Page 170 of The Siren of Sussex

A smile spread over Evelyn’s face. Impulsively, she stretched up to press a kiss to her uncle’s cheek. “Concerning yourself with the living,” she said. “I heartily approve.”

Thirty-Six

When she was a girl, Evelyn’s summers in Combe Regis had been lazy and long, stretching out, seemingly forever, beneath the sunshine sky as she rode down the tree-lined lanes or walked and rambled with her sisters. As a woman grown, however, time proceeded at a much different rate of speed.

A week, for example, passed with uncommon swiftness. And the week that followed that was gone in the blink of an eye.

Before she knew it, an entire fortnight had elapsed, with no word from Ahmad. No letters. No telegraph. No surprise visit to ask for her hand in marriage.

Tightening her fingers on the reins, she deepened her seat in her sidesaddle, bringing Hephaestus to a halt atop the rise. The village of Combe Regis was spread out below—all thatched roofs and stone chimneys, humble country people going about their day.

She gazed out over the burnished landscape, squinting her eyes against the midday sun.

He hadn’t promised to write to her. His intention had been to give her time away from his influence. Evelyn had nevertheless expected . . . something.

In her worst moments, she’d begun to think that the black afternoon dress he’d made for her had been his parting gift. A gown to outshine all the others, as eloquent in its beauty as in its subtlety. A mourning dress, to mark the end of their romance.

He was an honorable gentleman, already facing qualms about removing her from her sphere of life. If his business were to fail on top of that . . .

Well.

Evelyn knew what he might think. What he might do.

Turning Hephaestus, she tightened her leg, urging him into a trot and then into a canter. The skirts of her green habit floated behind her as she guided him along the lane that would take them back home.

By the time she returned to the stables, she was perspiring, and some of her hair had fallen loose from her hairnet to curl about her face.

Lewis emerged from the old wooden barn.

“Will you take him?” she asked, moving to swing her leg over the pommel of her sidesaddle.

And then she froze.

Ahmad walked out behind Lewis. He was in his shirtsleeves, his frock coat flung over his shoulder in a concession to the heat.

Her heart lurched.

It had only been a fortnight. She hadn’t forgotten how handsome he was. How the sight of him made her insides quiver. But memory didn’t do the sensations justice. Feeling them now, she wondered if she would be able to dismount without making an utter fool of herself.

She didn’t have to worry.

Tossing aside his coat, Ahmad came to her aid. He reached out to grasp her waist. “Allow me.”

His touch sent a minor earthquake through her. As he lifted her down from the saddle, setting her booted feet firmly onto the ground, she was keenly conscious of her disheveled state.

If he noticed, he didn’t seem to mind it. His gaze drifted over her face, drinking her in, as though he’d been missing her as keenly as she’d been missing him.

“You came,” she whispered.

“As promised.” He released her waist, but he didn’t move away from her. He remained there, close enough to touch her, as Lewis fetched Hephaestus and led him back to the stables.

“Did you just arrive from the railway station?” she asked. “You must be wanting some refreshment.” She turned. “I’ll take you to the house.”

He gently caught her wrist, arresting her movement. “I’ve been to the house.”

Evelyn’s breath stopped. “You’ve seen Aunt Nora?”

“And met your little sisters, too. They fed me tea and seedcake.” The barest hint of a smile edged his mouth. “They seemed to know all about me.”