“I hoped. Of course I hoped. But I also knew that there was little chance of it working out as we wished.” He paused, navigating his horse around a large hole at the side of the road and coming up beside me again. “You have so much hope and so much passion, Gus. You believe you can set things right, even when the odds are insurmountable.”

“Naïve,” I said bitterly.

“No,” he said with some force. “Hope is essential. Without hope, we do not seek a way out of impossible situations. Your hope is your strength. And it is one of the many, many reasons why I love you, my darling Renegade.”

Love.

He had never spoken the word before, but then, neither had I. Of course, the word had been written in our letters, implied in our every action, felt within our kisses, but never the actual word stated itself.

The irretrievable declaration.

We were a few feet apart, on horseback, and navigating a bad road, and yet I had to touch him. I reached across and found his hand waiting for mine.

“I will not stop trying to clear your name,” I said. Then added, “My love.”

My own irretrievable declaration.

He smiled. “I know you will not, and we will find a way.”

We released hands, more from practicality than from any wish to do so. I looked ahead, fighting back a rise of tears. Absurdly happy and heartbroken at the same time. “So, you must go. You must take Hester and Miss Grant and find somewhere safe.”

“Yes, and I think it must be done in the next day or so.” There was apology in his tone.

“I agree. Before Alvanley arrives.” I pushed away the pain of our imminent separation. There would be enough time after to wallow in heartache. “Will you go out of Bristol?”

“No, too far away. I know a Welsh smuggler who sails out of Ceredigion. I should be able to organize something with him and his crew.”

Of course he knew smugglers. He had probably even smuggled goods himself. It was not the passage I would have chosen for Lady Hester in her current state, but if anyone could dodge the coastal defenses and warships, then it would be the smuggling fraternity.

And so, as dusk darkened into cold, clear night, we settled into the ride and planning an escape route through Bonaparte’s Europe.

•   •   •

About a quarter of an hour from Charlotte’s estate and a much-longed-for wash and dinner, we rounded a curve in the road to find a small troop of militia marching in the same direction as us, their progress a muffled clank of weaponry and thud of feet upon the damp dirt road. By my reckoning at least ten men, their uniforms dulled in the meager moonlight but still recognizable as red with blue facings.