Twenty-five
Evangeline woke to the delicious warmth of Jonathan’s embrace. The sky beyond the tarp was still dark with thin brushstrokes of yellow on the horizon. His arm lay limp around her waist, and her back was tucked against his chest. His breathing was steady, his face burrowed into her curls.
She held still so as not to wake him, clinging to the hazy bliss that came with mornings when her mind was filled with dreams and wishes. But reality couldn’t be kept at bay long.
Jonathan’s revelations last night filtered back into her awareness, and her mind was off like the horses at Ascot.
Had Uncle Charles found it difficult to return to normal life after the war? Perhaps once he had trained himself to notice suspicious behavior and surreptitiously listen to conversations, he couldn’t un-train himself.
All those years must have changed his outlook on the world.
Maybe danger lurked in every shadow. Every stranger had secrets, which would explain why he had taught her and her sisters to defend themselves.
Then there was his hesitation to fully staff Wedmore House.
Uncle Charles never wanted people he didn’t know under his roof, and the family always humored him.
The inability to quell this constant vigilance likely accounted for his current circumstances. He had overheard a conversation at a tavern, dug into the situation, and set off to save the day like he wasn’t simply an antiquarian at his core.
He should have reported to the Foreign Office—left it to the proper authorities. Now, he was out of his element. Honestly, she and Jonathan were, too, but Uncle Charles needed help, and no one else would be coming to his rescue.
“Are you awake?”
Jonathan startled her. She rolled to her back as he propped himself up on his elbow. His hair was sticking up from the crown of his head. She couldn’t quite catch her breath as she gazed up at him, memories of their kiss last night unfurling heat in her.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I-I was just lying here thinking.”
He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “About the day ahead?”
“Yes, and Uncle Charles.” She grabbed his wrist to keep him beside her, though he showed no signs of moving. Her boldness set her face aflame.
“Did—” She licked her lips. “Did spying change you?”
His jaw clenched, but otherwise, his expression remained unchanged. “I don’t know. I’m different than I was, but was it my work or losing my parents?”
She didn’t know what to say.
“I tried to change.” He glanced toward the horizon where the sunrise illuminated the sky in shades of purple, then his gaze settled on her again. “When I returned to England a year ago, I thought I was ready to settle at my father’s estate.”
“Were you prepared to give up antiquities?” she asked.
He smiled, but it didn’t light his eyes like usual. “Not forever, but I was prepared to give it up for a while. I didn’t know where my work would take me next.”
It had brought him here, to this moment with her.
She cleared her throat. “How long before you realized you wanted to complete your father’s work?”
“I spent several weeks in London before I left again.”
She nodded, understanding what he didn’t say. His experience with the ton had been difficult, but she didn’t want to pry.
“I think you’ll feel less burdened once you fulfill your father’s dream,” she said.
The lines across his forehead softened, and he captured her hand, bringing her fingers to his lips. Gently, he brushed a kiss to them. “You are most generous, Evangeline. I didn’t know someone like you existed.”
She blushed, growing even hotter—wondering how he couldn’t notice. He pretended he didn’t.
After a moment, he released her hand to drag his fingers through his hair, and he shifted away. The air around them crackled.
“Last night I wasn’t forthcoming,” he said softly. “When I said I was never asked to do anything against my will.”
She held her breath.
“I promise, it’s something I would never do.”
She wanted to ask for more details, but she waited. He met her gaze, his own unwavering.
“I would never hurt someone. Never.”
“Oh,” she muttered as understanding flooded over her.
A fullness gathered in her chest and expanded. He had endured so much—losing his parents, risking his life to serve their country, defying orders that violated his moral code. How he'd clung to his true self during the war was awe-inspiring.
She cupped his cheek. “I see your heart, Jonathan.”
Timothy brayed outside their makeshift shelter, stomping his hoof. Jonathan laughed and pulled away.
“Our travel partner is demanding breakfast,” he said. “Do you want to feed him or take down the tarp?”
She smiled, despite feeling deflated. She had wanted to kiss him again. “I’ll feed him,” she said.
They went about tearing down camp in companionable silence. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine they were on a dig, not preparing to search for deadly mercenaries in a rugged mountain range while hoping they crossed paths with her uncle before actually finding the Black Death.