He glanced at the dashboard clock. “Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.” He took the exit, pulled into a petrol station beside a field of sheep, and set the hand brake. Before she could let herself out, he rounded the bonnet and opened the passenger door.

Elise ducked her head, but her tightly pressed lips told him all he needed to know about her pain level. Instead of letting her walk it off alone, he paced beside her, using the pretext of watching the lambs bounce, straight-legged, then race one another in tight little knots until their mothers bleated for their return. Undoubtedly, the ewes were uneasy by his and Elise’s proximity to their offspring.

Returning to the 4x4, they set off once more, with Harry keeping a closer eye on Elise. Her pale complexion and tight jaw, though lovely from every angle, appeared set, her body rigid. The woman was suffering.

“You look done in.” Harry handed Elise a water bottle.

“Thanks.” She removed a bright-colored pill from her pocket, halved it, then untwisted the bottle cap and washed the med down with a few swallows.

Harry took the slip road exit off the M4 onto the dual carriageway, then headed toward the verdant Cotswold hills. As traffic thinned, he rolled his shoulders and glanced at the clock. He couldn’t wait to see his son. Unconsciously, he pressed down on the accelerator.

“Anxious to get home?” Elise asked.

“A bit. I haven’t seen my boy yet. He was asleep when I arrived home the night before last. I left yesterday morning before he woke up and spent last night at Nick’s London townhouse.”

“Is Nick in Town?” she asked.

“No, but I have free access to the place when I’m in the city. Nick’s sticking close to home these days. His and Catherine’s twins came early, and one of them is still in SCBU, so they’re shuttling between the hospital and the priory these days.”

Elise looked out the passenger window. “I hope their baby improves.” Her words came out stilted, without any warmth, as though only a politeness.

Harry glanced at her sharply. It was unlike Elise to sound so detached.

“Has Nick determined whether or not he’ll take up his seat in parliament?” Elise tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“He’s still deliberating.”

Her question drove home the fact that she and Nick inhabited a world to which he did not belong. She might have changed her name so coworkers would not give her deferential treatment or blow her cover on assignments, but the fact remained that her father was a Scottish marquess. And Harry’s best mate, Nick Davidson, might be as hardworking as the next man, but he was a belted earl. While Harry, a man blessed with the best of parents, was only the son of servants.