Rook said.

The little boat careened into a wave and Anne gripped at both sides of it, clawing to retain purchase. “No,” she lied. “Of course not. I know what I’m doing.”

But she heard the lilt in her tone, the terror and the pain. His expression didn’t change. If he heard it too, it was clear he didn’t give a damn. But why would he? He’d been sent here to collect her, and he didn’t seem particularly pleased by that.

She wouldn’t give him any more reason to be annoyed, nor to judge her more a fool than he clearly already did. She sat up as straight as she could and did her best to focus on a point just behind him rather than at his handsome, frowning face. Of course that point was the disappearing light of the distant town, of England vanishing into the fog.

And she gritted her teeth as moments bled to almost an hour of rowing through the endless night. At last she shivered as the air pierced her thin wrap and tugged it harder around herself. The boat rolled endlessly on the waves as their captain rowed on, seemingly unfazed by the cold splash of the sea water or the blowing wind that caused the spray to soak her face and hair and clothes.

She would not cry. She would not, even as the fog swirled around her, making her colder than ever.

Rook had been silent during the time they rowed, his gaze fixed behind her, toward whatever their mysterious destination was. But now he suddenly moved, shrugging out of his great coat in one smooth motion. The action revealed a crisp linen shirt beneath that seemed to strain against broad shoulders and chest.

He held the coat out. “Here, you’ll catch your death otherwise.”

She blinked at the offering. His coat, which had just been around him. It seemed very intimate to accept the offer. Too intimate.

His brow wrinkled. “Take it before it loses its body heat.”

Body heat. She inwardly groaned, but it was too cold to argue. She took the woolen coat, sliding her arms into the sleeves and fastening it around her waist. It dwarfed her, for he was far bigger than she was. The sleeves came over her hand by at least a few inches and it was more like a shapeless cloak around her shoulders than a fitted coat like it had been on his.

But it was warm. He was right about that. She felt his body heat curl around her like his arms were there. And his scent lingered on the woolen fabric. It was a nice scent. Something woodsy and clean and masculine.