She made him want to grow, to expand, to build a new man with a new character and a whole mind — a man who deserved her. A man she could depend upon, trust and lean upon, a man who believed in her mission to help the dale and stood by her side as she achieved it.

There had been a time in his life where people had said of Lysander Worthington that "You'd best not stand in his way, for once he has his eye on something, he'll climb the bell tower of St. Paul's itself to get it!"

He remembered that man now. He felt him. For the first time in so long, there was something in life that Lysander wanted.

He wanted to be the right man for Gemma Oakes.

Best not stand in his way.

CHAPTER 19

Chapter 19

ON THE GREAT ROAD that ran like an artery between Edinburgh and London, two luxurious carriages moved at a fast pace, northern-bound.

Poll woke from a slight doze at a sharp pain to his shin. "Attie!" He growled in warning as he rubbed at his shinbone through his boot. He'd been very comfortable riding in the splendid carriage loaned by his good friend, the Duke of Camberton. Very unlike the suffering he'd endured over the past year or so, traveling the roads of England with his theatrical troupe. The troupe's carts and wagons were stripped of their minimal comforts — which had been discarded or sold whenever financial matters grew ever more grim — and broke down more or less daily in turn.

Attie sat across from him now, an unrepentant scowl on her bony, freckled features. "I'm bored."

"Recite pi."

She rolled her eyes. "I've already done that. Forward. Backward. Set to the tune of 'God Save the King."

"You can't recite pi backward. There is no end with which to begin."

She shrugged. "Maybe you can't."

Poll didn't push the point. He was sharp as a tack himself, but there was really no comparison. "Hamlet?"

Attie didn't even bother to glower at that entirely worthless suggestion. They'd all been dead sick of Hamlet by the time they grew old enough to open the front door unassisted and make a run for freedom.

"I know!" she exclaimed with deceptive sweetness. "We can debate the pros and cons of my joining your troupe!"

Poll swallowed nervously. Good heavens, he might as well set fire to his wagons himself! At least that way, he could be sure everyone would make it out alive.

"You can't." She really couldn't, he realized with great relief. "Because I will not take you. And you'll never find them without me."

Her eyes narrowed in eerie challenge. "I think I could."

Poll leaned forward. "No, you really couldn't." He had to keep her from trying it. "And you're not wanted."