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The laughter died on her lips but not in her eyes. She reached for the hat, and as he relinquished it, their fingers brushed.

He cleared his throat. “Do you need help getting dressed?”

She shook her head. “No, I shall be fine.”

“Can I trust you not to escape through the window?”

She threw a glance toward the window and smirked. “I have no desire to get caught outside your window. So, yes, you can trust me.”

He hesitated, unwilling to leave her even for a moment longer than necessary. “I’ll see you in a minute,” he finally said, stepping out of the room.

While Lydia changed, he ensured that Vlad had dressed the stable boy properly. For this particular assignment, they needed a skilled horseman. It was a lucky coincidence that Jack, the stable boy, was about the same height as Lydia. In disguise, he looked entirely convincing.

“My lord.” Cecil appeared by his side. “You have a missive from Mr. Prescott.”

Fuck. Thorn had completely forgotten about his meeting with his bride—his former bride. He only hoped he hadn’t made enemies with his disregard for her.

He tore open the envelope and quickly skimmed the note.

The betrothal contract had been withdrawn. There would be no further communication.

Thorn placed the letter on the side table. He would have to mend those bridges after returning to London. He hadn’t meant to humiliate either Mr. Prescott or his daughter, and he would do what he could to repair the damage.

For now, he pushed the thought from his mind.

Lydia soon joined them downstairs, looking entirely unrecognizable in her disguise.

Perfect.

They made their way outside, and Thorn lit a cheroot, scanning the area. He saw no one lurking in the shadows, but the uneasy feeling of being watched had not subsided.

He discarded the cheroot and climbed into the curricle while Lydia hopped onto the back step, gripping a strap tightly. Just as Thorn pulled on the reins, his vehicle rolling along the cobblestones heading west, Jack—wearing Lydia’s disguise—rushed out of the gates and galloped in the other direction.

They drove for a few miles before Thorn turned into a narrow street and stopped. “Did you see anyone follow us?” he asked Lydia.

“No, but I did see two horsemen gallop after Jack.”

Thorn nodded. “He’s a skilled rider. I’m certain he can outride them. I instructed him to hide behind the trees and shed his disguise a few miles away. Hopefully, that will be enough to fool them.”

Thorn flicked the reins again, this time heading north. They continued in silence, the rhythmic turning of the wheels and the steady tik-tok of hooves the only sound between them.

I don’t know if I love you.

The words still stung.

Thorn couldn’t quite shake them off.

He had searched for her for ten long years, and somehow, she had become bolder, wittier, and more radiant than before. She had made him fall in love with her all over again through her letters and then again when they had finally met face-to-face.

He kept tumbling deeper and deeper in love with her every time he saw her, heard her, felt her.

And he didn’t think he could go on living without her.

No.

He would convince her to stay—no matter the cost.

He had to.