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“You do, which makes me wonder what has transpired between you two.”
“Nothing untoward has happened between us,” Guy said, exasperated.
“I never implied that it did.”
Guy frowned. “It doesn’t matter what I feel for Miss Locke,” he said. “I am here for an assignment, and nothing more.”
“Understood.” Hawthorne began to eat his soup.
“Even if I wanted to acknowledge my feelings for Miss Locke, which I don’t,” Guy started, “I am not worthy of her. She is an heiress, and I have no prospects.”
When Hawthorne didn’t respond right away, Guy continued. “Besides, the version of myself that I shared with Miss Locke doesn’t exist. She would never forgive me if she discovered that I have been lying to her this entire time.”
Hawthorne opened his mouth to say something, but Guy kept talking. “I don’t even know why we are discussing this. A future between me and Miss Locke would be futile. An impossibility.”
Hawthorne gave him a smug look. “Weweren’t discussing it; you were.”
“Yes, well, I believe I sufficiently made my point, then.”
“That you did,” Hawthorne agreed.
Guy started eating his soup as the image of Miss Locke danced across his mind. It would be awful to walk away from her, but it was for the best, for him and for her. She deserved so much more than what he could offer.
“Are you thinking about Miss Locke?” Hawthorne asked.
“I am,” Guy replied, seeing no reason to deny it.
“I could tell. You were smiling again.”
Guy put his spoon down and reached for his ale. “As pleasant as this conversation is, we need to hurry and finish eating. I don’t want to miss the rider this evening.”
With the fullmoon lighting up the sky, Guy sat atop his horse as he watched the road for any travelers. They had been waiting for hours and had seen no one. He was beginning to wonder if this was a fool’s errand.
Hawthorne’s voice broke through the silence. “I hope you don’t mind, but Corbyn mentioned to me that you left Cambridge to search for your father’s murderer.”
“I did.”
“That was quite the sacrifice.”
“Frankly, I had no choice,” Guy replied. “The days of being a schoolboy were over for me, as I became responsible for my mother and sister.”
“That is admirable of you.”
“No, I only did what was expected of me.”
“I disagree.”
“Regardless, I chose the life of a Bow Street Runner that day, and I do not regret my choice.”
“Nor should you.”
Guy let out a disbelieving huff. “Do you not share Corbyn’s disdain for Bow Street Runners?”
“I do not,” Hawthorne replied.
“That is a relief.”
Hawthorne glanced over at him. “Do you enjoy working as an agent?”
