Page 47

The first clue James had was the water. A steaming jug of warm water for washing.

A cup of lukewarm coffee, too, and something resembling a biscuit.

The warden passed him the tray without his usual smirk and inquired if James was needing anything else.

Perhaps they’d decided to skip the trial and proceed directly to the hanging.

He’d just finished washing when a voice boomed down the corridor.

“Bring him up, then. What are you waiting for?” Ballantine’s voice was full of a familiar irritable impatience that bolstered James’s spirits.

The warden returned with a jerk of his head to indicate James should follow him. Hope bloomed in his chest as he mounted the stairs. Surely if he were still a prisoner, his hands would be bound.

Ballantine strode forward and clapped him on the back. “You’re free, man.”

James swallowed, scarcely able to believe the man’s words. “Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t thank me. That wife of yours is mighty determined when she sets her mind to something. Daughter, too.” James cast a quick glance around the upper chambers of the jail. “No, no, they’re not here. Convinced them to stay home, have a welcome ready for you when you get there.”

His thoughts were spinning. He was free because Sara and Evie had convinced Ballantine? He didn’t have time to dwell on this improbability, for another figure caught his eye.

“Henry?”

The lad came forward, with a cheeky grin. “Aye, guv.”

“What are you doing here?” His eyes swept the room again. “Tell me Evie didn’t sneak—”

“Not a chance. She’s tucked up safe at home, just like you said.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Got me a new job, I does.” He stood straighter, a proud tilt to his chin. “Page for this one.” He jerked his head in Ballantine’s direction.

“Errand boy,” Ballantine corrected, with a shake of his head. “’Twas that daughter of yours who called him a page. From some fool book she’s reading.”

James hid a smile. If Evie wanted to make Henry a page and Ballantine a knight, straight out of Ivanhoe , who was he to argue? He’d been rescued, just like Isaac of York. And, like Isaac, it seemed he had his daughter to thank... and his wife.

Henry sidled up to him. “Guv, I thought you was good at spinning words, but I never saw anything like this one.” He jerked his head in Ballantine’s direction and lowered his voice. “That magistrate didn’t know which end was up by the end of it.”

Ballantine snorted. “You did your part, too.” He turned to James. “Likely lad and wasting his talents down at Cooper’s stable. ’Twas his testimony that turned the tide.” Henry swelled up like a peacock, earning him a gentle cuff from Ballantine. “Be off now, make sure the carriage is ready.”

Henry tugged his forelock, though his eyes were far from repentant. “Aye, sir.”

James looked from Henry to Ballantine, wondering if two days in prison had rendered him not quite lucid.

“Decided to take him on,” Ballantine confided as they moved toward the exit. “Don’t find loyalty like that every day. Magistrate tried to trip him up, practically bribed him to sell you out, but the lad didn’t falter.” Ballantine shook his head. “Sally told me he was a sharp one.”

“Sally?”

“Er, Sara, I mean.” Ballantine looked away, a faint tinge of red staining his cheeks. “Never been good with names.”

James let himself smile for the first time in days. “She talked you around, did she? I assume that means you’ve come to appreciate my choice of a bride?”

“That daughter of yours had something to do with it, too.” Ballantine shook his head. “When those two join forces, you’d best give in straight away and cut your losses.”

“My daughter is mighty persuasive, but I’d still like to know how you managed to avoid charges.”

“Yes, well, all in good time.” Ballantine turned toward the door. “Let’s get you home. Unless you’ve developed a liking for this place?”

James gave a reluctant chuckle. “I’m ready to go home.”

Home. The word had never sounded so beautiful.

Ballantine led him to the carriage and went on to detail the interview, a process James would normally find fascinating. Today, though, his mind had room for only one thought as they trundled down King Street. Sara and Evie. Home.

Sara smoothed her hands down the front of her gown, the same soft gray she’d been married in. The table was set and James’s favorite, steak and kidney pudding, ready to serve. Mrs. Hobbes was bustling about the kitchen, fussing with apple pastries, a wide smile on her face.

Sara joined Evie where she stood at the parlor window, watching the road with anxious eyes, her tense little body straining toward the street. Sara understood how she felt. She wouldn’t relax until she saw James with her own eyes.

The sound of carriage wheels had Evie racing to the gate. “It’s them!” she called back. “I can see Henry up beside the coachman.”

Sara hurried to join her as the carriage rolled to a stop. Henry jumped down and opened the door and James stepped out. Unshaven, disheveled, with dark circles under his eyes and new lines etched into his face, he was the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen.

Evie rushed forward to embrace him. Over her head, his eyes sought her out. Thank you, he mouthed. He widened his arms and she stepped into the embrace, sandwiching Evie between them. His hands came around her, warm and real.

Evie began to squirm, and they drew apart.

The carriage pulled away, James and Evie calling out their farewells. Evie grabbed Sara’s hand, pulling her along with them as they walked up the path to the house. “Supper is ready, Papa. It’s your favorite.”

James smiled at Sara over Evie’s head, his eyes roving over her face with such care that it was almost a caress.

She attempted a smile in return, trying to ignore the thread of unease that ran under her joy.

He still didn’t know the truth about her.

She’d asked her father to hold off, let her tell James tonight.

James kept Evie entertained over supper with glossed-over details of his arrest and time in prison. Mrs. Hobbes bustled in and out of the dining room, swelling with pride when James complimented her supper.

“The best pudding this side of the Atlantic. Mrs. Hobbes, you are a treasure.” James smiled, his eyes sliding back to Sara.

They hadn’t had a chance to speak privately yet, but she felt like they were having a conversation all the same.

If I am freed, I’ll treasure you all the days I have left, Sara Kinney.

She dropped her eyes into her lap, where her hands twisted together under the tablecloth.

Would he still feel the same when he knew everything?

“We should have a celebration with all of us,” Evie said. “Mr. Ballantine and Henry can come. Uncle Andrew, too.”

Sara’s eyes flew to James’s face. At the mention of Andrew’s name, James’s smile faded. “Uncle Andrew had to travel out of town.”

“He’ll be back. Has he written you?”

“I—I haven’t heard anything.” James rallied, forcing a laugh. “Knowing Andrew, he’s gotten himself embroiled with some fair lady and forgotten all about us.”

Evie giggled. “Oh, Papa, Uncle Andrew doesn’t have a sweetheart.”

James waggled his eyebrows. “That’s what you think.”

When Evie was finally tucked in bed and Mrs. Hobbes had retired for the evening, they had a moment to themselves. Sara reached out to clasp his arm.

“James, I—”

“I’ve been waiting all evening for this.” James reached for her and then grimaced. “Let me bathe first and get the last of the stench of the prison off me.”

Sara nodded, in an agony of anticipation and dread. “Yes, of course.” He leaned close, pressing a gentle kiss to her brow, then her cheeks.

Sara couldn’t stop herself from leaning closer and tilting her face, sealing their lips.

He was gentle at first, his lips sliding over hers like a caress.

Warmth spread from where their lips connected until her fingers tingled with the need to be closer.

Her feet crowded up against his, pulling closer to the strength of his body.

James broke away. “At this rate, I’ll never get that bath, and trust me, I need it. I don’t want to... come to you with the dirt of the prison on me.”

Sara stepped back, running a shaky hand over her skirts. “I’ll just wait in the parlor.”

James’s smile was hesitant. “Why don’t you head straight to bed? I won’t be long.”

She nodded, too nervous to speak. He wanted her. The thought was terrifying and wonderful all at once. Once she told him everything, he might change his mind.

She took her time preparing for bed, brushing her hair with long strokes, all the while her heart pumping, rehearsing her confession in her mind.

Her face in the mirror was flushed, two spots of color on her cheeks, her eyes large and bright.

Scared. She heard his step in the hall and whirled about, tucking herself under the covers just as the door opened.

She forced her eyes to take him in, standing in the doorway in only an open shirt and breeches. He pushed the door shut with a backward kick of his leg, all his attention focused on her, his eyes devouring her as he walked closer. She scrambled up to sitting.

“James, wait. We need to talk.”

Talk? He’d thought of little else than this moment since they’d tucked Evie in for the night, and not because he wanted to talk. But it didn’t follow she would feel the same, no matter what he’d thought her kiss told him.

“Yes, of course,” he managed. He took a seat on the edge of the bed, trying not to notice how her nightgown revealed a crescent of pearly skin across her collarbone.

“There is something you need to know.”

The serious tone of her voice brought his eyes back to her face in a flash. “What is it?” The hum of dread replaced the anticipation low in his belly.

“I’m not who you think I am.”