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CHAPTER EIGHT

Lavinia pressed her forehead against the window, not caring that she crumpled the brim of her hat. Steam swirled around the feet of the passengers waiting to board the train to Dover, saying their final farewells, exchanging hugs and kisses with loved ones.

No one had been there to see her off.

Her solitary departure was entirely her own doing, as she’d left Claremont Manor hours before it was necessary.

After leaving Dominic’s room, she’s allowed herself to wallow in her fury, cleaning her instruments with far more vigor than was required before flipping through her dog-eared copy of Gray’s Anatomy without seeing the diagrams or illustrations with any detail.

But when her anger waned, the source of her upset became clear.

Dominic was a rake, a scoundrel. He would know exactly the words to say to convince her to share his bed before casting her aside.

Although even as she had the thought—accompanied by her tossing Anatomy against the wall with a satisfying thwap— it didn’t ring true.

Dom had never been the sort to sully innocents, nor had his attention in her ever been motivated by lust.

He cared for her. He said he loved her.

If you truly loved me, you’d understand why I have to go.

She blinked rapidly, cursing the tears burning her eyes.

How dare they intrude on what should be the happiest day of her life?

When she’d dreamt about the start of her medical studies, never had she imagined she’d be pining like the lovesick chits she avoided during the season.

Her fulfillment would come from her studies, the accomplishment of mastering what so many had thought impossible.

Dominic never doubted me.

She snarled at her internal monologue, drawing a curious stare from the matron settling what must have been her granddaughters into the seats opposite hers.

He may never have doubted her, but he never truly wanted her, not enough to give up his carefree London life, not enough to take on an unusual girl like her.

A shrill whistle wrenched her from her thoughts, the car jolting her back against the seat as the train started to move. She allowed herself one last study of the few people remaining on the platform, but saw no one she recognized, least of all the person she wanted to see the most.

The train continued its stuttering motion, and Lavinia closed her eyes, allowed the tears she’d been holding back to fall. At least now she could give up her romantic notions to focus on the practical, give all of herself to medicine?—

“Stop that train!”

She sat up with a start, her eyes snapping towards the platform.

The train was moving slowly still, enough that she could see into the central terminal.

Something was jostling passengers out of the way, but she couldn’t see the cause, only the separation of bodies, like Moses parting the Red Sea of travelers.

“Stop!” she heard again, and then she saw a man waving his hat as he shouted.

Her lungs seized. She recognized that man, his dark hair a complement to Dominic’s blond, his friend Kit. Why was Kit—and was that Gideon?

Gideon, her friend Pippa’s brother, was just behind Kit, scowling at anyone who dared to cross their path, using his broad shoulders and arms to protect whatever was behind him as the two men rushed forward.

She squinted, trying to see through the throng to whatever they were guarding?—

The train was moving faster now, and she twisted in her seat, gasping as the men broke free onto the platform. They paused, the men joining a third who was pushing a luggage cart as quickly as he could.

A luggage cart with Dominic seated on top of a steamer trunk.

She released a howl, turning further to kneel on the seat, her hands pressed to the glass, pounding on it as though they could hear her.

But Dom must have seen something, recognized her somehow because he pointed directly at her window, rapping the side of the trunk to urge his unlikely crew forward.

Try as they might, they were losing ground on the advancing train, and Lavinia leapt from her seat, running down the aisle, past everyone staring and gasping, causing a tremendous scene as she reached the caboose.

She shoved past the startled brakemen and flagmen as she burst out the back door, catching herself on the railing.

“Faster!” Dom shouted, but his red-faced companions were making no gains on the locomotive.

The train had not reached any remarkable speed, but the end of the platform was rapidly approaching. Her mind whirled, screeching to a halt on the only solution.

“Push him!” she screamed.

Kit nodded once in understanding. “Get ready to jump!” he shouted to Dom, who looked horrified, but faced with the rapidly approaching edge of the platform, he swung his legs around into a crouch.

Just before the edge, the men pushed with a grunt, propelling the cart, trunk, and Dominic towards the train. Dom leapt, his face contorting in pain as he sailed off the cart.

Sail was perhaps a romanticized term. More accurately, he grabbed the rail on the side of the caboose and lunged forward, and Lavinia gripped his arms and tugged him the remaining distance onto the caboose.

Dom tumbled to his knees and Lavinia went with him, refusing to release him as they sucked in air.

The sounds of the train gaining speed quickly muffled his friends’ cheers. She tore off her glove and cupped his cheek, caressed the heavy shadow on his jaw with her palm. “You came.”

His brows furrowed. “You left . Why?”

She averted her gaze, but met the baffled and irritated stares of the flagmen on the back of the train, so she brought her eyes back to his. “I was afraid you didn’t want me. That I was enough for one night, but not forever.”

“No, Lavinia…” He kissed her, and she barely heard the outraged huffs of the flagmen through the rushing in her ears, the giddy tattoo of her heart. “I meant what I said. I love you. But you were right about one thing.”

“I’m right about a lot of things.”

“You are.” He brushed his lips over her forehead, just beneath the crumpled brim of her hat.

“You said that if I truly loved you, I’d understand why you need to go to Paris.

I never doubted that, but I was afraid of leaving England.

” His eyelids dropped closed, and when he opened them again, he looked chagrined, adorably bashful in the way only a rogue can make charming. “I’m not a brave man?—”

“Really,” she drawled. “This from the man who took two years to tell me how he felt about me?”

He winced, a blush climbing his cheeks. “I hope you won’t remind me of that too often.”

She would. Every time she needed to win an argument.

“But I’m not afraid now,” he went on. “Not with you.”

She collapsed against him, buried her nose against his chest and breathed him in, allowed him to be the safe place when her world—or the train, at least—was shaking, rumbling inexorably forward. “Will you let me practice my stitches on you?”

“Only if there are no dead bodies to be found.”

“What about wound cleaning?”

He pulled back and fixed her with a scowl. “Only if I leap into another rose bush.”

She hugged him close, hoping she’d never have to let him go. “You can always buy me roses instead.