It is a good three-mile walk until we see the dark shape of Thorne Manor, perched atop a hill. The evening weather is pleasant enough, but we are both exhausted from our evening, and we share a sigh of relief on spotting the house.

“I will go first, if I may,” Nicolas says. “To be sure it is empty. Lord Thorne is not due back for a week, but I would not wish to entangle him in this, and my attire is somewhat more somber than yours.”

“Also somewhat less cumbersome,” I say. Not to mention the problem of the current Lord Thorne not being the one I know. “After two days in men’s clothing, I cannot wait to shed this dress and these petticoats.”

He shoots a smile my way, his teeth glinting in the dark night. “And I cannot wait to assist you in that endeavor. If I recall correctly, his lordship has a bathing tub.”

I shiver with pleasure. “Oh, please tell me he does.”

“I am quite certain of it, as I am quite certain you have earned a long bath and an attentive valet to heat the water for your tub.”

“The only thing that would make that better is if the tub were large enough for two.”

His smile grows. “If it is not, I believe we can find a way to both squeeze in. Now, if you wait here, I will return momentarily.”

27

There is no one in the house. Nor is there any sign that the current Lord Thorne has returned. Nicolas also scouts the exterior to be sure we weren’t followed. I cannot imagine we were tracked unseen across the open and empty moors, but he is leaving nothing to chance. If we are going to spend the night here—a night where we may be absorbed in one another’s company—then we must be confident in our safety.

The moment we are inside, he heads upstairs to start a fire, and I strip off my dress and petticoats, leaving only my shift. Then I collapse, sighing, into a wonderfully deep armchair. I think I have only been there a moment, but when Nicolas appears before me, he is holding a glass of what smells like brandy, along with a plate of dried meat and preserves. He is also dressed only in his tight trousers and open shirt.

“I could get used to this,” I say with a sigh as I take the brandy from his hand.

“And I could get used to this.” He bends to run his fingers up my thigh, making me shiver. “I do not suppose there is room in that chair for two?”

“If there is not, then we can squeeze in.”

I rise and let him take the chair. He tugs me onto his lap, and there is the perfect amount of room, enough that we fit together snugly. I sip the brandy and then pass it to him, and he lifts a piece of preserved lemon to my lips. We rest like that, sitting together in silence, eating and drinking as we relax.