Page 44 of Jillian’s Wild Heart (Ladies of Munro #4)

“You’re only running away from the truth,” his father called after him as he marched toward the door.

Lewis ignored him. Or, at least, he tried to.

But his father’s words stuck in his mind.

Lewis pulled the door of the study open and resisted the urge to slam it shut in frustration.

He stalked past a footman, a maid, another maid, and, finally, the butler, disregarding their polite acknowledgements and seeing himself out despite the footman’s race to reach the door before him.

If Jilly had been here, she would have stopped and talked to every single one of them.

She would have known about any illness in the family, a sudden hardship, a recent baby.

And he would have rolled his eyes impatiently because it Just. Wasn’t.

Done. When had he become so much like Philip?

Why had he lost sight of the marvel that his wife cared so deeply?

Out in the street, he took a deep breath.

The persistent smog drew into his lungs and he coughed it out, only to breathe it in again.

It was exactly like the rules that governed his life: insidious, treacherous, and almost impossible to free himself from.

Jilly had been his fresh, country air—an uncorrupted, life-affirming force for good.

If he could rather obey his instincts, he would step into the next hired carriage and take himself off to Ermenbrough. He would take Jillian in his arms and renew his vows to her. They would not leave the pastoral peace of that borough until they were whole again and knew the way forward.

Alas, he was bound to London until the end of the season. Corn Laws and riots would demand his attention. His parents would sigh and protest at anything for which Jillian would have admired him.

But. The minute he was done here, he would fly from this prison he had made for himself.

Until next season…

Argh! It was never going to end, was it?

Not unless he resigned. But when he became baron, he would be serving in the House of Lords instead.

Would he have to leave his wife for half of each year to spare her the misery of London?

Or, if he served by proxy only, would he be able to make a real difference, being absent from all debates?

There were so many obstacles to happiness. Where to start in removing them?

As if symbolizing his answer, Lewis began to put one foot in front of the other.

He did not know where he was going, only that each step took him further from the household where he had never been happy.

He felt the tug of it, pulling him back.

But he fought it. He leaned forward, as though against a wind, lifting his foot and placing it down a few inches farther ahead. It was like moving through treacle.

Lewis stopped. He turned toward the center of the road, raised a hand, and hailed a passing hackney.

“Where to, sir?” asked the driver.

“Out of the city,” said Lewis, his foot upon the step as he hauled himself up.

“Anywhere in particular?”

“I’ll know it when I see it.”

“Right you are.”

The horse snorted. Quite possibly, it did not like the smog any more than its human companions did.

The rhythmic rumble of wheels on cobbles was both soothing to Lewis’s battered thoughts and bruising to his thighs.

It was a long ride to escape the busy thoroughfares that crisscrossed London.

It took a good half hour of avoiding shouting pedestrians and near-accidents between reckless vehicles that demanded right of way before the stone and brick of the city made way for open fields.

They passed several farms and clopped over a bridge before Lewis found what he had been looking for.

He tapped the roof with his cane. “Wait here,” he told the driver. “I will be back in twenty minutes. You will be rewarded handsomely for your patience.” And he stepped down onto the edge of a meadow.

As Lewis paced through the wild grasses, he realized he was not, in fact, suitably dressed for what he had in mind. And yet—he thought with the thrill of newfound freedom—he also didn’t care.

Small birds took flight on tiny wings as his movements disturbed their hidden activities.

Some took to the trees ahead and flitted from branch to branch as he approached the shady sentinels.

Others swung low in their glide path and came to rest on the woody stalks of spent flowers.

Between the trees and the dry, sunburnt hollows—in the zone where shadow and sunlight alternated as the day progressed—Lewis found a long stretch of wildflowers.

He threw a quick glance back at the hackney driver. The man had leaned back with his hat over his face. There wasn’t another soul on the road.

Without further hesitation, Lewis sank into the lush growth of fresh grass and fragrant blooms, rolling onto his back, his arms tucking behind his head like a pillow. Above him, the bright blue of the sky seemingly stretched on forever.

It was the closest he had felt to Jillian in ages, even though she was currently two hundred miles away.

If he closed his eyes, he could imagine her beside him.

No nagging voices drummed in his head. No nameless echoes of expectation.

Only the remembered softness of his beloved’s skin, the sun upon their faces, laughter bubbling up from within.

Lewis could sense a gaping wound begin to close. He took a tentative sniff. Pollen tickled his nose, but no coal dust filtered into his lungs. He breathed more deeply. In. Out. A steady flux of good, pure air and a heady mix of scents.

He felt himself being knit back together.

Ermenbrough was surely doing much the same for Jilly.

He reached out to her with his heart, a love letter of sorts.

He imagined her now, stopping suddenly with whatever occupied her, a shudder of pleasure rippling through her limbs and torso as the tendrils of his thoughts wrapped gently about her.

His body was a beacon, pulsing a signal of passion, of joy, of longing toward the one with whom he would be reunited in this moment.

He heard footfalls.

For a second, he believed it to be Jillian, brought here by the sheer will of his yearning for her.

The sound stopped.

“It’s been almost half an hour,” said a voice that was not Jillian’s. “I’ll be needing to get back. I have regulars who’ll be looking out for me.”

Lewis shielded his eyes. The hackney driver loomed over him.

He sighed. Back to reality. But the break had done wonders for his spirit.

It had given him perspective, reminded him what really mattered.

No more would he create distance with the one person who nourished his soul, or seek meaning with a host of people who only cared about the role they expected him to play and how it suited them.

Of course, he would still need to attend today’s parliamentary session. He still had commitments for the season. But he had promised Jillian fields. And chickens. And, by gum, she was going to get them!