Page 21 of A Perilous Passion

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been there.”

She wilted gratefully against the hedge. “Anyway. I appreciate you confiding in me.”

“Can I rely on your discretion?”

“Of course.”

“Then you can rely on mine.”

Her gaze snapped up. There was a peculiar expression on his face—half smile, half frown. “What do you mean by that?” she demanded.

“Only that I know your secret.”

Nausea enveloped her. The heat of his body no longer warmed her, and she shuddered, feeling the blood flood from her face.

To her surprise, he reached for her and held her against him, one hand cradling her hair. “Don’t worry, I understand. I won’t tell a soul. Do your friends know about your attempted elopement?”

She fisted a hand in his coat. He knew about Justin. Not Papa. Justin.

Her bosom heaved in relief.

Beckport’s chin rested for a brief moment on her head, then he eased away again. “I’d better go.”

Yes, he’d better. For more reasons than one.

Her mouth felt dry, and she licked her lips to moisten them. His gaze followed the movement, and her heart flew to her throat.

He was going to kiss her again!

Half closing her eyes, she readied herself for another passionate onslaught.

Which didn’t come.

He raised her hand for a gallant brush of his lips, then helped extricate her from the laurel bush and bent to retrieve her umbrella.

As he handed it to her, he said, “I’m glad you’re safe. So long as you don’t go gallivanting about on your own again. For now, it would be best to avoid the heath. I have reason to believe the rumors of a highwayman haunting the place are true.”

There he went again, trying to curtail her freedom. But with Aunt Flora off visiting and Mama busily trying to elevate her standing within the village, the prospect of a greater freedom than she’d enjoyed in a long time beckoned.

“Then I hope you will avoid the heath, as well,” she said, tilting her chin at him. “If the highwayman shoots you, you’ll be no use to the crown.”

His eyes glittered with mirth. “I assure you, I’m considered an exceptional marksman. I always carry a brace of pistols,” he said, patting the deep pockets of his coat. “Although, they may now be too damp to fire. No matter. I can always club the highwayman with the butt.”

With that, he swept her a deep bow and strode off down the lane.

She stood beneath her umbrella and watched until he was out of sight. She couldn’t possibly go back to the cottage yet—the fire in her cheeks and the trembling of her hands were far too revealing.

She’d been ready to let him kiss her again—and was certain he wanted to—but he, it seemed, had a far tighter rein on his desires than she did.

How could she offer her lips to him in so wanton a manner? What must he think of her?

Even more mortifying was the fact that he knew about her forbidden relationship with Justin.

How distant those bitter memories seemed now! She could honestly say she regretted her scandalous behavior, defying her mother and setting herself firmly on the road to ruin with an elopement. She felt as if she had been a mere child back then, but had since become a woman.

Even so…it didn’t sit well that Rafe had pried into her past. He need only pry a little deeper and he’d discover she was living a lie for a very different reason.

He’d said he would keep her secret about Justin. But the secret of her father’s guilt was another thing entirely. If Rafe learned of it, surely he’d feel duty bound to expose her family, and hand them over for interrogation. A King’s Pardon promised—but never given—would be scant protection.