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L ark’s mouth opened wide. “What? Uncle, I cannot…”

But he held up a hand to stop her. “Please, Lark. Only hear my reasoning. I cannot in good conscience leave you here when I do not know of what Mr. Branok is capable. I would be remiss in my duty to protect you.”

Lark could understand Uncle’s plight. But she had paid far too much money and had waited far too many years to join an expedition, only to leave it five days early.

“Uncle, you know how greatly I appreciate all you’ve done for me, how you’ve protected me, but surely you must know…” She softened her voice. “I will not leave early.”

Uncle looked as if he wanted to protest further, but he sighed, his shoulders dipping. “Yes. Yes, I assumed you would say as much. But I had to try.”

She released a breath, grateful he did not push her. “Aunt is remaining, is she not?”

He nodded. “We have spoken already. She told me you would deny my request to leave and has already promised to remain at your side.”

“You may rest assured that I am in capable hands with her, then,” Lark said, though she tried not to feel dread at the notion.

She loved Aunt Harriet. But Lark had grown used to tasting a small amount of freedom on this trip. She could not say goodbye to that already.

“There, you see?” Lark said. “I will be more than watched over. And truthfully, whatever Mr. Branok has done, he cannot have done anything so terrible that I would feel unsafe around him.”

Especially after this morning. Saving the owl. Speaking with her honestly. Asking Lark before he kissed her.

Still, Uncle gave her a skeptical look. “Perhaps, but I must request that you do not seek out the gentleman while I am gone. Avoid being with him at all costs. I cannot bear the thought of something happening to you again.”

Lark had expected this. She knew his restriction came from a place of love—but also of fear. She longed to shout out, “Nothing will happen to me if Mr. Branok is by my side!” but she held her tongue, for Uncle was just as stubborn as she was.

“Lark?” he pressed. “Please. Promise me you will do this.”

She looked away, knowing already this was a losing battle. “Mr. Branok has never revealed himself to be anything other than trustworthy, Uncle,” she tried once more.

“That may be so. But we cannot be sure until we know why he was blackballed.” He waited until she met his gaze. “I beg of you to keep away from him until we know. Just until we see one another again in London. Surely you can manage five days for the sake of your reputation and future.”

Lark felt hollow inside. Five days. Five days of not speaking with Mr. Branok—of not sneaking off to enjoy his company or his…his kisses. Kisses she wanted to taste again and again.

She released a sigh. Perhaps this was for the best. Perhaps time away was all she needed to realize she could live without Mr. Branok’s attention and affections because right now, she could think of little else.

Slowly, she nodded. “Very well, Uncle. I shall do as you wish.”

He released a sigh of relief, then stood to leave, giving her an affectionate kiss atop her head.

“I’m sorry about all of this, Lark. I know how greatly you admired Mr. Branok.

To have matters sour so swiftly…” He trailed off with a disappointed shake of his head.

“I will let you know the moment I become aware of his transgressions.”

Transgressions?

Lark pulled back at the word, only vaguely aware of Uncle taking his leave as she remained seated on the sofa, her mind a torrent of tumultuous thoughts.

According to Uncle, heinous acts had to be made to become blackballed. Lark was certain Uncle would not be convinced that Mr. Branok was honorable—just as Lark would not be convinced of the contrary.

Mr. Branok being friends with Sebastian Drake was not a strong enough reason for her to keep away from Mr. Branok permanently.

But one question did prove to unsettle her.

Why had Mr. Branok not told her why he’d been blackballed?

Henry didn’t have the opportunity to speak with Miss Fernside after their kiss.

She’d been more than willing to share that kiss with him, and yet, that night and each subsequent day after that for the duration of their time in the Lake District, any chance they had to speak, she shifted uncomfortably away and deliberately tried to involve anyone else aside from him in the conversation.

Matters were made even trickier with Mrs. Haskett ever-present at her side, which Henry could not help but feel was intentional, as well.

Henry figured Miss Fernside’s behavior was due to one of two reasons.

Either she regretted kissing him and was attempting to create distance between them, or her uncle—who had mysteriously departed to London on some undivulged business—had requested she no longer speak with Henry due to his association with Blackstone’s.

Either way, he was torn. He longed to speak with her again, to tell her that their kiss could be the first of many or the last of one—for he would be willing to consider both.

But those solutions would either lead them toward a deeper relationship or no relationship at all, and each pathway was more frightening than the other.

There was another side of him that begged to carry more pride. If Miss Fernside did not approve of him any longer because her uncle did not, Henry should not wish to be friends with her either.

In truth, he was slightly hurt by her calculated dismissal of him, especially after the progress they’d made to be honest with one another. But of course he couldn’t blame her, for he had done the very same to her in Yorkshire. Even still, it was not a pleasant situation to be involved in.

As their time in the Lake District came to a close, he determined to speak with Miss Fernside on the journey home, as it was his final chance before she’d no doubt be smothered by Mr. Haskett, as well.

London would not provide any opportunity for the party to come together until they met again to travel to Cornwall, so he planned to speak with Miss Fernside while Mrs. Haskett slept off her inevitable illness.

However, with Mr. Haskett’s absence, the Chumleys thought it best for the women to join in one carriage while the others transported the men.

Henry could hardly protest, though inside, he dreaded the notion of listening to three days of Mr. Chumley complaining against women and Mr. Dunn droning on and on about his special lake and the birds he captured while there.

As they loaded into the carriages that would soon be London bound, Henry stole a glance at Miss Fernside, who waited behind Mrs. Shepherd and Mrs. Chumley as Mrs. Haskett disappeared within the coach first.

Now was his chance—his one and only opportunity to speak with her before they would not see one another again for a fortnight.

Swiftly, he headed in her direction, standing at her side as the women settled within the carriage. “Miss Fernside, may I have a word?”

Her light brows rose in surprise, and she shifted a wary gaze toward the coach. “I-I do not wish to keep them waiting.”

“Please. It will only take a moment.”

She hesitated again, then nodded, stepping off to the side with him.

Henry knew he did not have long. Mrs. Haskett would no doubt be in search of her within the minute.

“I merely wish to ask if I might call on you while in London,” he began. “I’ve much on my mind of late and wish to discuss it with you.”

Her lips parted—those lips she’d once allowed him to taste. “Sir, I am sorry to say that my time in London will not be my own.”

His heart dropped. “So you do not wish to speak with me?”

“I do. But current circumstances demand…discretion.”

“Your uncle?”

She glanced over her shoulder at the carriage, the doorway still empty. Mrs. Haskett must be distracted with the other women to have not come in search of her niece yet.

“I cannot say,” she whispered. “Only that…I had hoped in five days…But no, I think it best if we do not see one another until Cornwall. Excuse me, I must go.”

He reached out, wrapping his hand around her wrist to stay her. His act was brazen but done so out of desperation rather than control. She focused on his fingers around her arm, and he softened his hold.

“Tell me,” he whispered back. “Is this your own choice? Or is someone else making the decision for you?”

Their eyes met, hers wide with—With what exactly? Fear? Realization? “It is my own choice,” she answered weakly.

“Is it?” he pressed.

“Lark? Lark, are you coming?”

Mrs. Haskett’s voice reached them from within the carriage, and Henry gritted his teeth.

“I must go,” Miss Fernside whispered again.

Henry released his hold of her completely. “So this is how you wish to proceed? After…” He dropped his voice. “After everything that has occurred between us?”

“Lark?” Mrs. Haskett called again.

Miss Fernside backed away. “I am sorry. None of this is how I wish it to be. But I do not have time to explain right now. Please, wait for Cornwall.”

Cornwall? Two weeks from now? She could promise no such thing, for who was to say if Mrs. Haskett would not demand her presence further—or worse, if Mr. Haskett demanded she never speak with Henry again?

Henry shook his head. He was finished begging. He was finished pining after her. “Do not trouble yourself. You have made your wishes clear enough. Goodbye, Miss Fernside.”

“Lark, my dear?” Rustling sounded in the carriage, as if Mrs. Haskett made to stand.

“Mr. Branok?” Miss Fernside called after him, but he ignored her, stalking away to his own carriage and climbing within the confines of his cage.

Unfortunately, the three-day journey proved to be precisely a cage. However, Henry had finally had enough time away from Miss Fernside to determine that her avoidance of him was for the best—as would be the next fortnight in London.

Each moment he’d spent in the woman’s company had pulled him closer to her siren’s call, causing him to forget the very reason he’d chosen to remain single in the first place.