you couldn’t conquer. He didn’t want the world to crush that out of May.
They stood in silence, the wind picking up around them. May shielded her eyes and looked towards the empty road, Beatrice and her dubious husband forgotten. ‘You think he’ll come.’ She let out a deep breath.
‘Yes, I do. But I’ll be here, May. You needn’t worry.’ In that moment he wished it were all different; that he hadn’t been born a poor, Irish street rat, the unwanted son of a St Giles whore, or that he hadn’t aspired above his station, that Cabot Roan didn’t pose a threat to her, that he hadn’t had to come here and endure the exquisite torture of being in her presence. It was a moment’s whimsy only. All he had to do was remember how they parted and the anger would come rushing back, the resentment. In the end, class and wealth and privilege had all proven too big of a chasm to cross. When it had counted, she hadn’t wanted him. Even five years later, she still looked at him as if he was the biggest mistake she’d ever made.
‘I wouldn’t have come if it hadn’t been for Preston.’ Perhaps if he defined the rules out loud they would serve as a clarification of the boundaries for both of them; a clarification they both needed if there was to be no repeat of their previous foolishness. That might be excused as the folly of the youth. But now? Now, there would be no excuse. They both knew better. ‘This is strictly business, May.’
She glared. ‘I know. You’ve made that abundantly clear.’ She turned towards the cottage and this time, he let her go, pretending the rules would indeed succeed in preventing disaster from striking twice.
Who was he kidding? The rules had never held any power over him, not where May was concerned. After all, despite her protests to the contrary, he’d seen her pulse beat fast at his nearness and his own thoughts had wandered towards nostalgia more than once. They were both in jeopardy here, rules or not. All it would take to shatter their fragile restraint would be for him to decide he wanted to try on that brand of foolishness one more time, just to be sure it didn’t fit.
He’d looked at her like she was the biggest mistake he’d ever made! He wouldn’t have come if it hadn’t been for Preston! He had made his feelings perfectly clear. May hacked at the feathery green tops of the carrots and began slicing with more ferocity than finesse. She threw the carrot pieces into the stewpot.
‘Toss, May.’ Beatrice leaned across the worktable in the kitchen and put a restraining hand on her arm. ‘We toss the carrots into the pot. We don’t hurl them. Especially when they’re Farmer Sinclair’s carrots,’ she added with a wry smile. May smiled back, apologetically.
‘Good. Now that I have your attention, tell me what’s wrong. Is this pique of yours entirely about Preston or is it something more?’
‘Something more?’ May snapped, reaching for another carrot to dismember. ‘Isn’t it enough my brother is lying wounded in an obscure farmhouse at the mercy of a treasonous villain and no one will take me to him?’
Beatrice smiled patiently, years of experience in dealing with May’s hot temper and outbursts behind her. ‘It is enough. I am worried sick for him myself.’ Her hand went unconsciously to her stomach and rubbed it in a soothing, settling gesture. ‘I think the baby is worried about him, too.’
She laughed a little, but May frowned. ‘Are you all right, Bea?’ Bea had struggled the last two weeks with swollen feet and the occasional contraction, and she was huge.
Bea waved a dismissive hand. ‘We were talking about you. Don’t try to change the subject. You have a bad habit of doing that whenever the subject gets too hot.’ Bea reached for the mallet to hammer out meat for the stew. ‘Speaking of hot, May, Liam Casek is no iceberg.’ May didn’t miss the sly look Bea gave her. ‘Do you know him? I don’t recall Preston ever bringing him around.’
‘Bea! Shame on you for noticing. You’re about to give birth.’ May opted for a teasing scold.
Bea gave her a sly smile. ‘It doesn’t mean I don’t notice a handsome man.’
May finished putting the ingredients in the stewpot and lifted it, trudging over to the large arched brick hearth and hanging the heavy pot over the fire. She wiped her hands on her apron before responding. ‘He’s not the sort to be brought around.’ How did one explain Liam Casek and how he’d somehow risen from a pickpocket to being one of the Home Office’s most prized agents. She wasn’t sure exactly what he did, but he worked with Preston and that carried some weight. Preston did important and apparently dangerous work that could only be entrusted to the best.
‘But obviously Preston brought him home at least once.’ Bea was persistent, studying May with an intensity that boded no good. Suddenly, Beatrice snapped her fingers. ‘I know when it was! The summer of 1816, the summer you went to the lakes and Jonathon Lashley was home recovering from his wounds.’ May watched in dismay as the wheels of Beatrice’s sharp mind began to turn. ‘Preston always took Jonathon on holiday with your family, but that year he was unable to go.’
It had been a terrible year. Jonathon’s brother had gone missing in action and Jonathon had come home near death after Waterloo, something no one had expected. He was an heir. He was supposed to have been kept safe delivering dispatches behind friendly lines. May remembered hearing the news. Jonathon was one of her brother’s closest friends. The family had gathered in the drawing room, quiet and sombre. Her indomitable mother had been pale and her father had taken her grown brother in his arms and held him tight as if to convince himself his son was alive and healthy. They’d gone to the lakes that summer and Liam Casek had come in Jonathon’s place. Her father hadn’t entirely approved of Liam in the beginning. Her father had liked him a lot less by the end.
‘It’s funny you never mentioned him.’ Bea cocked her head to one side, considering. The next moment she let out a pained gasp, one hand on her belly, the other on the worktable to steady herself.
May was instantly beside her. ‘What is it, Bea?’ Beatrice had gone white.
‘I don’t know. Oh!’ Another pain took her and May got an awkward arm about her waist.
‘Let’s get you to your bed. You can lie down.’ It was all May could think of to do. It was hard work moving Bea from the kitchen to the downstairs bedroom. May was thankful they didn’t have to go upstairs. But Bea wouldn’t lie down. She held on to May’s arm.
‘You need to go for the doctor, May,’ she said softly. ‘I think I’m bleeding.’
‘I’ll go.’ Liam’s voice in the doorway made May jump. She’d have to get used to him being around all over again.
‘I’ll go, I won’t get lost. You don’t know where he lives,’ May insisted. If he was out seeing patients, Liam would never find him.
‘Then give me his direction,’ Liam insisted, his eyes hard as they squared off. ‘We can hardly have you out riding willy-nilly over the countryside presenting an easy target and we can’t both go.’
‘Just someone go!’ Bea said through clenched teeth, doubling over as another sharp pain took her, her grip on May tight.
May relented at the sight of her friend’s agony. ‘He keeps an office in the High Street next to the solicitor’s.’
‘Ah, so you can sue him if you don’t
