If she could but live out here. If she could but disappear into one of those trees, climb to the top, and be left alone to dream heroic dreams.
No more disturbingly familiar manor.
No more father she didn’t know.
No more strangers trying to hurt her, or bothersome warnings she didn’t understand, or desperate waiting for a captain who wouldn’t come for her.
No more cowardice in herself.
“The sea.” Felton turned the curricle off the road and up the uneven, grassy hill. Near the top of the rise, he jumped down, left his hat and tailcoat on the seat, then opened his hands to her.
Uncertainty spread through her. Why was she more afraid of his hands helping her down than of the fact he may be the one plotting against her? But did she really believe that of him?
He cupped her elbows. She held his shoulders. Then she was in the air by his strength alone, and though her nausea was gone, a new flutter disturbed her stomach. One she couldn’t understand.
Or maybe did.
“Come.” Another definite command, as he grasped her hand and started off through the tall, sandy grass. Why was he always telling her what to do? Pulling her this way, tugging her that way—and yet why did she almostwantto be pulled and tugged?
“There.” At the crest of the hill, they stopped. “Look at it.”
The endless line of blue met with the bluer mass of sky. How the waves glistened and rippled and lapped to shore. How wonderful all of it smelled—for though she’d always imagined the beach this way, she’d never thought about the heavy scent of salt, seaweed, and fish.
They moved down the slope, slipping through warm sand, then raced for the frothy tide.
Mischief transformed his face into more boy than man. “Take off your shoes.”
A laugh spilled out. Maybe her sanity with it. She glanced up the beach, where a few miles away, vessels bobbed in the waves or drifted to and from the port. Down the beach a few feet, a shaggy man stood knee-deep in the water with a fishing pole in one hand and a bottle in the other.
Mrs. Eustace would scold her for this, lest someone see. But what did it matter if all of Lodnouth saw her in stockings? What did anything matter at all?
She took off her shoes while Felton took off his. He reached for her hand again. Together, they crept into the ocean until the cool water swished back and forth across their ankles. He splashed the air, then tugged her deeper, then turned them sideways when a forceful wave struck their middle. Wasn’t this the sort of thing she’d always wanted to happen? Standing in the ocean vast, with someone handsome and noble next to her?
Only she didn’t know if Felton Northwood was noble, or if she only wanted him to be. Was it wrong to pretend such things of people, even if she didn’t know them to be true?
From the corner of her eye, she saw him smile. She wanted to ask why, what thought had made him so happy…but she didn’t.
Instead she smiled too, breathed this new air he had prescribed, and squeezed the hand engulfing hers.
You are wonderful.The thought, the insanity, made her dizzy. She should be praying for an escape. She should be figuring out what to do. She should be wishing she were at the forest.
But she wasn’t. She couldn’t.
If only for a moment, she was happy, and she trusted the man beside her—and all Minney’s warnings were as lost whispers in the salty wind.
If only she could stay here forever. Like this. With him.
Then she’d never be alone or afraid again.
Felton watched until Eliza ascended the stone steps. She turned once, lifted a hand to him, then disappeared inside. Exactly what he wanted to do. Disappear.
“Take care of the horses, Curry.”
The boy was already unhooking the tack. “Oy will, sir. Won’t you be stayin’ for a game o’ chess with his lordship?”
“Not this eve.” Nor any time soon. The boy looked puzzled, but Felton merely nodded goodnight and made fast pace in reaching the well-worn, dusky path. How much longer it seemed tonight. How quiet. As quiet as Eliza had been when he’d first taken her to the beach, when she’d stared at the water as if it were golden instead of ordinary grey-blue.
He shouldn’t have taken her into the waves. Why had he prodded her to take off her shoes, to wade with him into the salty spray like unsophisticated children? What would people think if they saw?
